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Cataract City
Owen and Duncan are childhood friends who've grown up in picturesque Niagara Falls--known to them by the grittier name Cataract City. As the two know well, there's more to the bordertown than meets the eye: behind the gaudy storefronts and sidewalk vendors, past the hawkers of tourist T-shirts and cheap souvenirs live the real people who scrape together a living by toiling at the Bisk, the local cookie factory. And then there are the truly desperate, those who find themselves drawn to the borderline and a world of dog-racing, bare-knuckle fighting, and night-time smuggling.
Owen and Duncan think they are different: both dream of escape, a longing made more urgent by a near-death incident in childhood that sealed their bond. But in adulthood their paths diverge, and as Duncan, the less privileged, falls deep into the town's underworld, he and Owen become reluctant adversaries at opposite ends of the law. At stake is not only survival and escape, but a lifelong friendship that can only be broken at an unthinkable price.
Owen and Duncan think they are different: both dream of escape, a longing made more urgent by a near-death incident in childhood that sealed their bond. But in adulthood their paths diverge, and as Duncan, the less privileged, falls deep into the town's underworld, he and Owen become reluctant adversaries at opposite ends of the law. At stake is not only survival and escape, but a lifelong friendship that can only be broken at an unthinkable price.
13 pages, Audiobook
First published September 3, 2013
38 people are currently reading
3142 people want to read
About the author
Craig Davidson
32 books928 followersCraig Davidson is a Canadian author of short stories and novels, who has published work under both his own name and the pen names Patrick Lestewka and Nick Cutter
Born in Toronto, Ontario, he was raised in Calgary and St. Catharines.
His first short story collection, Rust and Bone, was published in September 2005 by Penguin Books Canada, and was a finalist for the 2006 Danuta Gleed Literary Award. Stories in Rust and Bone have also been adapted into a play by Australian playwright Caleb Lewis and a film by French director Jacques Audiard.
Davidson also released a novel in 2007 named The Fighter. During the course of his research of the novel, Davidson went on a 16-week steroid cycle. To promote the release of the novel, Davidson participated in a fully sanctioned boxing match against Toronto poet Michael Knox at Florida Jack's Boxing Gym; for the novel's subsequent release in the United States, he organized a similar promotional boxing match against Jonathan Ames. Davidson lost both matches.
His 2013 novel Cataract City was named as a longlisted nominee for the 2013 Scotiabank Giller Prize.
Born in Toronto, Ontario, he was raised in Calgary and St. Catharines.
His first short story collection, Rust and Bone, was published in September 2005 by Penguin Books Canada, and was a finalist for the 2006 Danuta Gleed Literary Award. Stories in Rust and Bone have also been adapted into a play by Australian playwright Caleb Lewis and a film by French director Jacques Audiard.
Davidson also released a novel in 2007 named The Fighter. During the course of his research of the novel, Davidson went on a 16-week steroid cycle. To promote the release of the novel, Davidson participated in a fully sanctioned boxing match against Toronto poet Michael Knox at Florida Jack's Boxing Gym; for the novel's subsequent release in the United States, he organized a similar promotional boxing match against Jonathan Ames. Davidson lost both matches.
His 2013 novel Cataract City was named as a longlisted nominee for the 2013 Scotiabank Giller Prize.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 252 reviews
August 20, 2018
what did i do last night??? oh, nothing special - just went to craig davidson's book reading, during which he totally outed me, pointing at me and saying "that's karen from goodreads," which made me turn bright red with - ACK- fourth wall breached!!! but also ACK! CRAIG DAVIDSON KNOWS WHO I AM!!!
which i am pretty sure means we are best friends now and gives me even more incentive to push this book at you. DOOOOOO it.
...............................................................................................
"You've got to be mindful, though, seeing as any creature who fails to accept its limits can be a danger to itself."
this is such a perfect book, it feels wrong to even review it.
it's got every little thing i love, all smooshed into one book: it's a survival story, a coming-of-age disillusionment story, a smalltown hardscrabble grit story, and a criminal underworld story, all in one.
and structurally, it does that thing i love where all the tension in the ending-bits are echoes of the tension in the opening-bits - a complete thematic circle that doesn't feel forced.
it is…majestic.
this is the second book i have read from davidson qua davidson; i have also read one of his pseudonymous books, and while i enjoyed both of the others, this one is absolutely the best. basically, it kills me.
it follows two boyhood friends; dunk and owe, from their first meeting in childhood through to where they find themselves as adults, and the decisions they made along the way that led them to an explosive and violent place.
it all takes place in cataract city, a small town on the canadian side of niagara falls, whose main source of employment is the nabisco factory, or "the bisk."
Dunk's father worked at the Bisk, too. Chips Ahoy line. Our dads carried the smell of their lines back home with them. It became a forever quality of their clothes. It crept under their skin and perfumed the sweat coming from their pores. I used to keep score at the Bisk's company softball games; after a while I knew the batting order by smell alone: first up was Triscuits, second was Fig Newtons, third was Cheese Nips. The mighty Nutter Butter batted cleanup.
the book just drips with exhausted working-class dignity, despite all the men smelling like cookies and such. (this scent is treated almost as a mark of failure, until this wonderful turn in one of the later segments of the book that is one of the small, perfect moments on offer here) the major themes of the book are masculinity, damage, and failed escapes. and they are beautifully written:
Instead I went to Clancy's on Stanley, ordered a shot of rye and a Hed. The man sitting across from me had a scar on his neck: thick and bunched up, the skin as smooth and pink as carnival taffy. His hands trembled as if he was forcing them to do so. A layer of sweat shimmered to the surface of my skin. Why was something always wrong with the men around here? I'd never noticed it as a kid. Why so many missing fingers? The men around here put their hands at the service of a mean utility. Those hands got crushed between rollers at the Bisk, melted to stumps by arc-welding torches at the shipworks. I wanted none of it, was humiliated by it in some untranslatable way. But here I was - part of the fabric again.
and
I caught a flash of the driver: in his mid-thirties, his face deeply seamed and his skin a queer off-yellow like a watery cat’s eye. He looked sick but probably wasn’t. It’s just how men grew up around here. My dad said Cataract City was a pressure chamber: living was hard, so boys were forced to become men much faster. That pressure ingrained itself in bodies and faces. You’d see twenty-year-old men whose hands were stained permanently black with the granular grease from lubing the rollers at the Bisk. Men just past thirty walking with a stoop. Forty-year-olds with forehead wrinkles deep as the bark on a redwood. You didn’t age gracefully around here. You just got old.
i can't even begin to articulate what this book does to my reading-heart. there are so many neat parallels - so many busted-up dreams hinged on busted-up bodies, so many shattered illusions and settling-for-less and dog racing, dog fighting, people fighting, murrrrderrrr.
so many missed opportunities and things left unsaid.
so many small moments that twist the knife.
#thatpostcard
and this writing that is literary quicksand
I wanted to tell him how damn little I'd learned in the years since we were boys. It boiled down to this: it's a lot harder to love than to hate. Harder to be there for those you love - to see them get older, get sick, be taken from you in sudden awful ways. Hate's dead simple. You can hate an utter stranger from a thousand miles away. It asks nothing of you. It eats you from the inside out but it takes no effort or thought at all.
everything in it pulls my favorite strings, from the unregistered moments when a child starts becoming an adult
The man who took us into the woods was our hero, back when we were young enough to believe in those. Big heroes, you know? Larger than life. As you grow up you find most heroes are the same size as anyone else; their heroics are small, selfless and continual. Back then we believed in the ruddy breed of heroism depicted in the G.I. Joe comics we'd read on rainy afternoons in my basement, water trickling through the downspouts like clicking marbles. We believed heroes like that existed because the world seemed huge enough to hold them. The world still seems huge now, but in a sometimes depressing way that I can't quite explain. As boys, it was only hugely unknown. Just because we'd never met such men wasn't proof that they didn't exist.
to the simultaneous push and pull of smalltown life
As I walked along the salt-whitened quay my mind drifted for an instant - one of those instants big enough to hold your entire life. I saw how a city could sink into you, trapping its pulsing heart inside your own heart - except it never feels like a trap. A trap snags you out of nowhere, violently and without warning. But I knew every inch of my trap, didn't I? I knew the dirt path that led down under the Whirlpool Bridge to a fishing hole stocked with hungry bass. How to jump off the old train trestle in Chippewa and hit the rip of slack water so I could paddle safely to shore. Cataract City was like those fur-covered handcuffs you could get at Tinglers - Ed had come home with a pair of them after a stagette party, embroidered with the phrase "Prisoner of Love." The city of your birth was the softest trap imaginable. So soft you didn't even feel how badly you were snared - how could it be a trap when you knew its every spring and tooth?
how, indeed? but it is. of course it is.
i find it incredibly difficult to review books that i love - books that flip so many switches in me that it's like a whack-a-mole game - i don't even know where to direct my critical focus. i am overstimulated and all i can do is gurgle "good. book good."
book good, people. book very very good.
come to my blog!
which i am pretty sure means we are best friends now and gives me even more incentive to push this book at you. DOOOOOO it.
