Ellie Beals's Blog

Inside of a Dog, by Alexandra Horowitz: The Perfect Marriage

I am an avid reader of non-fiction studies about dogs, and about the relationship between dogs and people. Inside of a Dog, by Alexandra Horowitz has been for me, the most rewarding and enjoyable such book I've read, because of the way it spans the divide between the lyric and anecdotal love story (like Merle's Door) and the scientific treatise (say, anything by Konrad Lorenz).

Horowitz teaches psychology at Barnard College. She earned her PhD in cognitive science and has studied the cognition of humans, rhinoceroses, bonobos and dogs. So she has the scientific licks (so to speak) to support the creative but rigorous experimentation and observation she details so well in this book. She does so with great courage, appearing to feel no need to restrain or obfuscate her love for her subjects, for fear that it might endanger her objectivity. Her descriptions of the canine behaviours she observes are intense and animated: "What is called, appropriately "rough-and-tumble" play between two competent athletic dogs is a gymnastic marvel to witness. The playing dogs seem to give a perfunctory greeting to each other before they suddenly mutually attack, teeth bared; tumbling together in precarious free fall; jumping on and over each other; bodies bent and tangled." The underlying affection apparent in her scientific descriptions blossoms into overt love in the italicized passages she injects about her own dog: "Thunder outside. Pump's ears, velvet equilateral triangles that fold perfectly along the side of her head, prick into long isosceles. Head up, eyes to the window, she identifies the sound: a storm, a frightful thing…..I coo to her consolingly and watch her ears for feedback."

So - does this emotional backdrop weaken her scholarly findings? Not if you believe that fascination, awe, and wonder intensifies the drive to discover more than simple intellectual curiousity would. That's what I believe. I think it is because of, not despite her emotional investment, that Horowitz has helped clarify some discomforts I've long entertained about the prevailing paradigms about the dog-human relationship.

Like, let's say – the concepts of anti-anthropomorphism, and of pack dominance: "To evoke the outdated, simplistic model of packs glosses over real differences between dog and wolf behaviour and misses some of the most interesting features of packs in wolves. We do better to explain dogs' taking commands from us, deferring to us, and indulging us by the fact that we are their source of food than by reasoning that we are alpha. We can certainly make dogs totally submissive to us, but that is neither biologically necessary nor particularly enriching for either of us. The pack analogy does nothing but replace our anthropomorphisms with a kind of "beastomorphism" whose crazy philosophy seems to be something like "dogs aren't human, so we must see them as precisely un-human in every way".

So, conceptually - Inside of a A Dog was a rich and interesting read. It also provided practical insights than I can and will incorporate into my training and handling. I have long-wondered about a particular kind of chuffing-huffing breathing that my young male partner characteristically displays when in the ring. I feared it was stress-related though he generally does not seem a stressed-out guy in the ring. Horowitz presents exactly this behaviour as a canine equivalent of excited laughter. How incredibly reassuring it is to think that you are going into the ring with a guy who is laughing in delight!

Horowitz also spends more time on the intricacies and wonder of dog attention and eye-contact than any writer I've read previously. I can't help but feel that my enhanced understanding of both is likely to improve my own creativity and effectiveness as I strive to create and enhance that bond of attention between me and my boy.

This book delivers as both science and celebration. I see Inside of a Dog as the perfect marriage of scientific study and love story, and recommend it highly to anyone interested in either or both genres.

I wanted to love this book. Kellerman, and his protagonists Alex Delaware and Milo Sturgis are like old friends from whom I’d been separated for many years. I don’t know why it’s been so long since I read one of Kellerman’s Alex Delaware novels….it just happened. But I assumed that just as you quickly fall back into the patterns of long and comfortable association with old friends in your real life – I hoped and trusted that would be the case when I read Serpentine.

And my hopes were at first, realized. Alex and Milo are as well-drawn as ever (perhaps better than ever, for Milo) and Kellerman still delivers the powerfully vivid descriptions I’ve always loved. His accounts of his characters’ appearance, including their clothing, remain brilliant. I do not understand why knowing not only the style and color of garments worn, but also the details of jewelry, are so important to me. But they are, and I repeated old patterns by often reveling in Kellerman’s descriptive acumen, reading those passages a number of times before moving on. I’ve always enjoyed the same descriptive detail about food. The food descriptions ARE good – but in Serpentine, for me, there are just too many of them. Do these people never stop eating?!!! How can they even move, proceeding as they do from one huge meal to another? At some point, surely, they say “Enough – let’s just have some scrambled eggs and toast for dinner”?

OK - that was a pretty snitty comment. But it is indicative. Of what? I think of my growing feeling as the book progressed, that there just wasn’t enough action. The Kellerman series has always been cerebral – more brain than gut, no visceral nausea-induction, regardless of the violence of the crimes described. I like Kellerman’s moderation - that this isn’t either the gore-splattered pages of Clayton Lindemuth or a cozy mystery with stylized and antiseptic crime-from-a-distance. But in this case, I found it all too cerebral – the suspense which I want built through inaction that eventually escalates into a more visceral threat - just didn’t build all that well. I was curious, but far from enthralled. That means my bottom line is that I give Serpentine a good nod for the fine, writerly technique Kellerman continues to display, but a less stellar assessment than I’d hoped to provide, because it simply wasn’t all that compelling.

