
Book Review of A Horse Named Sky (Voice of the Wilderness #3)
A Horse Named Sky: A Journey Through Wild Hooves and Human Madness
When I stumbled upon A Horse Named Sky by Jennifer D. Reed, the title alone drew me in. As a lover of equine stories, I found myself intrigued by the promise of a narrative centered around the Pony Express—a heart-pounding concept. However, much to my chagrin, the book turned out to be less about galloping through wide-open plains and more about navigating the complexities of the human-animal relationship, straying far from what I expected.
From the outset, I should admit that, as a young adult reader, I felt I was perhaps not the book’s target audience. If I were to compare my current taste with what I enjoyed in my youth, I would have likely thrown this book across the room in frustration. Why? Because the story delivered much more on being a "save the mustangs" narrative than a riveting Pony Express adventure. While the Pony Express occupies about five chapters, the remaining narrative dives deep into the protagonist’s—Sky’s—struggles living among humans, which didn’t align with my anticipation. Admittedly, I might be a minor voice in the equestrian literary world, yet my fatigue with the trope of “saving mustangs” is palpable.
Sky’s journey, while occasionally poignant, often fell into predictable territory. The attempt to anthropomorphize horses frustrated me; they might be intelligent, but they don’t possess the same kind of logical reasoning as humans. The premise of a fearful horse concocting a plan to infiltrate a human camp seemed far-fetched. Horses live in the moment, and that is part of their beauty. So, the driving motivation for Sky to seek freedom, when he’d been cared for and had his needs met, seemed misplaced.
There were redeeming qualities in A Horse Named Sky, particularly the inclusion of burros and an insightful detail or two that felt fresh. However, the deeper I waded into the narrative, the more I experienced the dissonance between the narrative’s reality and horse behavior. Also, minor inaccuracies, like the idea that a wild colt wouldn’t have been gelded for easier handling, contributed to my growing irritation.
Mechanically, the book isn’t bad—you’ll find a competent writing style and a decent pacing that flows from one chapter to the next. But for seasoned equestrians, the emotional quirks attributed to Sky felt more like a distraction than an essential part of the storytelling arsenal.
In conclusion, I would recommend A Horse Named Sky to readers who crave heartfelt stories focused on the theme of wild mustangs and the fight for their freedom. It is undeniably relevant for those who echo the call to “save the mustangs,” and it might resonate especially well with younger audiences or those less familiar with equine behavior. As for myself, while the story was a departure from what I hoped, it reminded me how precious and nuanced the bond between humans and horses can be—though it can also be incredibly complicated in the realm of fiction. If you’re seeking a fresh take on mustang lore, I encourage you to explore, but perhaps approach this one with tempered expectations.
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