...............................................................................................
"You've got to be mindful, though, seeing as any creature who fails to accept its limits can be a danger to itself."
this is such a perfect book, it feels wrong to even review it.
it's got every little thing i love, all smooshed into one book: it's a survival story, a coming-of-age disillusionment story, a smalltown hardscrabble grit story, and a criminal underworld story, all in one.
and structurally, it does that thing i love where all the tension in the ending-bits are echoes of the tension in the opening-bits - a complete thematic circle that doesn't feel forced.
it is…majestic.
this is the second book i have read from davidson qua davidson; i have also read one of his pseudonymous books, and while i enjoyed both of the others, this one is absolutely the best. basically, it kills me.
it follows two boyhood friends; dunk and owe, from their first meeting in childhood through to where they find themselves as adults, and the decisions they made along the way that led them to an explosive and violent place.
it all takes place in cataract city, a small town on the canadian side of niagara falls, whose main source of employment is the nabisco factory, or "the bisk."
Dunk's father worked at the Bisk, too. Chips Ahoy line. Our dads carried the smell of their lines back home with them. It became a forever quality of their clothes. It crept under their skin and perfumed the sweat coming from their pores. I used to keep score at the Bisk's company softball games; after a while I knew the batting order by smell alone: first up was Triscuits, second was Fig Newtons, third was Cheese Nips. The mighty Nutter Butter batted cleanup.
the book just drips with exhausted working-class dignity, despite all the men smelling like cookies and such. (this scent is treated almost as a mark of failure, until this wonderful turn in one of the later segments of the book that is one of the small, perfect moments on offer here) the major themes of the book are masculinity, damage, and failed escapes. and they are beautifully written:
Instead I went to Clancy's on Stanley, ordered a shot of rye and a Hed. The man sitting across from me had a scar on his neck: thick and bunched up, the skin as smooth and pink as carnival taffy. His hands trembled as if he was forcing them to do so. A layer of sweat shimmered to the surface of my skin. Why was something always wrong with the men around here? I'd never noticed it as a kid. Why so many missing fingers? The men around here put their hands at the service of a mean utility. Those hands got crushed between rollers at the Bisk, melted to stumps by arc-welding torches at the shipworks. I wanted none of it, was humiliated by it in some untranslatable way. But here I was - part of the fabric again.
and
I caught a flash of the driver: in his mid-thirties, his face deeply seamed and his skin a queer off-yellow like a watery cat’s eye. He looked sick but probably wasn’t. It’s just how men grew up around here. My dad said Cataract City was a pressure chamber: living was hard, so boys were forced to become men much faster. That pressure ingrained itself in bodies and faces. You’d see twenty-year-old men whose hands were stained permanently black with the granular grease from lubing the rollers at the Bisk. Men just past thirty walking with a stoop. Forty-year-olds with forehead wrinkles deep as the bark on a redwood. You didn’t age gracefully around here. You just got old.
i can't even begin to articulate what this book does to my reading-heart. there are so many neat parallels - so many busted-up dreams hinged on busted-up bodies, so many shattered illusions and settling-for-less and dog racing, dog fighting, people fighting, murrrrderrrr.
so many missed opportunities and things left unsaid.
so many small moments that twist the knife.
#thatpostcard
and this writing that is literary quicksand
I wanted to tell him how damn little I'd learned in the years since we were boys. It boiled down to this: it's a lot harder to love than to hate. Harder to be there for those you love - to see them get older, get sick, be taken from you in sudden awful ways. Hate's dead simple. You can hate an utter stranger from a thousand miles away. It asks nothing of you. It eats you from the inside out but it takes no effort or thought at all.
everything in it pulls my favorite strings, from the unregistered moments when a child starts becoming an adult
The man who took us into the woods was our hero, back when we were young enough to believe in those. Big heroes, you know? Larger than life. As you grow up you find most heroes are the same size as anyone else; their heroics are small, selfless and continual. Back then we believed in the ruddy breed of heroism depicted in the G.I. Joe comics we'd read on rainy afternoons in my basement, water trickling through the downspouts like clicking marbles. We believed heroes like that existed because the world seemed huge enough to hold them. The world still seems huge now, but in a sometimes depressing way that I can't quite explain. As boys, it was only hugely unknown. Just because we'd never met such men wasn't proof that they didn't exist.
to the simultaneous push and pull of smalltown life
As I walked along the salt-whitened quay my mind drifted for an instant - one of those instants big enough to hold your entire life. I saw how a city could sink into you, trapping its pulsing heart inside your own heart - except it never feels like a trap. A trap snags you out of nowhere, violently and without warning. But I knew every inch of my trap, didn't I? I knew the dirt path that led down under the Whirlpool Bridge to a fishing hole stocked with hungry bass. How to jump off the old train trestle in Chippewa and hit the rip of slack water so I could paddle safely to shore. Cataract City was like those fur-covered handcuffs you could get at Tinglers - Ed had come home with a pair of them after a stagette party, embroidered with the phrase "Prisoner of Love." The city of your birth was the softest trap imaginable. So soft you didn't even feel how badly you were snared - how could it be a trap when you knew its every spring and tooth?
how, indeed? but it is. of course it is.
i find it incredibly difficult to review books that i love - books that flip so many switches in me that it's like a whack-a-mole game - i don't even know where to direct my critical focus. i am overstimulated and all i can do is gurgle "good. book good."
book good, people. book very very good.
come to my blog!
May 31, 2015
Craig Davidson aka Nick Cutter makes me wonder why he changed to writing horror after reading this book. It's honestly the best of his books that I've read.
Don't get me wrong though, it's one of those dark, head in the oven books. Two friends named Owen and Duncan are the two main characters in this book, and Davidson makes you care about both these characters.
They share a bond that developed when they both ended up stranded in the woods and have to survive with the help of each other. (Never trust a wrestler)
I thought that bond would carry them through life, but life happens. They grow apart as Owen has a chance at being a star on the basketball court and Duncan tries to make it out of the life sucking Bisk (cookie factory) future.
Then they both end up wanting the same girl.
Ed had some hellion in her, too, a wildness that reminded me of comic book vixens" Red Sonja, the Black Widow. Her long, dark hair fell straight down and when the sun hit it right, it shone like a curved mirror.
It's not a love triangle book so don't get your panties in a wad. It's about as far from it as you can get.
The two boys do come back together later on in the story as Duncan finds two greyhounds in a garbage dumpster.
There is dog racing, bare knuckle fighting and just grimness in this book. The boys end up on the different sides of the law and a test to their friendship.
You can't hate your best friend for taking the opportunities he'd been given. That would be the worst sort of hate, wouldn't it? Because it would mean you hate yourself, too.
You have to understand this: Cataract City is possessive. The city has a steel-trap memory, and it holds a grudge.
Don't get me wrong though, it's one of those dark, head in the oven books. Two friends named Owen and Duncan are the two main characters in this book, and Davidson makes you care about both these characters.
They share a bond that developed when they both ended up stranded in the woods and have to survive with the help of each other. (Never trust a wrestler)
I thought that bond would carry them through life, but life happens. They grow apart as Owen has a chance at being a star on the basketball court and Duncan tries to make it out of the life sucking Bisk (cookie factory) future.
Then they both end up wanting the same girl.
Ed had some hellion in her, too, a wildness that reminded me of comic book vixens" Red Sonja, the Black Widow. Her long, dark hair fell straight down and when the sun hit it right, it shone like a curved mirror.
It's not a love triangle book so don't get your panties in a wad. It's about as far from it as you can get.
The two boys do come back together later on in the story as Duncan finds two greyhounds in a garbage dumpster.
There is dog racing, bare knuckle fighting and just grimness in this book. The boys end up on the different sides of the law and a test to their friendship.
You can't hate your best friend for taking the opportunities he'd been given. That would be the worst sort of hate, wouldn't it? Because it would mean you hate yourself, too.
You have to understand this: Cataract City is possessive. The city has a steel-trap memory, and it holds a grudge.
May 8, 2015
First off, in case you didn't know Craig Davidson is also horror writer Nick Cutter who blasted onto the scene in 2014 with The Troop -- the book Stephen King declared scared him. Davidson, writing as Cutter, then went on to publish two more horror novels in quick succession -- The Deep and The Acolyte. I binge read all of them as fast as he could get them published (actually, truth be told I couldn't even wait for the books to be published; so smitten was I from the start I begged, borrowed, stole advance reading copies any way I could get them).
You could say Nick Cutter was my gateway drug to finding Craig Davidson. Once the connection was made it was only a matter of time before I picked up a Davidson novel to see what his other more literary, less genre focused, alter ego was capable of. Let me just say, no complaints here. Not a single one.
If like me, you're finding your way to this book because you've loved any or all of Davidson's Cutter books, just know that Cataract City is not graphic horror but rather contemporary literature. Yet, there is a lot of similarities in the intensity and emotionality of the writing. The character development that defines his horror writing is present here as well, taking possession of the narrative and of the reader in a way that's as addicting as it is signature.
