What's a Dog For? by John Homans

Published by Penguin Press on November 8, 2012 

"Canine science is intended to shed light not only on what makes dogs dogs but on what makes people people," says John Homans. What's a Dog For? reviews a wealth of canine science. Some of it pertains to wolves, the dog's genetic ancestor, but wolves don't necessarily tell us much about dogs, at least from a behavioral perspective. Some of it examines a dog's cognitive skills, including the ability to interpret human gestures. Some of it addresses the reasons people seek canine companionship. Dogs are a hedge against loneliness. Dogs are part of our families, but they also fill the gaps when our families disintegrate. When we gaze into a dog's eyes, our levels of oxytocin -- a hormone that promotes bonding and attachment --spike. Perhaps a dog's purpose is to sustain the mental health of dog lovers. While the health benefits of dog ownership are disputed, one study result stands out in my mind as being undeniably correct: dogs are better stress relievers than spouses.

We bestow honorary personhood upon dogs (at least the dogs we love), but are they entitled to it? The central question, according to Homans, is whether dogs, during the course of their long association with humans, have taken on human qualities. It's clear that dogs have developed communicative and cooperative abilities that surpass those of their ancestral wolves, but those abilities appear to be an outgrowth of tameness and are not necessarily unique to dogs (tame Siberian foxes, for instance, exhibit some of the same traits). But that may mean that dogs (and some other tame animals) are much like humans in this sense: they have evolved a capacity for cooperation that supplants the instinctive trait of competition. In other words, dogs are like humans because they are willing to look to others for help when they need it (and dogs need lots of help, given their inability to open the refrigerator by themselves). Like many other propositions advanced by canine scientists, this one is far from undisputed. In fact, canine science is a field that is riddled with disagreement. Homans offers a balanced view, taking care to interview scientists who have sharply differing opinions about canine evolution, canine intelligence, canine communication, and a host of other canine topics.

Of course, science only takes us so far. Scientists caution against anthropomorphism while dog lovers (including Charles Darwin) readily attribute human traits to their canine companions. Homans' survey of the research is filtered through his relationship with his dog Stella. He believes Stella experiences guilt and jealousy and that she has a sense of fairness (although her sense of fairness is skewed in her favor: "two treats for me, one for you"). Yet he understands that his yearning for a connection with Stella inclines him toward a bias. Of course Stella experiences human emotions. Of course she's smiling at her family members. Well, maybe she is and maybe she isn't. Separating anthropomorphism from rigorous analysis isn't easy.

Stella is part Labrador, so we learn a good bit about the history of Labs. This leads to a discussion of breeding for pedigree (which served the whims of the aristocracy rather than the needs of dogs) and dog shows (which an early breeder demeaned as "the greatest humbug in the world"). Homans also discusses the genetic basis for cross-breeding (to produce, for instance, hypoallergenic dogs) and the risk that such techniques will lead to puppy mills. He takes a look at stray dogs and the ethical controversy that surrounds the practice of euthanizing them, as well as the growing market for rescue dogs. All of this is interesting if familiar, but only tangentially relevant to the question posed by the book's title.

Of greater value, although not explored at length, is a section discussing cultural attitudes toward dogs. Although many dog owners treat their dogs as family members, many others (predominantly in the south) view dogs as property and consider themselves free to fill canvas bags with rocks and unwanted puppies and drop them off a bridge as a means of population control. "To many a southerner," Homans writes, "the notion that a dog is entitled to humanlike treatment is simply loopy." I don't want to disparage southerners, but I'd like to throw them off a bridge if they think they have the right to murder dogs. In any event, Homans makes the telling point that if dogs earn honorary personhood at the moment of adoption, the same rights of personhood should obtain at the moment of birth -- hence the need (even in the South) to regulate puppy mills and build no-kill shelters. Stella, in fact, traveled to a Long Island shelter from Tennessee -- a fortunate journey for both Stella and Homans.

The book concludes with a discussion of the growing consensus that animals deserve to be treated with empathy and compassion. This sets the stage for the ultimate question: To what extent should dogs have rights that override the owner's property rights? It is a broad question more easily asked than answered, and Homans' analysis -- focused largely on the euthanasia versus no-kill debate -- is a bit superficial.

Homans' prose is lively and evocative, making What's a Dog For? a pleasure to read. In the end, all of the historical and scientific information that Homans assembles is interesting and intellectually stimulating, but science and history do little to answer the philosophical question posed by the book's title. Homans addresses it in a final chapter that is both sweet and sad. To me, and to most dog owners, the answer is obvious. What's a dog for? I love my dog. That's what a dog's for.

RECOMMENDED

Wendolin Kramer by Laura Fernández

First published in Spain in 2011; published in translation by Barcelona eBooks on October 16, 2012

Wendolin Kramer frequently wears a Wondergirl costume (of sorts) and imagines herself as a superhero, a role for which she is not ideally suited. Nor is she a likely detective, although she advertises her services (using the name W. Kramer) and considers her bedroom to be her detective office. A potential client wants to hire Wen but believes W. Kramer is a man, forcing Wen to play the role of W. Kramer's secretary when she meets the client. Her adventures bring her into the literary world, where a blackmail scheme threatens to expose the truth about a revered writer.

