Review: Dog Years by Mark Doty

When I picked this book up, I expected it to be a memoir about Doty's life with his two beloved dogs. I certainly didn't expect it to be a rumination about life and loss and the ways that grief pushes into your life and holds on. But that is indeed, in many ways, what this is. Arden and Beau, the dogs of the title, just offer a central focus for the philosophical musings put forth here by Doty, a poet and memoirist. His relationship with his dogs is the scrim through which he recalls the slow decline and death of his partner from AIDS. And the dogs weave in and around his eventual relationship with his new partner as well.

But there's an interrupted feel to the writing here with chapters dodging and weaving about with no clear sense of timeline. Of course, starting the narrative with Doty's philosophical conception of dogs and language followed swiftly by the death of Beau, it is clear that this will not follow a conventional timeline or a conventional memoir's path. His writing tries a little too hard to capture poetry in prose and in the end ended up alienating me. I am a sucker for animal stories and yet this one elicited very little response, perhaps because it was more about Doty's cumulative losses and his grief than about the dogs. His dogs clearly meant the world to him but the sometimes overly florid writing and the intrusion of so much else detracted from their stories.

Although Doty claims that his dogs helped to lift him from depression and grief, there was very little uplift here, overwhelmed as it was by depressing outpourings on the ephemerality of life and the certitude of loss. As a reader, I needed a more focused narrative, a smoother integration of his life as a gay man both facing the loss of a beloved partner and finding a new love as well as showing more of the concrete, never-wavering love of his animals. Some animal lovers have praised this book highly while others have panned it so I seem to be fairly alone in thinking it was just an okay read. I did struggle a bit with the style and the disjointedness of the narrative but underneath it all, there was some good bone structure. I had just hoped for more out of it than I found.

Review: My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell

Why on earth are Gerald Durrell's books not better known? Or perhaps they are and I just didn't know much about them? I've never heard another reader mention this as a must read delight and yet that is exactly what it is. The book is based on his family's five years living on Corfu. It's hilarious, entertaining and even educational.

It's 1935 and England is in the midst of a grey and dreary season. How does any good British family escape such? Why by picking up and moving to the sunny Greek isle of Corfu on the recommendation of the eldest son's friend, of course. And what a good British family it is. Mother is a widow, eccentric and a bit flighty in a charming way. Larry, the eldest, is a writer and a bit of a stuffed shirt know-it-all; yes, Larry is famed author Lawrence Durrell. Leslie is a stereotypical gun-mad hunter, frequently striding out of the copses and fields with dinner. Margot is the flirty sister, interested in the local and ex-pat men around. And our author Gerry? Well, he's significantly younger than his siblings (he's only ten at the start while they are all young adults) and he's obsessed with animals, adopting them and wreaking havoc in the house and grounds. He's also a gifted writer with the impeccable timing of a truly funny comic.

Originally intended to be an account of the flora and fauna of Corfu, this is that and so much more. The antics of the Durrells and their good-natured bickering and tolerance of each others' foibles make this literally a laugh out loud book. Imagine Leslie coming downstairs in a towel immediately prior to a huge party, shivering and stammering because young Gerald has put a harmless snake in the tub with cool water to revive it from its heat stroke. There are Larry's elaborate machinations to keep Gerry's wild magpies, raised by him from babyhood, from going into Larry's room and capering about. The different colored birdie footprints in ink all across his manuscript is an image I'll be chuckling about for quite some time. There's the turtle that begs like a dog. A shallow-bottomed, oddly round boat made by Leslie named the Bootle-Bumtrinket. Two dogs named Widdle and Puke. I could go on and on.

But not all of the animal observations come via mishaps in the family. Durrell recounts his delight at finding things in their natural habitat and the care he took in examining them there. His childish curiousity was fervent and infectious. He is completely enchanted by nature in all its forms and that enchantment oozes from the very pages of the book. When the reader isn't laughing, she is reading steadily and delighting in the atmosphere and the place that is Corfu between the wars. Gorgeously written, there is a bit of nostalgia in these pages, especially as the reader knows, from the outset, that at the end, the Durrells pack up their belongings and head back to the grey skies and drizzle of England. I can't recommend this book highly enough, especially for people who like animals but also for those who appreciate well written, pastoral sorts of books or those who cherish eccentric characters and the kind of childhood that seems to be long extinct.