Cataract City is Canada's version of grit lit or country noir in the tradition of Daniel Woodrell, Frank Bill and Donald Ray Pollock. And now I'm going to do something lazy and narcissistic and quote myself here from a blog post I wrote about this genre:
These are tales about ordinary folk trapped in dead-end places in dead-end lives who don’t even have the wherewithal or wisdom to get the hell out of Dodge even if it means chewing their own goddam leg off to do so. No matter how beautifully written — the stories reveal a kind of brutalization lined with a deep and abiding sadness. People are desperate — or deranged — and behave accordingly. Sometimes it’s because of crushing poverty, other times it is because of inheriting a mantle of family violence that stretches back countless generations. I don’t know what that says about me that this sort of visceral reading experience appeals to me, but it does. Perhaps it’s the cold comfort that no matter how bad my life seems at any given moment on any given day, it will never be as bad as that.Cataract City is not rural noir in the strictest definition, but it is close enough to get you a cigar. It's small town life, it's being trapped, it's facing lack of opportunity and tragedy with grace, or reckless ineptitude. And reading it is going to break your heart.
This book is many books in one. It starts out a coming-of-age story worthy of Stephen King -- two 12 year old boys, best friends, lost and starving in the woods. Then Davidson moves his narrative along to include dog racing, dog fighting, and bare-knuckle brawling. The stakes are always high, the details so sharp and expansive that vivid pictures are created in your head whether you want them there or not. Davidson is not shy about being graphic -- this is cinematic, visceral writing at its finest. You will feel the blood spatter across your face, you will taste the aluminum tang of adrenaline. You will grip this book in your hands white-knuckled and hang on for dear life.
I couldn't put it down. I could have binge read this in a few days, but I was glad life and work got in the way. Because it forced me to slow down. I was able to savour the prose -- let the sentences roll around in my mind and on my reader palate like smooth whiskey and unfiltered cigarettes. I am in love with Nick Cutter, but I will gladly have a torrid affair with Craig Davidson.
June 30, 2018
Honestly, I love this book so much and it surprises me because it's full of all of this typical "man stuff". Prison, a childhood friendship between boys, wrestling, fighting, dog races, women, boxing, blood--just a lot of situations and circumstances that if you told me exactly what this book was about, I'd probably not be interested...
But...
I love this book. The writing blew me away. I was so completely and wholly invested in the lives of the two main characters, I felt like they were real. The City, Niagara Falls, felt real (to me-I've never been there but I feel like I have now) Davidson literally transported me into this place--this hard, unforgiving City and then he dropped me right down into a story that would unfold over decades.
Part One was that friendship between boys I mentioned. Dunk (Duncan Diggs) and Owe (Owen Stuckey). I'm pretty sure there is a lot of symbolism in those names too: Dig/Stuck. I seriously just noticed that. The boys get lost out in the woods and I could have stayed there forever, reading Craig Davidson's amazingly detailed descriptions of the environment and building character into those boys. I loved that part. It reminded me of what I loved about Stephen King's story The Body. That "coming of age" tale we can all relate with but told within the framework of some danger--a threat.
Part Two brought in a woman. Ed (Edwina). The boys are teens and they find these greyhound dogs that they raise up and one of them ends up racing their dog at the tracks. I enjoyed this part to--it was a different stage of life and at this point, I'm falling in love with Dunk. Edwina is interesting too, she adds a much needed softness to the lives of the boys. (and complicates things nicely)
Part Three was so full of tension for me, I felt sick sometimes when I was reading it. I don't like animals getting hurt and there was a dog fight in this section so I sorta skimmed over it. I read the parts about boxing though, even though it made me ill. I hate watching men clobber each other--taking punches in the face--WTF is wrong with guys that makes them want to do this?? It makes me feel like men are aliens. Davidson is REALLY good at the boxing descriptions (I learned he used to box so this section is definitely his wheelhouse) VERY detailed. I was audibly groaning.
Also, we get to know some important things that were brought up in Part One but not developed--I knew they would come later and this was the "later".
Finally, the end. I loved this part. It was this beautiful full circle that Davidson crafted for the reader and it felt right. Although if I'm honest, I was going to be PISSED if something happened that I didn't want to happen--but thankfully, Davidson spared me. Yay for that. The wrap up on this book felt very Dennis LeHane(ish) to me which was awesome because you know how I love him. There was a changing narrative that shifted between Dunk and Owe and it's weird because I can't tell you who I loved more-I loved them both and loved being in their heads. I'm glad we ended with Owe. It was a beautiful closing narrative and now, just sort of typing this out, I feel like crying over that ending. It really was great and I'm sad that this read is over.
But...
I love this book. The writing blew me away. I was so completely and wholly invested in the lives of the two main characters, I felt like they were real. The City, Niagara Falls, felt real (to me-I've never been there but I feel like I have now) Davidson literally transported me into this place--this hard, unforgiving City and then he dropped me right down into a story that would unfold over decades.
Part One was that friendship between boys I mentioned. Dunk (Duncan Diggs) and Owe (Owen Stuckey). I'm pretty sure there is a lot of symbolism in those names too: Dig/Stuck. I seriously just noticed that. The boys get lost out in the woods and I could have stayed there forever, reading Craig Davidson's amazingly detailed descriptions of the environment and building character into those boys. I loved that part. It reminded me of what I loved about Stephen King's story The Body. That "coming of age" tale we can all relate with but told within the framework of some danger--a threat.
Part Two brought in a woman. Ed (Edwina). The boys are teens and they find these greyhound dogs that they raise up and one of them ends up racing their dog at the tracks. I enjoyed this part to--it was a different stage of life and at this point, I'm falling in love with Dunk. Edwina is interesting too, she adds a much needed softness to the lives of the boys. (and complicates things nicely)
Part Three was so full of tension for me, I felt sick sometimes when I was reading it. I don't like animals getting hurt and there was a dog fight in this section so I sorta skimmed over it. I read the parts about boxing though, even though it made me ill. I hate watching men clobber each other--taking punches in the face--WTF is wrong with guys that makes them want to do this?? It makes me feel like men are aliens. Davidson is REALLY good at the boxing descriptions (I learned he used to box so this section is definitely his wheelhouse) VERY detailed. I was audibly groaning.
Also, we get to know some important things that were brought up in Part One but not developed--I knew they would come later and this was the "later".
Finally, the end. I loved this part. It was this beautiful full circle that Davidson crafted for the reader and it felt right. Although if I'm honest, I was going to be PISSED if something happened that I didn't want to happen--but thankfully, Davidson spared me. Yay for that. The wrap up on this book felt very Dennis LeHane(ish) to me which was awesome because you know how I love him. There was a changing narrative that shifted between Dunk and Owe and it's weird because I can't tell you who I loved more-I loved them both and loved being in their heads. I'm glad we ended with Owe. It was a beautiful closing narrative and now, just sort of typing this out, I feel like crying over that ending. It really was great and I'm sad that this read is over.
June 2, 2016
I grew up in a Sydney, a town within Cape Breton Island on Canada’s east coast. Cape Breton is known for its breathtaking beauty, sprawling wilderness and rich culture. But I’ve also seen the other side. The youth population being forced to leave due to a struggling economy. Drug riddled communities with citizens forced to live on government handouts. I’m not singling out Sydney here – the same could be said for any town, and that’s why Cataract City works. It’s immensely relatable. It takes Niagara Falls, Ontario, a town containing one of nature’s seven wonders and instead of concentrating on its centrepiece, shines a light on the sometimes seedy life of a ‘townie’ – people who are stuck, people who can’t seem to get away.
Owen and Duncan are boyhood friends forever bound following a near-death experience. As they grew older, both embarked on different paths as Duncan would serve eight years in the Kingston Penitentiary following a botched cigarette smuggling mission for local crime kingpin Lemmy Drinkwater. Owen on the other hand, would serve under a badge, having to live with the guilt of being the one to catch and arrest Duncan.
Duncan doesn’t blame Owen however, as he knows the difference between right and wrong, and upon his release, he has but one goal – take down Drinkwater.
Davidson’s steady, flowing prose performs effortlessly with the intense, gritty nature of the story. There are certain scenes written with a style of beautiful brutality that I believe will stick with me for quite some time. While it’s not on the level of the madness he explores in his Nick Cutter novels, it’s certainly a hallmark that I’ve come to expect from his work.
Having read both The Troop and The Deep, Cataract City has cemented Davidson as an author I can see myself reading for years. Luckily for his readers, he’s a busy man with two books due out this year with hopefully many more on the horizon.
Also posted @ Every Read Thing,
Owen and Duncan are boyhood friends forever bound following a near-death experience. As they grew older, both embarked on different paths as Duncan would serve eight years in the Kingston Penitentiary following a botched cigarette smuggling mission for local crime kingpin Lemmy Drinkwater. Owen on the other hand, would serve under a badge, having to live with the guilt of being the one to catch and arrest Duncan.
Duncan doesn’t blame Owen however, as he knows the difference between right and wrong, and upon his release, he has but one goal – take down Drinkwater.