Other significant characters include: Marvin Rodriguez, who runs a comic book store and has an abusive relationship with a life-size blowup doll named Mary Jane (Spiderman's girlfriend); Erlinda Largo, who has dedicated her feminist bookstore to a dead writer named Vendolin Woolfin; Francis Domino, a writer/detective/gigilo who intends to ruin publisher Roberta Glanton (who holds the publication rights to Woolfin's work) by telling a journalist the truth about Woolfin; Clay Gomez, a mediocre journalist and failed writer who must decide whether to publish the truth about Woolfin; and Donatelo Garcia, a canine psychiatrist.

The novel's most interesting character is a dog. Earl can't talk, but he maintains a running commentary on matters pertinent to dogs. Earl is unhappy that he has been forced to undergo psychoanalysis after an unfortunate incident with a poodle at a beauty contest.  This would have been a better novel if Earl had been given a more central role.

Reduced to its essence, the story has merit. Fans of the absurd might like the novel more than I did, but for my taste the novel's bizarre nature is annoying. Like her mother, Wen occasionally speaks in German for no apparent reason. Different characters call Earl by different names. Laura Fernández can't mention anyone's name (Tarantino, Hitchcock, Kirk Cameron) without explaining in simplistic terms who that person is.  That's supposed to be funny, I think, but it isn't.

At some points, the story is written as if it were a comic book, with parenthetical words like KOFF KOFF appearing when a character is coughing, just as you might see them in a comic (except in a comic they would probably be inked in red). Sentences regularly appear along the lines of: "It would blow their minds. BOOM." and "He scratched his chin (SKRITCH SKRITCH)." Reproducing comic book "sound effects" in that way is an interesting technique, but after awhile it becomes tedious.

There is a certain cleverness to the twisty plot. If the novel had been less absurd I would probably be able to work up some enthusiasm for it. Fernández has the potential to be an interesting storyteller. I'd like to see more of her work, but only if she omits the bothersome elements that mar this novel.

NOT RECOMMENDED

Footsteps of the Hawk by Andrew Vachss

First published in 1995

The Burke series was losing some of its energy by the time Footsteps of the Hawk came along. Andrew Vachss used the Burke books as message novels, but readers got the message early on. Vachss' narrow focus on the damage done by child predators left Burke without much room to grow, and that's a deadly flaw in a series built on a recurring character.

Footsteps of the Hawk is one of the better late entries in the series, however, largely because the plot doesn't focus on child abuse. Vachss still conveys his message, but he does so in asides and flashbacks without hindering the development of the central story. The plot involves two cops who have it in for Burke: a lone wolf named Jorge Morales and a woman named Belinda. Morales seems intent on taking Burke down while Belinda wants to use him for her own ends. Her scheme involves an inmate who, she says, is innocent of at least some of the slayings he's accused of committing. She hires Burke to prove his innocence. The mission changes as the story moves along, and the truth -- what the woman really wants -- naturally proves to be quite different. Whether Morales and Belinda are working together or against each other is unclear until the end. The story kept me guessing and it resolves with a nifty twist.

The supporting cast (the Prof, the Mole, Max the Silent, Clarence, Mama) grew a bit stale over the years, so the addition of a new character to Burke's retinue is refreshing. Frankie is a boxer, learning the trade from the Prof with an assist from Max. He's deferential to Burke's buddies and serves them with unquestioning loyalty. It's therefore easy to understand why Burke likes him despite his lack of any discernible personality. Heck, I liked him. The boxing scenes add interest to the story while giving Burke another subject upon which to muse. Burke's streetwise philosophy is one of the series' charms even if, at times, it becomes overbearing.

As a reader would expect from Vachss, the prose is crisp and the pace is quick. The gritty streets of New York City, usually visited in the dead of night, charge the novel with bleak atmosphere and contribute to the growing tension. Even when the Burke series was wearing thin, Vachss proved himself to be a talented storyteller, making Footsteps of the Hawk a satisfying read for fans of crime novels. 

RECOMMENDED

Katya's World by Jonathan L. Howard

Published by Strange Chemistry on November 13, 2012 

Katya’s World is an action-driven science fiction novel.  Engaging characters and a high fun factor compensate for its lack of depth.

The Russalkans, out of touch with Earth for more than a century, live in caves they have carved into undersea mountains on the ocean world they have colonized.  When the Terrans finally return, the Russalkans no longer consider themselves subordinate to Terran government.  Russalka goes to war to defend itself from Earth’s claim to ownership of the planet and governance of its peoples.  Russalka prevails when Earth’s fleet unexpectedly departs.  Since the reason for that retreat remains a mystery, the Russalkans worry that their victory is only temporary.