In the few weeks since Emergence was published, I've been heartened by how well it’s been received by reader-reviewers, and reviewers from small dog-journals. But I’ve been waiting (nervously), for the review by the IndieReader. I know that a good review from this much-recognized body, not only signifies the validity of a book as well worth reading, but is also likely to open many other doors for marketing the book.

I was thrilled to get the IndieReader review of Emergence last week. The book was awarded 4.5 out of 5 stars, and thus earned the coveted IndieReaderApproved status, granted only to works accorded 4 or 5 stars.

Here are some highlights from the review:

"A slow-burn thriller. Emergence …. makes for a deliciously disquieting ride…”

“… it is the odd relationship between Cass and Xavier that propels us through this unique thriller. “

Here’s the link for the full review: https://indiereader.com/book_review/e...
I hope you check it out!

My giveaway of 50 copies of Emergence recently ended. Thank you to everyone who participated in this giveaway, for giving a first novel by an unknown author, a chance. I suspect that the launch of any book is an edgy time for the author. I’m pretty damned sure that is never more true than when the book is a first for the author. I certainly wouldn’t want it to be any edgier than it’s been!

Your willingness to give Emergence a try, means that you are willing to go beyond your comfort zones. Because, for me at least and I suspect for many of you, comfort resides in the familiar. I experience that most viscerally when reading older books, where the style of writing reminds me of hearing English spoken by someone with a foreign accent. It takes me a while “to get it”. But once I do – it is often so worth the effort. I probably encountered this first when reading Moby Dick – one of my favourite classics, but far from an easy read. I was about 18 when I first read it, and I still remember the epiphany I experienced when I was close to 75 pages into the tale, when it’s “foreign-ness” fell away, and I was living in the world of New England whaling. My lesson learned: Push through the discomfort!

Today, the “comfort” demonstrations probably lie in the burgeoning popularity of series. As I noted in my review of Louise Penny’s All The Devils are Here – I’ve become so familiar with the people and places that populate her Three Pines novels that I feel a bit disoriented when presented with a Penny novel in which they are not present.

My hope of course, as that for you “pioneer” readers of Emergence, the book itself will reward you for your open-mindedness. I look forward to hearing from you about your reading experience.

I have been a long-time fan of Louise Penny's. Her writing is so descriptive that it feels like I can roll around in her descriptions of people, places and food (OMG - the food descriptions!) like a northern dog rolls in snow. The depth, clarity, uniqueness and believability of her characters is compelling. I love Chief Inspector Gamache with all my heart, and feel close to the same affection for the quirky group of residents that inhabit the hard-to-find village of Three Pines.

The Parisian setting may be the reason I gave All the Devils are Here four stars, as opposed to the five I would have awarded to every other of her preceding novels, all of which were set in Three Pines, Quebec. It may simply be that I miss the places and faces I've grown to love. Of course, Penny has brought her legendary descriptive prowess to Paris. But as a creature of habit -- that didn't displace the degree to which I missed Three Pines.

I also found the plot didn't unfold with the same sense of natural inevitablity I've experienced in her previous books. It felt like I had to accept some of the premises that moved the plot forward as a matter of faith, rather than seeing for myself why and how Gamache and crew considered them to be benchmarks leading to solutions. I acknowledge that this may simply be a reading failure on my part. I have long believed that Louise Penny is smarter than I am. But usually her books do not make me feel inadequate, and in places here -- I did.

Which is not to say that I didn't enjoy the book. I did, and I consider four-stars to reflect my feeling that this is a very good read, and one well-worth undertaking. However, I would recommend that anyone who hasn't already read any of the preceding Inspector Gamache novels, start with one of her Three Pines settings, rather than leaping immediately to Paris. (less)

BIG TIME FUN!
Never Far Away, by Michael Koryta, was big-time fun. Here’s an indication of how much fun it was. I have started every morning since Nov 9, 2016, with a cup of coffee and the NYT. Every day. No matter where I was. This morning, I sat up in bed, reached for the Kindle on my bedside table, and immediately dived back into the mayhem Koryta creates in the woods of Maine. Didn’t even get a coffee first!

So what makes Never Far Away so compelling? First, it is beautifully written – great characters and descriptive passages that never distract the reader with intrusive showiness. If you are discerning – you’ll note the fine writing, but the flow of the book is so good you may not even notice some of the lovely narrative on first read. Kudos to Koryta on plot development also. His plot makes sense – complex and believable and -thank you thank you! – not so byzantine that I’d need to map it to keep track of people and events, betrayal and counter-betrayal. Indeed – the plot unfolds well and the flow of the book is superb, with momentum that grows steadily and doesn’t abate until it should – when the book ends.

Koryta has created believable characters. Kudos to him for Nina, a well-drawn, strong female protagonist. His kids are also well-developed, as is the dog Tessa. As anyone who reads my book (Emergence) will know – I have a pretty sharp eye for the veracity with which dogs are presented. Finally - his villainous anti-heroes Bleak and Dax are so compelling that one can’t help but suspect that they will re-appear some time in the future.

Kudos to Michael Koryta, for giving me the kind of high-adrenalin ride I haven’t had since I binge-read the first fifteen Jack Reacher novels by Lee Child (who has endorsed the book).