Davidson’s steady, flowing prose performs effortlessly with the intense, gritty nature of the story. There are certain scenes written with a style of beautiful brutality that I believe will stick with me for quite some time. While it’s not on the level of the madness he explores in his Nick Cutter novels, it’s certainly a hallmark that I’ve come to expect from his work.
Having read both The Troop and The Deep, Cataract City has cemented Davidson as an author I can see myself reading for years. Luckily for his readers, he’s a busy man with two books due out this year with hopefully many more on the horizon.
Also posted @ Every Read Thing,
August 7, 2018
5 Stars. Excellent!
January 1, 2024
An engaging read, sprinkled with heartfelt gems about youth, hometowns and lifelong friendships. And while it was disappointing that the final third of the book contained actions by some main characters that betrayed who we were told they were...it wasn't enough to ruin the overall enjoyment of the tale that was told.
3 Pleasantish Stars
3 Pleasantish Stars
January 13, 2014
Wow! This book is unlike any book I've ever read before. For one thing it is truly a masculine story with two childhood friends and their lives in Cataract City (Niagara Falls). The book is rough and tumble to say the least. It begins with two twelve year old boys (Duncan and Owen) who were taken out to the woods. The kidnapper died the night he stole the boys and the two boys were left to try to find their way out of the forest around Niagara Falls on their own. They got lost and wandered for three days, but their survival instinct was truly remarkable, and they managed to survive. Those boys grew up but the episode forever changed them. Owen managed to get out of Cataract City and he became a cop. Duncan never left and instead stayed and thoroughly explored the underworld of his city. We get first hand looks at greyhound racing, dog fights, bare-knuckle fighting, smuggling and a good look at the people who live in that underworld. Through it all Duncan remains remarkably grounded, but that doesn't prevent him from getting into serious trouble and being sent to prison. The book is so descriptive and so well-written, that it almost felt like I was watching a movie rather than reading a book. It's difficult in spots because of the clairty and the "no-holds-barred" writing of Craig Davidson, but the tension remains throughout until the very end of the book. I really couldn't put it down. I feel like I really got to know Dunk and Owe and their city. In fact, Cataract City is so well-described that it actually felt like it was another character in this edgey, brilliant book. This is a wonderful, sprawling and gutsy book that I think should have won the Giller Prize. It's not an easy book to read. In fact, it is very difficult and graphic, but it's one that will stick with me for a long time.
December 31, 2013
The most masculine, testosterone-soaked novel I've read in a while. Gorgeous descriptive writing, slightly meandering plot that held my interest at some times much better than others, and several moments and scenes that could flat out break your heart. I missed my subway stop reading this book...always a good sign.
Want to read
August 27, 2014
I mean, soon.
November 4, 2013
We drove down Parkside and pulled up beside a 5.0 Mustang. A farmer-tanned arm hung casually out the open window. There was a tattoo of a wolf howling at the moon on that arm, except the skin drooped so that the moon looked more like a teardrop—which would be poetic, I guess, if it had been on purpose.
Mahoney pulled up closer. I caught a flash of the driver: in his mid-thirties, his face deeply seamed and his skin a queer off-yellow like a watery cat’s eye. He looked sick but probably wasn’t. It’s just how men grew up around here. My dad said Cataract City was a pressure chamber: living was hard, so boys were forced to become men much faster. That pressure ingrained itself in bodies and faces. You’d see twenty-year-old men whose hands were stained permanently black with the granular grease from lubing the rollers at the Bisk. Men just past thirty walking with a stoop. Forty-year-olds with forehead wrinkles deep as the bark on a redwood. You didn’t age gracefully around here. You just got old.
***
Capital-M Masculinity is beaten halfway to death in Craig Davidson’s fourth book, Cataract City. This surprisingly intimate novel follows the lives of two childhood friends, Duncan Diggs and Owen Stuckey. Beginning with Duncan’s release from prison following an eight-year stint for murder, the novel travels back and forth between the present day and the highlights—and lowlights—of their lives together, charting a friendship forged as much through love as it was through fear: fear of being alone, and more than that, of accepting the city’s limits as one’s own.
After the short prologue in which Owen picks Duncan up upon his release from the Kingston Pen, the narrative jumps back in time to detail the origins of their friendship. As ten-year-olds in Niagara Falls—dubbed “Cataract City” for the Latin word for “waterfall,” it was a place where you got stuck, where you started a bank account as a child and it saw you through to the day you died—Owen and Duncan naturally gravitated towards one another: both were born into blue collar families (though Duncan’s was just that little bit lower—with no-name-brand corn flakes and powdered milk on the table), both fathers were working their lives away in a factory, and both idolized Cataract City’s very own not-ready-for-prime-time wrestling sensation, Bruiser Mahoney—AKA Dade Rathburn.
One fateful, childhood-defining night, Owen and Duncan find themselves pseudo-kidnapped by Bruiser Mahoney, who drives them out into the woods to impart unto his biggest fans in the whole wide world the things that every man worth his salt needed to learn. Things like living off the wilderness, the taste of charred raccoon, and how to spot a fraud through a pair of rose-coloured glasses. When in the middle of the night Bruiser passes away, the two boys are put in a life-threatening situation: they needed to somehow find their way back to civilization, and to their families, before being done in by nature or by starvation—whichever came first. What follows is a harrowing, tragic adventure that’s practically a complete novel in and of itself, yet is only Cataract City‘s first part; as Owen and Duncan clumsily navigate the woods, for several days and sometimes travelling in circles, they are both stripped down to their innermost selves before being built up again, having naturally been changed by the experience.
Right away Cataract City overflows with colour, detail, and strong sometimes unsettling imagery—like night falling in the woods as “a guillotine blade: quick and sharp, cutting you off from everything.” As great as the prose is, it’s in the effortless kid-to-kid dialogue in which Davidson’s writing truly excels. The longer Owen and Duncan remain lost in the woods, the more their conversations turn inward and introspective, moving from survival techniques and quick back-and-forths about Popeye’s dietary needs to inventive campfire-style stories about dogs being sent into space. The tone of their interaction is damn near perfect and does a fine job setting up a verbal shorthand that will carry them through their adult lives and the remainder of the novel.
Beyond the language and the imagery, however, it’s through Bruiser Mahoney that Davidson sets the template for the book: the thematic deconstruction and subsequent dismissal of what makes a man “a man” in the traditional sense. Because Bruiser’s not just Duncan and Owen’s idol; he’s also a figurehead for a type of rugged masculinity popularized everywhere from old John Wayne films to the sort of culture that surrounded the world of professional wrestling that really kicked into high gear in the 1980s with the rise of the WWF. And to the flip side of that coin, Bruiser is a showman living the lie to its fullest extent—a pathetic creature reliving his greatest stories over and over again, further embellishing the details with each retelling.
This theme—payment for masculinity’s sins—is returned to throughout the novel’s remaining parts as Owen and Duncan drift in and out of each others’ lives, invariably tethered to one another seemingly regardless of paths taken. In some cases the payment takes on expected forms—like Clyde and Adam, two local fuck-ups, taking out their jealousy and aggression on Owen by running him down with a truck, putting an unceremonious cap on what was a potential pro basketball career—while others are decidedly more “underground” such as: off-the-books dog racing, dog fighting, bare-knuckle boxing, and the culture that surrounds these rather heinous pursuits. When Owen’s athletic future is snuffed out, he turns to the law and becomes a police officer; when Duncan is let go from the Bisk cookie factory due to sweeping cutbacks, he looks to the other direction, and to a man no one should have the misfortune of knowing—Lemmie Drinkwater, one of Cataract City’s most malignant parasites.
Though with each new part the novel switches back and forth between Owen and Duncan’s perspectives, Cataract City really feels first and foremost like Duncan’s story; even when being told from Owen’s point of view, it feels as if he’s telling us more about Duncan than he is about himself. This is largely due in part to Duncan being the more sympathetic of the two characters (a fact driven home by the incident with the baby bird near the close of Part One). At the novel’s outset, we know a few things for certain: Duncan is in jail for murder, though the details remain impressively vague for a long time; Owen is at least partially responsible for Duncan’s incarceration and is carrying a fair amount of guilt as a result; and we know from how everyone reacts to him that Duncan is still, in spite of being in prison for nearly eight years, a stand-up kind of a guy—a good egg who made some mistakes but never really wanted to do anyone any harm. Neither of the two boys was ever especially intelligent or career-minded; it’s entirely in Duncan’s soft side—the side of him that falls head over heels for Edwina, the city’s “Jezebel” (and the tonal opposite of the manic-pixie-dream girl); the side that rescues two abandoned greyhound pups from a dumpster; the side that would do nearly anything to settle his debts—that the novel finds its footing, and the underlying criticisms of capital-M Masculinity are laid bare.
Davidson presents the sort of masculinity defined by Bruiser Mahoney and wannabe gangster Lemmie Drinkwater as being wholly destructive—archaic mindsets working at odds with the world, never in concert with it. The only places that sort of lifestyle is able to find any sort of traction is in the underground in which Duncan is inevitably drawn, but never quite acclimates to. His reasons for going into that world in the first place are not because he is so sock-stuffingly tough but because, either due to upbringing or environment, he sees no other option for himself.