It is against this background that Katya Kuriakova becomes an apprentice submarine navigator.  On her first voyage, however, the sub is commandeered by a federal officer who needs to transport a pirate named Havilland Kane to a federal prison.  Kane, polite and jovial, seems to pose little danger.  More menacing is a deep sea creature they come to call the Leviathan, a beast that seems not quite alive but not quite mechanical.

I’ve always been a sucker for submarine stories, but I thought the undersea action in Katya’s World was particularly exciting.  Yeah, it’s sort of an underwater space opera but how often do you read one of those?  There’s enough plot here to hold the action sequences together, but it’s the action, not the plot, that drives the story.  Fortunately, the action scenes are vivid, making Katya’s World a stirring read.

The most interesting aspect of Katya’s World is Katya’s ambivalence about Earth.  It is, on the one hand, the birthplace of Russalkan civilization, and on the other, the homeworld of an enemy that seems determined to destroy Russsalka.  Her hatred of Terrans is tempered by what she learns of Earth during the course of the novel.  Almost as interesting is the story’s political background, which features not just a war with Earth but a brewing civil war.  While all of that exists only to flesh out the action story, it at least gives the reader something to think about while pausing for breath between chase scenes, shootouts, and torpedo launchings.

Katya is a strong, likable character.  She’s plucky, she thinks on her feet, and she isn’t full of herself.  The other characters tend to be stereotypes but they are effective stereotypes, playing the roles they need to play to move the story forward while manipulating the reader’s emotions with rousing speeches and acts of self-sacrifice.

By the end of Katya’s World, Katya has been tested in many ways, has survived it all and has even matured a bit.  It’s not clear where her life will take her, but I look forward to reading the next novel to find out.

RECOMMENDED

The Boy in the Snow by M.J. McGrath

Published by Viking on November 8, 2012 

Edie Kiglatuk is an Inuit from Ellesmere Island; she thinks Anchorage is uncomfortably hot and crowded.  She’s there for the Iditarod, supporting her ex-husband’s participation in the race.  Before the race starts, however, Edie gets lost in the forest while following a spirit bear.  She encounters a couple who warn her that she is on Old Believer land while grudgingly pointing her in the direction of the road.  Making her way back to her snowmobile, Edie finds a frozen baby inside a small structure that resembles a dog house.  A cross has been marked on the baby’s body.  The police tell Edie that the small house she found is a spirit house used in Athabaskan religious ceremonies.  Soon another frozen baby is discovered in a spirit house.  The police clearly want to blame the deaths on the Old Believers, former Russians who, having separated from the official Russian Orthodox Church, cling to ancient liturgical practices.  Rumors abound that the babies were kidnapped by the Dark Believers, a Satan worshipping sect of the Old Believers that may not actually exist.  Perhaps to lay those rumors to rest, the police arrest an Old Believer who seems as likely a suspect as any.  Edie, of course, believes he’s innocent.

A second storyline concerns Alaska’s gubernatorial election.  Anchorage Mayor Chuck Hillingburg is running against a popular incumbent.  The reader knows that Hillingburg is tied to a lodge that has something to do with the deaths, but the nature of the connection remains a mystery until Edie puzzles it out.  A third storyline concerns the Old Believers’ theory that they are being framed by Tommy Schofield, a property developer who wants to acquire land that the Old Believers refuse to sell.

Edie is an annoyingly self-righteous character.  Her disagreeable personality makes it difficult to care when she finds herself in peril.  No other character offsets Edie; the others are uniformly bland.

The plot involves two different but related criminal enterprises.  One is unlikely and the other completely implausible, even by the standards of modern crime novels.  The ending is abrupt and the plots wrap up too neatly thanks to some improbably convenient revelations.

The story includes a couple of unnecessary plot summaries, in which characters explain to other characters what the reader already knows.  Perhaps M.J. McGrath thought her readers were too dim to remember the events that had already transpired, but any benefit these passages have as a memory boost is offset by their pace-deadening drag on the story.

Despite those complaints, some positive aspects of The Boy in the Snow are worth mentioning, as the novel might be of interest to readers who have an affinity for tales of the frozen tundra.  McGrath is a capable writer who paints striking images of the Alaskan wilderness.  Action scenes move quickly.  A scene that has Edie and two other characters stranded in a snow storm, fighting for survival, is so convincing I was shivering.

I like the novel’s message of religious tolerance, its condemnation of prejudice against nontraditional religions and its recognition that every religion has its fanatics.  McGrath has a sharp eye for Alaska’s politicians and those who control them, “the same bunch of old sourdoughs, bankrolling each other, glad-handing, swapping jobs, pushing their agenda and keeping anyone new out.”

The Boy in the Snow is the second novel featuring Edie Kiglatuk (I haven't read the first).  McGrath almost gets it right. I'll avoid further novels in the series, however, unless I hear that Edie has warmed up a bit, or at least developed a more interesting personality.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS