But Brown Dog, a part Indian, seems to have his emotional growth fixed at "…age 12", a desired girlfriend tells him. There are many of these, and Harrison has no compunction about documenting the incredibly frequent tumescence BD experiences. His worship at women's gates is impartial and non-particular, and I wavered back and forth wishing I could have met this fun lover and being offended by his hectoring offers of sex anyplace anytime.
He loves children, food, liquor, wilderness, trees, the ocean, rivers and streams, and most of all, fishing. He's a kind of Huck Finn, or Cormac McCarthy character made absurd, a burlesque mixed-breed orphan yearning for his heritage, mother and father, and his beloved rivers.
In one novella, well meaning social workers get him a job as a dog catcher. But he is unable to euthanize any of the very badly behaved dogs he catches so he contains them,finds homes and finally throws his work cell phone in the river as he quits his job and takes off.
In another, he cares lovingly and patiently for his step-daughter, who has fetal alcohol syndrome and will never be able to live a normal life. His wife has gone to prison because she bit off the finger of police who tried to restrain her during a drunken altercation.
The stories are uneven and stand alone, and read all at once, become repetitive. Sly tweaks which wound deep force meditation on lost innocence, unfeeling bureaucracy, class, and poverty - what have we lost? Do we even know any more?
But what the stories do best is call us back to a sense of compassion and wonder. Even the last novella, improbable as it is, left me gently smiling.
Don't know if this is your first Harrison read, Patti, but really enjoyed your take! Really sounds like his effect is similarly shared...
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