There's even a Masterpiece Theater production of this book. Methinks I'll have to hunt it down and and gather my family and assorted animals around to watch it in hopes it captures the wonder and the delight and the eccentricities of the book. And I will also, very definitely, be tracking down more of Mr. Durrell's books in hopes of sinking into similar, charming entertainments.

Review: Nearer My Dog to Thee by Graham Mackintosh

A delightful book about a man, his dog, a summer camping in the Sierra San Pedro Martir, nature, and the history of Baja California, this is hard to define because it is so comprehensive and wonderful. Mackintosh, who has written other travel narratives about walking around Baja California decided that he wanted to try something different. He wanted to spend a summer camping in the one of Mexico's most unspoiled and remote National Parks, examining the area minutely. His companion throughout this sojourn is not his wife but a medium-sized dog he adopts from just south of the US border and christens Pedro.

As the summer starts, he and Pedro learn each other and the gorgeous area in which they've set up camp. They go on hikes together, appreciating the natural beauty of the place. Mackintosh is a lovely nature writer, devoting chapters to fungus and trees and other wonders of this unique eco-system. But his narrative never gets weighted down by so many details that the non-expert would be bored. And he peppers his story with descriptions of the people and animals he meets around the park, from the rangers to hikers, from other pets to the cattle who calmly wander into his camp.

The book is crammed with general information on the nature of the area but also with good, detailed history of the discovery of the place and the missionaries who first explored it with the help of the native people. Mackintosh recounts his own experiences with gentle humor and a lovely perspective. He talks of his reluctance to eat some of the wild-foraged fungus his wife has collected, being overly cautious of poisonous mushrooms, despite her willingness to eat her finds. He pokes fun at himself for his fear of the thunderstorms that terrify him in his small canvas tent, all the while retaining a healthy respect for the overwhelming power of the storms. He writes lovingly of Pedro and Penny, another of his dogs who joins he and Pedro part way through his four months, of their companionship and the sheer joy of being with his four-footed friends.

He hikes, he explores, and he recounts it all for the armchair traveler in such a way that four months without a car on a remote mountaintop in Mexico sounds like bliss. His writing is accessible and charming. He urges the importance of conservation and of the plight of stray dogs without ever coming off as preachy. The final chapters of the book, where he hears about the attacks of September 11 over his small radio are as political as he gets and lead to a musing about mortality, something that threads through the whole of his narrative in smaller ways anyway. Something special anyway, I freely admit I was tickled to know that the book was written at a cabin not far from our cottage, a world away from Baja California. If you enjoy unique ecosystems, history, travelogues, and dog books, be sure to give this one a gander. It has a lot to offer.

Review: Colter: The True Story of the Best Dog I Ever Had by Rick Bass

Have you ever read a book that is so gorgeous and resonant that it just tears your heart out? This is a book like that. Yes, you probably have to be a dog lover to fully appreciate the story but Bass' writing is sublime and loaded and rippling and majestic. He takes in Colter, his knob-headed hunting dog, as a favor to a friend, not knowing that this goofy looking pup will prove to be an absolute genius of a pointer and be the key to showing Bass the byways that many people never visit, teaching him about hunting and love and expectation and fulfillment.

Coupled with his transcendant prose about the natural world, this story of the best dog Bass has ever had is a delight. From Colter's entrance into Bass' life, his training as an incredibly promising hunting dog, all the hunts, successful and not, on which author and dog partner, to Colter's disappearance and the final resolution, this book glows with Bass' pride and love and respect for this most amazing animal in his life. It is an honoring of the bond they shared and a recounting of the lessons learned in each others' company. But most of all, it is a magnificently written book.

While Colter was a hunting dog and Bass did indeed hunt with him, the majesty and importance of the natural world shine through the whole narrative and it would be a shame for readers to dismiss the book from an anti-hunting stance. All animal lovers know that their pets have much to teach them but Bass has found a way to beautifully articulate those lessons in his paean to Colter. Much quoted in other reviews, the lines: "How we fall into grace. You can't work or earn your way into it. You just fall. It lies below, it lies beyond. It comes to you, unbidden," in the prologue give a sense of the reverence of the writing and the feeling captured in these pages. It is a grace fallen into, accidental or intentional, when the quiet reader opens the pages of this powerful, contemplative book.

Review: Through Thick and Thin by Alison Pace

Ostensibly the story of two sisters, living very different lives, who are going to tackle dieting together, this is not so much that as it is the alternating stories of Meredith, a zaftig restaurant critic, and Stephanie, a stay home mom with extra baby weight to lose. While they are indeed sisters, their lives don't cross much without effort and since both seem to think her sister's life is perfect, or at least as close as it gets, and therefore harbor a slight jealousy toward the other, their lives don't intersect as much as expected. Meredith identifies herself as a failure because she isn't thin and doesn't have the perfect husband. She is looking to meet her very own successful doctor, lawyer, stock broker and round out her lonely life. Stephanie doesn't feel like she fits in with the suburban New Jersey moms around her and wonders when her marriage stopped working, pre- or post-baby.

Both sisters have to face the fact that while their lives may not be what they imagined, only they can take charge and make the changes they so desire. Meredith falls in love with and adopts a mini daschund/terrier mix who leads her to start taking yoga and question her long held values. (Odd pathway, I know but true nonetheless.) Stephanie discovers her husband's prescription drug abuse and realizes that everything in her life isn't in her control.

Both of the sisters face their new lives without each others' support and each of their stories take place by turns isolated from the other. This makes the plot feel very choppy and as if the author had two different plot ideas and instead of fleshing one or both out into their own novel, mashed them together into this not entirely successful offering. The narrative occasionally breaks into second person, with the narrator directly addressing the reader, a tough convention to pull off and I don't think that Pace manages to quite do it. The premise is cute but there are some heavy-handed lessons in here about accepting oneself and appreciating the joy in life and plot lines that don't seem to be turning the proper way are simply abandoned. Not my favorite chick lit but fine in the long run if you aren't bothered by the narrative shift both from third person to second and from one disconnected character to another.

Review: Pocketful of Names by Joe Coomer

I chose this book for our summer bookclub, knowing that just about everyone would find the cover with the black lab terribly appealing. The fact that so many of us in the group also spend our summers on islands (although in a far different manner than the main character here) didn't hurt either. The meeting hasn't happened yet but I have high hopes that it will turn out well. There's certainly enough to talk about in here to keep us busy for quite some time.

Opening with a dog falling off a passing boat, swimming desperately towards land and ultimately being washed ashore, this is the story of Hannah, an artist and a hermit, who lives a contented life painting and creating art on the remote Maine island her great-uncle left to her. Hannah is skilled at keeping people out of her life but when she finds the dog sleeping on a ledge in the old stone quarry that makes a sort of harbor on her island, she takes him in, naming him Driftwood. The dog is just the first in a motley collection of people and creatures in need who arrive on her island and in her life.

Initially determined to keep him out, Hannah finds herself coming to value the high school boy fleeing his abusive father and posing as her nephew sent her way by her half-sister for safe haven. As Will becomes a fixture on the island, even posing for Hannah, he quietly steals into her heart. With Will's presence come more people intruding into Hannah's solitude. She befriends Zee, the local boat delivery service girl, and Zee's father, Tom, and grandfather. Tom and Hannah come to a comfortable relationship and through him Hannah starts to learn not only about her great uncle, but also about who she herself is really. This self-knowledge becomes crucial as Hannah faces the biggest setback in her life.

Coomer has written an understated masterpiece in this book with Hannah's island as the perfect metaphor for life. As more and more people, and even an animal or two, invade her space, Hannah comes to understand the difference between solitude and loneliness. She learns that opening her life to others enriches it beyond measure. And she learns that no matter how barren and rocky a place, no matter how thin the soil, things will grow. And while this sounds like it could be sappy as all get out, Coomer handles it deftly, surely, keeping it true to the stoic New England characters he's drawn here. The setting is accurate and reflective of the overall book. Clearly this story could take place no where else and yet, in terms of the underlying theme, it does take place all over the world all the time.
Coomer writes with meticulous precision. His characters are people you think you might be likely to meet in the local restaurant in any small Maine lobster town. None of them are perfect and as each character starts to reveal him or herself, each one becomes more faceted and more realistic. The book manages to evoke the sights, smells, and sounds of ocean islands effortlessly.

Perhaps the best summation of the book comes from the novel itself. On page 150, Hannah muses:

She'd read somewhere that there were three things worth doing in life: making something new, caring for something old, and finding something lost. Her art was new; the house was worthy of care. What had been lost? It was like asking what had been forgotten. You didn't know until you remembered it. She wouldn't know what was lost until she found it.

A powerful novel, I really enjoyed this one and look forward to more of Coomer's work. Fingers crossed that the book club feels the same way!