Furthermore, Duncan is safest when swimming in familiar pools. For him, leaving Cataract City is a pipe dream—a fantasy lived by others like Owen who had opportunities he himself lacked. In this sense, it’s easy to see why Duncan, though too empathetic for it, would turn not to a life of crime but to opportunities he saw as comfortably blurring the line between right and wrong. Every chance taken is something he can swallow if it brings him that little bit closer to getting away. To this same end, there’s security in Duncan’s world when those nearest and dearest to him fall back down to earth—like in how Owen’s abruptly over and done pro basketball career mirrors Dolly the greyhound’s racing accident which made her “… more touchable. Afterwards, I could hold her—just for a few minutes, but that was something.” His love for those around him is at odds with his fear at being left behind.
There’s a sense of impending tragedy throughout the novel’s second and third parts, as the boys become men and we are driven closer and closer to the moment Duncan’s life changes for the worse. As previously mentioned, the details surrounding the murder are clouded throughout most of the novel, and when finally revealed the accidental nature of the moment lends it an even greater degree of sadness. All this threat and misery is backdropped with visceral, stomach-churning scenes of dog fighting and bare-knuckle boxing. It is in these sections that Davidson’s passion for imagery strikes iron-fucking-hot:
The man brought one world-eating fist down into my face and everything exploded in starlight riots, hollowness threading down my jaw as if nothing anchored it anymore: my face was only a mask, the contents of my skull obliterated.
In the novel’s final part, together again in the place they were first lost as kids, Owen and Duncan are forced to endure incredible, seemingly ungodly amounts of pain and physical strain, yet they survive. What they’re capable of enduring in the novel’s closing pages is incredible, but it’s an agony they themselves selected as if a form of self-punishment—for accepting their miserable lot in life and the city’s role in keeping them in place, and for paying so fully into the myth of masculinity-that-was. Because however strong they are, whatever pain they survive, neither is strong enough to accept full responsibility for their actions—Cataract City itself must always shoulder at least a part of the blame.
Cataract City is one of those grab-you-by-the-throat books. I’ve come across precious few of them this year, however this novel and its deconstruction of masculinity would play well paired with my favourite book from this year, Lauren Beuke’s The Shining Girls, which offered a different sort of take-down of old-school masculinity presented as being antithetical and antagonistic towards contemporary feminist ideals… by way of a time travelling psychopath.
Whether or not Cataract City takes home the Giller Prize for which it has been shortlisted this coming Tuesday, it remains one of the most lyrical, satisfying books I’ve read all year. Highly recommended in all its skull-shattering glory.
… And all that armchair analysis without ever mentioning the book’s title mirroring Owen and Duncan’s terrible lack of vision in their own lives. Lack of vision, cataracts…
Mahoney pulled up closer. I caught a flash of the driver: in his mid-thirties, his face deeply seamed and his skin a queer off-yellow like a watery cat’s eye. He looked sick but probably wasn’t. It’s just how men grew up around here. My dad said Cataract City was a pressure chamber: living was hard, so boys were forced to become men much faster. That pressure ingrained itself in bodies and faces. You’d see twenty-year-old men whose hands were stained permanently black with the granular grease from lubing the rollers at the Bisk. Men just past thirty walking with a stoop. Forty-year-olds with forehead wrinkles deep as the bark on a redwood. You didn’t age gracefully around here. You just got old.
***
Capital-M Masculinity is beaten halfway to death in Craig Davidson’s fourth book, Cataract City. This surprisingly intimate novel follows the lives of two childhood friends, Duncan Diggs and Owen Stuckey. Beginning with Duncan’s release from prison following an eight-year stint for murder, the novel travels back and forth between the present day and the highlights—and lowlights—of their lives together, charting a friendship forged as much through love as it was through fear: fear of being alone, and more than that, of accepting the city’s limits as one’s own.
After the short prologue in which Owen picks Duncan up upon his release from the Kingston Pen, the narrative jumps back in time to detail the origins of their friendship. As ten-year-olds in Niagara Falls—dubbed “Cataract City” for the Latin word for “waterfall,” it was a place where you got stuck, where you started a bank account as a child and it saw you through to the day you died—Owen and Duncan naturally gravitated towards one another: both were born into blue collar families (though Duncan’s was just that little bit lower—with no-name-brand corn flakes and powdered milk on the table), both fathers were working their lives away in a factory, and both idolized Cataract City’s very own not-ready-for-prime-time wrestling sensation, Bruiser Mahoney—AKA Dade Rathburn.
One fateful, childhood-defining night, Owen and Duncan find themselves pseudo-kidnapped by Bruiser Mahoney, who drives them out into the woods to impart unto his biggest fans in the whole wide world the things that every man worth his salt needed to learn. Things like living off the wilderness, the taste of charred raccoon, and how to spot a fraud through a pair of rose-coloured glasses. When in the middle of the night Bruiser passes away, the two boys are put in a life-threatening situation: they needed to somehow find their way back to civilization, and to their families, before being done in by nature or by starvation—whichever came first. What follows is a harrowing, tragic adventure that’s practically a complete novel in and of itself, yet is only Cataract City‘s first part; as Owen and Duncan clumsily navigate the woods, for several days and sometimes travelling in circles, they are both stripped down to their innermost selves before being built up again, having naturally been changed by the experience.
Right away Cataract City overflows with colour, detail, and strong sometimes unsettling imagery—like night falling in the woods as “a guillotine blade: quick and sharp, cutting you off from everything.” As great as the prose is, it’s in the effortless kid-to-kid dialogue in which Davidson’s writing truly excels. The longer Owen and Duncan remain lost in the woods, the more their conversations turn inward and introspective, moving from survival techniques and quick back-and-forths about Popeye’s dietary needs to inventive campfire-style stories about dogs being sent into space. The tone of their interaction is damn near perfect and does a fine job setting up a verbal shorthand that will carry them through their adult lives and the remainder of the novel.
Beyond the language and the imagery, however, it’s through Bruiser Mahoney that Davidson sets the template for the book: the thematic deconstruction and subsequent dismissal of what makes a man “a man” in the traditional sense. Because Bruiser’s not just Duncan and Owen’s idol; he’s also a figurehead for a type of rugged masculinity popularized everywhere from old John Wayne films to the sort of culture that surrounded the world of professional wrestling that really kicked into high gear in the 1980s with the rise of the WWF. And to the flip side of that coin, Bruiser is a showman living the lie to its fullest extent—a pathetic creature reliving his greatest stories over and over again, further embellishing the details with each retelling.
This theme—payment for masculinity’s sins—is returned to throughout the novel’s remaining parts as Owen and Duncan drift in and out of each others’ lives, invariably tethered to one another seemingly regardless of paths taken. In some cases the payment takes on expected forms—like Clyde and Adam, two local fuck-ups, taking out their jealousy and aggression on Owen by running him down with a truck, putting an unceremonious cap on what was a potential pro basketball career—while others are decidedly more “underground” such as: off-the-books dog racing, dog fighting, bare-knuckle boxing, and the culture that surrounds these rather heinous pursuits. When Owen’s athletic future is snuffed out, he turns to the law and becomes a police officer; when Duncan is let go from the Bisk cookie factory due to sweeping cutbacks, he looks to the other direction, and to a man no one should have the misfortune of knowing—Lemmie Drinkwater, one of Cataract City’s most malignant parasites.
Though with each new part the novel switches back and forth between Owen and Duncan’s perspectives, Cataract City really feels first and foremost like Duncan’s story; even when being told from Owen’s point of view, it feels as if he’s telling us more about Duncan than he is about himself. This is largely due in part to Duncan being the more sympathetic of the two characters (a fact driven home by the incident with the baby bird near the close of Part One). At the novel’s outset, we know a few things for certain: Duncan is in jail for murder, though the details remain impressively vague for a long time; Owen is at least partially responsible for Duncan’s incarceration and is carrying a fair amount of guilt as a result; and we know from how everyone reacts to him that Duncan is still, in spite of being in prison for nearly eight years, a stand-up kind of a guy—a good egg who made some mistakes but never really wanted to do anyone any harm. Neither of the two boys was ever especially intelligent or career-minded; it’s entirely in Duncan’s soft side—the side of him that falls head over heels for Edwina, the city’s “Jezebel” (and the tonal opposite of the manic-pixie-dream girl); the side that rescues two abandoned greyhound pups from a dumpster; the side that would do nearly anything to settle his debts—that the novel finds its footing, and the underlying criticisms of capital-M Masculinity are laid bare.
Davidson presents the sort of masculinity defined by Bruiser Mahoney and wannabe gangster Lemmie Drinkwater as being wholly destructive—archaic mindsets working at odds with the world, never in concert with it. The only places that sort of lifestyle is able to find any sort of traction is in the underground in which Duncan is inevitably drawn, but never quite acclimates to. His reasons for going into that world in the first place are not because he is so sock-stuffingly tough but because, either due to upbringing or environment, he sees no other option for himself.
Furthermore, Duncan is safest when swimming in familiar pools. For him, leaving Cataract City is a pipe dream—a fantasy lived by others like Owen who had opportunities he himself lacked. In this sense, it’s easy to see why Duncan, though too empathetic for it, would turn not to a life of crime but to opportunities he saw as comfortably blurring the line between right and wrong. Every chance taken is something he can swallow if it brings him that little bit closer to getting away. To this same end, there’s security in Duncan’s world when those nearest and dearest to him fall back down to earth—like in how Owen’s abruptly over and done pro basketball career mirrors Dolly the greyhound’s racing accident which made her “… more touchable. Afterwards, I could hold her—just for a few minutes, but that was something.” His love for those around him is at odds with his fear at being left behind.
There’s a sense of impending tragedy throughout the novel’s second and third parts, as the boys become men and we are driven closer and closer to the moment Duncan’s life changes for the worse. As previously mentioned, the details surrounding the murder are clouded throughout most of the novel, and when finally revealed the accidental nature of the moment lends it an even greater degree of sadness. All this threat and misery is backdropped with visceral, stomach-churning scenes of dog fighting and bare-knuckle boxing. It is in these sections that Davidson’s passion for imagery strikes iron-fucking-hot:
The man brought one world-eating fist down into my face and everything exploded in starlight riots, hollowness threading down my jaw as if nothing anchored it anymore: my face was only a mask, the contents of my skull obliterated.
In the novel’s final part, together again in the place they were first lost as kids, Owen and Duncan are forced to endure incredible, seemingly ungodly amounts of pain and physical strain, yet they survive. What they’re capable of enduring in the novel’s closing pages is incredible, but it’s an agony they themselves selected as if a form of self-punishment—for accepting their miserable lot in life and the city’s role in keeping them in place, and for paying so fully into the myth of masculinity-that-was. Because however strong they are, whatever pain they survive, neither is strong enough to accept full responsibility for their actions—Cataract City itself must always shoulder at least a part of the blame.
Cataract City is one of those grab-you-by-the-throat books. I’ve come across precious few of them this year, however this novel and its deconstruction of masculinity would play well paired with my favourite book from this year, Lauren Beuke’s The Shining Girls, which offered a different sort of take-down of old-school masculinity presented as being antithetical and antagonistic towards contemporary feminist ideals… by way of a time travelling psychopath.
Whether or not Cataract City takes home the Giller Prize for which it has been shortlisted this coming Tuesday, it remains one of the most lyrical, satisfying books I’ve read all year. Highly recommended in all its skull-shattering glory.
… And all that armchair analysis without ever mentioning the book’s title mirroring Owen and Duncan’s terrible lack of vision in their own lives. Lack of vision, cataracts…
December 2, 2013
I'm having a hard time deciding what I think about Cataract City. I liked the main characters, Owe and Dunk, well enough; cared about what was happening to them in the present and was interested to discover what events in their pasts created the men that they became. Having been to Niagara Falls as a tourist a dozen times or more, I enjoyed the peek at its gritty underbelly -- and not least of all because I have wondered what it must be like to live in such a touristy place (even though I was imagining that everyone works on Clifton Hill, not at Nabisco). This is an intensely plot-driven book with an interesting structure and muscular, testosterone-soaked prose, but I don't know if I liked the writing. As a rather pre-emptive response to my reaction, Craig Davidson has Owen say at one point: "How can you ask someone to tell a story then call BS when it doesn't turn out the way you want?" There's truth to that: I did pick up Davidson's book, asking him to tell me a story, and he succeeded at holding my interest -- can I ask for more?
I'm going to hide the next bit as spoilers so I can go into specifics about what didn't really work for me.
My last complaint is that I didn't always understand what Davidson was trying to say. As an example:
Not only am I still having trouble understanding what the first paragraph even means, but there are a number of idiosyncratic words like "ichor" used throughout Cataract City that I don't know. I'm not afraid of a book with a challenging vocabulary, but some of the words used didn't sound natural in the mouths of the two narrators (even if Dunk completed a diploma program in English while incarcerated -- people just don't talk like that. And this quote is from Owen.)
As I stated at the beginning, this is a very masculine book, and while that in itself wouldn't turn me off, it may explain why I didn't fully connect to the story -- I have no more interest in basketball than I do in MMA fights -- and without sounding sexist, could that explain why men seem to be rating this book higher than the women are? I would understand completely if I rate Margaret Laurence higher than the average man -- she simply speaks to who I am. Possibly also working against me making a perfect connection is the fact that my own Dad worked in an office instead of a factory (not that we had any money -- I never felt any class distinction amongst my friends because I don't know if any family had much money back then) and we weren't hopelessly stuck in a manufacturing town. As a matter of fact, we moved progressively west across Canada as I was growing up; I lived in four different provinces by the time I was 14, and the idea of not being able to just leave a city without opportunities is foreign to me.
On the plus side, I was intrigued by the plot of Cataract City, if not its deliberate structure, and I had no idea how Davidson would end it -- truly, anything could have happened and I was absorbed through to the final pages. "How can you ask someone to tell a story then call BS when it doesn't turn out the way you want?" If that is ultimately the contract between author and reader, then Davidson fulfilled his end of the deal and I have no cause to call BS. This is a wonderfully Canadian story, full of references that made me smile (and I wish I had been keeping track of them), so I am unsurprised that Cataract City was a Giller Prize finalist.
I'm going to hide the next bit as spoilers so I can go into specifics about what didn't really work for me.
My last complaint is that I didn't always understand what Davidson was trying to say. As an example:
At first I told myself it was just me. I'd been away too long, returning under a dark cloud. But as the days bled past I recognized that it wasn't me -- or it was me, partially at least, because I'd inhabited these streets before, bearing the infection I'd harboured since birth.
I'd stay up at night, imagining a vast sea of poison underneath the city. A churning sea of lampblack-coloured ichor burbling, leaching into the soil as it spread infection.
Not only am I still having trouble understanding what the first paragraph even means, but there are a number of idiosyncratic words like "ichor" used throughout Cataract City that I don't know. I'm not afraid of a book with a challenging vocabulary, but some of the words used didn't sound natural in the mouths of the two narrators (even if Dunk completed a diploma program in English while incarcerated -- people just don't talk like that. And this quote is from Owen.)
As I stated at the beginning, this is a very masculine book, and while that in itself wouldn't turn me off, it may explain why I didn't fully connect to the story -- I have no more interest in basketball than I do in MMA fights -- and without sounding sexist, could that explain why men seem to be rating this book higher than the women are? I would understand completely if I rate Margaret Laurence higher than the average man -- she simply speaks to who I am. Possibly also working against me making a perfect connection is the fact that my own Dad worked in an office instead of a factory (not that we had any money -- I never felt any class distinction amongst my friends because I don't know if any family had much money back then) and we weren't hopelessly stuck in a manufacturing town. As a matter of fact, we moved progressively west across Canada as I was growing up; I lived in four different provinces by the time I was 14, and the idea of not being able to just leave a city without opportunities is foreign to me.
On the plus side, I was intrigued by the plot of Cataract City, if not its deliberate structure, and I had no idea how Davidson would end it -- truly, anything could have happened and I was absorbed through to the final pages. "How can you ask someone to tell a story then call BS when it doesn't turn out the way you want?" If that is ultimately the contract between author and reader, then Davidson fulfilled his end of the deal and I have no cause to call BS. This is a wonderfully Canadian story, full of references that made me smile (and I wish I had been keeping track of them), so I am unsurprised that Cataract City was a Giller Prize finalist.
October 7, 2013
Full review can be found at http://kristineandterri.blogspot.ca/2...
* I received a copy of this book in a Goodreads giveaway in exchange for an honest review*
Every now and then a book comes along that makes you stop and go "wow." You find yourself thinking about it long after the last page is turned. This book is one of those books.
* I received a copy of this book in a Goodreads giveaway in exchange for an honest review*
Every now and then a book comes along that makes you stop and go "wow." You find yourself thinking about it long after the last page is turned. This book is one of those books.
June 5, 2015
Gulped this book down, a tale of two families in "Cataract City", a.k.a. Niagara Falls. One man succeeds, whatever that means, another fights his disadvantages. The descriptions of the city place you right there, the grit and the falls mist washing over your face.
Very well written - you don't pause and admire, but you run right along with the author, enjoying yourself all the way. Recommended.
Very well written - you don't pause and admire, but you run right along with the author, enjoying yourself all the way. Recommended.
August 1, 2014
I enjoyed this book immensely. It's a twisty coming of age story that celebrates the bonds of friendship between two guys. It was fast paced, I read it in a day.
This book pulls you in and takes you on one heck of a ride! Read it!
This book pulls you in and takes you on one heck of a ride! Read it!
February 18, 2017
I made it about 50% into this book but could not get interested. A story about prison, biscuits, a wrestler, getting lost and racing dogs; it was confused and strange and I was bored. So I quit.
April 19, 2019
A gritty tale set in the unglamourous side of NIagra Falls. Two lifelong friends whose paths come to a critical fork.
I love Craig Davidson's voice, whether as himself or his horror alter ego Nick Cutter
I love Craig Davidson's voice, whether as himself or his horror alter ego Nick Cutter
October 16, 2013
The 2013 short list for Canada's Giller Prize, to be given to the country's best fiction of the year, is marked by great story-telling, according to the jurists who made the choices. That is certainly the case with this vivid contemporary novel, set in the gritty working class context of an Ontario city (Niagara Falls) that is built around manufacturing, tourism and cross-border commerce -- some of it legal and some of it not.
"Cataract City," Craig Davidson writes, in the words of Owen Stuckey, one of his two central characters, is a place where "you come through hard if you come through at all." This is especially true for Duncan Diggs, Owen's best friend who stands up for him, saves his life and retrieves him from tragedy. Dunk is not prepared to just accept life on the Nabisco assembly line, even though that life includes living with Edwina Murphy, the tough and sexy woman he loves. Dunk is a fighter, a risk-taker and relentless in his capacity to endure -- and to overcome the eight years of prison from which he is being released as the book begins.
This is a plot-driven novel in many respects, compulsive in its tension and suspense, and shaped by the uncertainty of the changing ties amongst its key figures. But it is also a probing character study, particularly of Duncan and the ways in which he comes of age in the hard-scrabble world of dog-racing, boxing and factory work that he experiences -- but also of Owen who seems the favoured figure, on the right side of the law, but finds his dreams thwarted. Both men emerge as fully realized characters, indelible in their personalities and complex in their thoughts and emotions -- more so than is true for Edwina, the main female in the story, who remains less nuanced.
I found this a powerful, driving book, impossible to put down, with a gut energy that reaches out and grabs you. Perhaps this was because I come from an Ontario industrial city not so much unlike this one, maybe it was my memories of my own factory work, or it might have been the echoes of working-class Windsor from past years. But mostly, I think, it is the authenticity and vigour with which Davidson has written this novel. There are some enduring images throughout the book -- when the sun touched Duncan's skin in prison "it had felt as cold as the light from a bare bulb in a broom closet" -- a man who threatens the two boys when they are young smelled "sweetly foul like the glop at the bottom of a carnival trashcan." Plus there is a fundamental theme, a profound exploration of betrayal and retribution, that gives significant depth to the whole book.
Canada does not see many examples of urban working-class literature. There was Morley Callaghan in the distant past, Rawi Hage's "Cockroach" is perhaps seen as a contemporary Montreal counterpart, Brad Smith has written some good Ontario novels such as "All Hat." Matt Cohen and David Adam Richards have also written books that evoke working-class life effectively. "Cataract City" stands out, however, in its graphic portrayal of industrial workers under economic pressure in the recent years of manufacturing crisis in central Canada. The greater insecurity of employment and the uncertainties for young people emerge in a narrative that also reveals how crime can become attractive and violence increase. It would be striking to see this novel win the Giller because it would in many ways represent a shout-out for help from those communities that are now the victims of Canada's new petroleum-pushing bias.
Craig Davidson has written a dramatic and powerful book, sharply refreshing in its imagery and language. What an excellent addition to Canadian literature!
"Cataract City," Craig Davidson writes, in the words of Owen Stuckey, one of his two central characters, is a place where "you come through hard if you come through at all." This is especially true for Duncan Diggs, Owen's best friend who stands up for him, saves his life and retrieves him from tragedy. Dunk is not prepared to just accept life on the Nabisco assembly line, even though that life includes living with Edwina Murphy, the tough and sexy woman he loves. Dunk is a fighter, a risk-taker and relentless in his capacity to endure -- and to overcome the eight years of prison from which he is being released as the book begins.
This is a plot-driven novel in many respects, compulsive in its tension and suspense, and shaped by the uncertainty of the changing ties amongst its key figures. But it is also a probing character study, particularly of Duncan and the ways in which he comes of age in the hard-scrabble world of dog-racing, boxing and factory work that he experiences -- but also of Owen who seems the favoured figure, on the right side of the law, but finds his dreams thwarted. Both men emerge as fully realized characters, indelible in their personalities and complex in their thoughts and emotions -- more so than is true for Edwina, the main female in the story, who remains less nuanced.
I found this a powerful, driving book, impossible to put down, with a gut energy that reaches out and grabs you. Perhaps this was because I come from an Ontario industrial city not so much unlike this one, maybe it was my memories of my own factory work, or it might have been the echoes of working-class Windsor from past years. But mostly, I think, it is the authenticity and vigour with which Davidson has written this novel. There are some enduring images throughout the book -- when the sun touched Duncan's skin in prison "it had felt as cold as the light from a bare bulb in a broom closet" -- a man who threatens the two boys when they are young smelled "sweetly foul like the glop at the bottom of a carnival trashcan." Plus there is a fundamental theme, a profound exploration of betrayal and retribution, that gives significant depth to the whole book.
Canada does not see many examples of urban working-class literature. There was Morley Callaghan in the distant past, Rawi Hage's "Cockroach" is perhaps seen as a contemporary Montreal counterpart, Brad Smith has written some good Ontario novels such as "All Hat." Matt Cohen and David Adam Richards have also written books that evoke working-class life effectively. "Cataract City" stands out, however, in its graphic portrayal of industrial workers under economic pressure in the recent years of manufacturing crisis in central Canada. The greater insecurity of employment and the uncertainties for young people emerge in a narrative that also reveals how crime can become attractive and violence increase. It would be striking to see this novel win the Giller because it would in many ways represent a shout-out for help from those communities that are now the victims of Canada's new petroleum-pushing bias.
Craig Davidson has written a dramatic and powerful book, sharply refreshing in its imagery and language. What an excellent addition to Canadian literature!
January 4, 2016
i just posted this comment in a group and thought it sounded about how i wanted my review to sound...so i am just copying it over here now.
i spend a lot of time questioning the reliability of first-person narratives. but with Cataract City, it was quite a different experience.
i finished the novel last night and while the book was okay, i think i am being harder on it because it's a finalist for the giller prize. the judges are: Jonathan Lethem, Margaret Atwood and Esi Edugyan. that's a serious panel of judges to impress. i felt like i was too aware of the writing the whole way through the read and, i am about to say something really stupid now, it felt like an MFA project. (this is stupid for me to say because i have no idea what this means, really. other than in my mind it's a bit show-offy or tries to push the envelope...just for the sake of pushing the envelope. like, a 'look how clever i am'-type thing. also...i wasn't feeling the authenticity of the story, most of the time.)
i didn't end up feeling manipulated and there were parts of the story i liked a lot...but as a whole...i couldn't get past the writing and just enjoy the story. there were also little editing issues all the way through. i was reading a tree-book and didn't mark it up...but there was one spot where the same phrase was repeated within three (brief) sentences. and then the intro to the story (the first two sentences) were repeated nearly verbatim later in the book. what's up with that?)
also -- would a person who has done hard time (hard time, contemporary era, north american maximum security prison) really call the police 'the fuzz'?
as well...i am feeling slightly uncomfortable that the native characters included in this novel were all caricatures. now, i do recognize that there were a lot of caricatures being portrayed, given the way davidson addressed the city of niagara falls, but i did feel disappointed in how the native characters were portrayed. though Joseph Boyden blurbed the novel...so, there's that... :/ #confused
i spend a lot of time questioning the reliability of first-person narratives. but with Cataract City, it was quite a different experience.
i finished the novel last night and while the book was okay, i think i am being harder on it because it's a finalist for the giller prize. the judges are: Jonathan Lethem, Margaret Atwood and Esi Edugyan. that's a serious panel of judges to impress. i felt like i was too aware of the writing the whole way through the read and, i am about to say something really stupid now, it felt like an MFA project. (this is stupid for me to say because i have no idea what this means, really. other than in my mind it's a bit show-offy or tries to push the envelope...just for the sake of pushing the envelope. like, a 'look how clever i am'-type thing. also...i wasn't feeling the authenticity of the story, most of the time.)
i didn't end up feeling manipulated and there were parts of the story i liked a lot...but as a whole...i couldn't get past the writing and just enjoy the story. there were also little editing issues all the way through. i was reading a tree-book and didn't mark it up...but there was one spot where the same phrase was repeated within three (brief) sentences. and then the intro to the story (the first two sentences) were repeated nearly verbatim later in the book. what's up with that?)
also -- would a person who has done hard time (hard time, contemporary era, north american maximum security prison) really call the police 'the fuzz'?
as well...i am feeling slightly uncomfortable that the native characters included in this novel were all caricatures. now, i do recognize that there were a lot of caricatures being portrayed, given the way davidson addressed the city of niagara falls, but i did feel disappointed in how the native characters were portrayed. though Joseph Boyden blurbed the novel...so, there's that... :/ #confused
February 23, 2014
Wow! This book is unlike any book I've ever read before. For one thing it is truly a masculine story with two childhood friends and their lives in Cataract City (Niagara Falls). The book is rough and tumble to say the least. It begins with two twelve year old boys (Duncan and Owen) who were taken out to the woods. The kidnapper died the night he stole the boys and the two boys were left to try to find their way out of the forest around Niagara Falls on their own. They got lost and wandered for three days, but their survival instinct was truly remarkable, and they managed to survive. Those boys grew up but the episode forever changed them. Owen managed to get out of Cataract City and he became a cop. Duncan never left and instead stayed and thoroughly explored the underworld of his city. We get first hand looks at greyhound racing, dog fights, bare-knuckle fighting, smuggling and a good look at the people who live in that underworld. Through it all Duncan remains remarkably grounded, but that doesn't prevent him from getting into serious trouble and being sent to prison. The book is so descriptive and so well-written, that it almost felt like I was watching a movie rather than reading a book. It's difficult in spots because of the clairty and the "no-holds-barred" writing of Craig Davidson, but the tension remains throughout until the very end of the book. I really couldn't put it down. I feel like I really got to know Dunk and Owe and their city. In fact, Cataract City is so well-described that it actually felt like it was another character in this edgey, brilliant book. This is a wonderful, sprawling and gutsy book that I think should have won the Giller Prize. It's not an easy book to read. In fact, it is very difficult and graphic, but it's one that will stick with me for a long time.
January 16, 2015
This one was 3-1/2 stars for me. I liked it a lot, but there were several times I felt it just dragged on a little too much. Slightly better editing would have earned it 4 stars.
I don't like to compare authors to each other, but I have to say the parts of the book during Owen and Duncan's childhood reminded me of how well Stephen King writes kids and their friendships. It just feels "real" while you're reading it. A lot of this book reminded me of the grittiness of Dennis Lehane. Throw in a touch of the book Fight Club and the movie Die Hard and you pretty much end up with Cataract City. As I thoroughly enjoy each of the things and authors I just mentioned, that is definitely meant as a compliment.
Overall I enjoyed this book with the exception of a couple boring patches that just went on a little too long.
I don't like to compare authors to each other, but I have to say the parts of the book during Owen and Duncan's childhood reminded me of how well Stephen King writes kids and their friendships. It just feels "real" while you're reading it. A lot of this book reminded me of the grittiness of Dennis Lehane. Throw in a touch of the book Fight Club and the movie Die Hard and you pretty much end up with Cataract City. As I thoroughly enjoy each of the things and authors I just mentioned, that is definitely meant as a compliment.
Overall I enjoyed this book with the exception of a couple boring patches that just went on a little too long.
June 18, 2015
I must admit that I am somewhat surprised that I enjoyed this book as much as I did. This is not a beach book for women. The story takes us into wrestling. greyhound racing, derby car smash ups and a little boxing - in Cataract (Niagra Falls) city and surrounding area. What draws you in is the relationship between the two boys as they explore and grow up together. A good story. A Giller Prize nominee. A Canadian author. All good reasons to read this book.
October 29, 2013
Interminable. Gruesome. Unsurprising.
August 5, 2015
The thing I really like about Davidson is that he makes exciting the parts of Canada we think of as boring.
May 21, 2021
Although I can’t say the subject matter of Canadian writer Craig Davidson’s Giller-nominated novel Cataract City was necessarily my thing (boys lost in the woods, greyhound racing, dog fights, bare knuckled fist fighting, etc), I found myself sinking whole heartedly into this story of two best friends: Owen Stucky and Duncan Digs. I think it’s because Davidson (who also writes horror novels under the name Nick Cutter, the only one of which I’ve read is The Troop) is such an excellent writer and his stories are so filled with nostalgia and melancholy and hope that it’s impossible not to really care about his characters even though their shenanigans might not be the usual fare for a woman in her late middle age.
Craig and Duncan live in Cataract City (aka Niagara Falls), a city which they seem to love and loathe in equal measure. When the novel opens, Duncan is just getting out of the Kingston Penitentiary after serving 2912 nights in prison. Of those nights, Duncan tells us, “two were the longest: the first and the last.” When he gets back to his parents’ house, he pries up a loose floorboard in his bedroom closet and from the cavity under the floor, takes out an old cigar box, filled with the treasures of his youth. The mementos spark his memories and the novel begins its meandering narrative, told in the voices of both Duncan and his childhood friend, Owen.
As described by the boys, Cataract City is a place where dreams go to die. Owen says “If you grew up in Cataract City and earned a university degree, chances are you left town. If you grew up in Cataract City and managed to finish high school, chances are you took a job at the dry docks, Redpath Sugar, the General Motors plant in St. Catherines or the Bisk.” Both the boys’ fathers work at the Bisk, the Nabisco plant, and their “dads carried the smell of their lines home with them.”
The city of your birth was the softest trap imaginable. So soft you didn’t even feel how badly you were snared – how could it be a trap when you knew its every spring and tooth?
Duncan and Owen meet when they are ten; even though they “both lived on Rickard Street and went to the same school” they had never spoken to each other. When another boy tackles Owen one day in the playground, Duncan comes to his rescue and the two boys bond over their shared love of wrestling. It’s wrestling that gets the boys into their first scrape.
Cataract City bounces back and forth between then and now, changing narrators effortlessly. Although the boys take different roads in life (Owen becomes a cop after a knee injury squashes his chances to play professional basketball and Duncan, well, he ends up in jail), the two never stop caring for each other. The melancholic nostalgic seeps into Davidson’s story and it’s hard not to be reminded of days gone by when even the characters long to
be kids again, just for a while. Revoke for just one day our breaking bodies and tortured minds. I would haven given anything to spend one more day as we once had, even if it was one of those piss-away afternoons reading comic books in Owen’s basement while the rain clicked in the downspout like marbles.
I loved the journey these two take, some of it literal, some figurative. I loved the insights into friendship and family and love and memory. I loved all the references to Canadian things (The Beachcombers and Rowdy Roddy Piper). I loved the struggle to figure out what it all means in the end.
An instant in time, measurable in seconds, that acts as the hinge for everything you’ve ever done. Everything feeds into that moment: your backlog of experience and behaviours determine how you enter that moment and how you’ll walk away from it afterwards. Every way you’ve ever been hurt, every grievance nursed, every secret fear, those moments where you’ve stood up or stepped down and all the love in your body – it all matters when you reach the Point. It is all brought to bear.
The only other Davidson novel I’ve read is The Saturday Night Ghost Club and I really loved it. I will make a concerted effort to read his other work, for sure. Highly recommended.
Craig and Duncan live in Cataract City (aka Niagara Falls), a city which they seem to love and loathe in equal measure. When the novel opens, Duncan is just getting out of the Kingston Penitentiary after serving 2912 nights in prison. Of those nights, Duncan tells us, “two were the longest: the first and the last.” When he gets back to his parents’ house, he pries up a loose floorboard in his bedroom closet and from the cavity under the floor, takes out an old cigar box, filled with the treasures of his youth. The mementos spark his memories and the novel begins its meandering narrative, told in the voices of both Duncan and his childhood friend, Owen.
As described by the boys, Cataract City is a place where dreams go to die. Owen says “If you grew up in Cataract City and earned a university degree, chances are you left town. If you grew up in Cataract City and managed to finish high school, chances are you took a job at the dry docks, Redpath Sugar, the General Motors plant in St. Catherines or the Bisk.” Both the boys’ fathers work at the Bisk, the Nabisco plant, and their “dads carried the smell of their lines home with them.”
The city of your birth was the softest trap imaginable. So soft you didn’t even feel how badly you were snared – how could it be a trap when you knew its every spring and tooth?
Duncan and Owen meet when they are ten; even though they “both lived on Rickard Street and went to the same school” they had never spoken to each other. When another boy tackles Owen one day in the playground, Duncan comes to his rescue and the two boys bond over their shared love of wrestling. It’s wrestling that gets the boys into their first scrape.
Cataract City bounces back and forth between then and now, changing narrators effortlessly. Although the boys take different roads in life (Owen becomes a cop after a knee injury squashes his chances to play professional basketball and Duncan, well, he ends up in jail), the two never stop caring for each other. The melancholic nostalgic seeps into Davidson’s story and it’s hard not to be reminded of days gone by when even the characters long to
be kids again, just for a while. Revoke for just one day our breaking bodies and tortured minds. I would haven given anything to spend one more day as we once had, even if it was one of those piss-away afternoons reading comic books in Owen’s basement while the rain clicked in the downspout like marbles.
I loved the journey these two take, some of it literal, some figurative. I loved the insights into friendship and family and love and memory. I loved all the references to Canadian things (The Beachcombers and Rowdy Roddy Piper). I loved the struggle to figure out what it all means in the end.
An instant in time, measurable in seconds, that acts as the hinge for everything you’ve ever done. Everything feeds into that moment: your backlog of experience and behaviours determine how you enter that moment and how you’ll walk away from it afterwards. Every way you’ve ever been hurt, every grievance nursed, every secret fear, those moments where you’ve stood up or stepped down and all the love in your body – it all matters when you reach the Point. It is all brought to bear.
The only other Davidson novel I’ve read is The Saturday Night Ghost Club and I really loved it. I will make a concerted effort to read his other work, for sure. Highly recommended.
March 2, 2025
“In that light, in that moment, