Edward Sheriff Curtis (1868-1952) was a remarkable photographer, skilled in the sort of black-and-white photography that graces calendars and history books, the nuanced shades and shadows giving life to men and women and landscapes that existed well before any that are encased in our contemporary memories. The vanishing tribes of the great American West, the victims of our push towards the Pacific, the peoples who were here to enjoy the natural splendor of this country before the aggressive white man came to pass over its hills and valleys --- this is the world that Curtis showcased in his lush yet stark photography.

However, as Marianne Wiggins points out, he often dressed members of different tribes in one tribe's dress to make the picture look better. That way, the Sioux, Cherokees and others were as mixed-up as his emotional world, where loving his family interfered with his freewheeling artistic life and thus caused so much conflict that his wife was forced to divorce him after years of happiness together. He is the P.T. Barnum of the post-Custer experience, a pioneer of good old American spin that the author documents with a novelist's eyes and ears.

Wiggins is also a character in this book. Like Augusten Burroughs, Norman Mailer and Hunter Thompson, she documents one American life by contextualizing its emotional messiness with examples from her own personal journey. As Curtis constantly escapes his wife Clara and their family to find freedom in his art, so too does Wiggins's dad look for that elusive freedom by separating from the family when she was young, leaving a photo behind that reads "When we were happy." This is messy stuff, an all-American story of two human beings whose penchant for some greater liberation made the love and devotion of their families feel like the Ancient Mariner's albatross, clasped firmly around the neck, choking the life out of them.

The book, written with Wiggins's immeasurable skill in word manipulation, is a fascinating study of all the things that make a man an iconic American male --- the need for freedom, great passion, love of the road, a heart that can invite and incite great love but can't deal with the everyday responsibilities that kind of intimacy brings. When Wiggins, on her way to a surreal meeting with Hollywood types about writing a screenplay adaptation of this book, is confronted by a man whose I.D. makes him out to be her long-lost and long-thought deceased father, the intensity of the narrative increases. It's not just a biopic waiting to happen; instead, the author finds herself examining Curtis's story for clues as to why her own paterfamilia decided that the American road held greater promise than their little backyard. This twist adds a poignancy and a bit of poison to Curtis's story.

The reader can't help but feel badly for Wiggins and thus feel that Curtis and all other like-minded men are somewhat bad guys for following passions that proved too bountiful for domesticity. It is a strange place to put readers --- giving them a hero who they may not be supporting completely, surrounding his artistic achievements with Barnum-esque baloney that lessens the impact of his work somewhat. THE SHADOW CATCHER is a pentimento --- the further you peel off the surface, the more there is underneath, a whole world that could only be examined by entering it from a contemporary mindset.

Wiggins has given us a deep and layered read that will require more than your usual beach reading time to absorb. Do yourself a favor and read it twice --- once straight through and then again to take in how her personal story reflects on Curtis's mendacity. THE SHADOW CATCHER casts a long shadow --- and when the sun comes out again, it doesn't shy away from the realities it exposes.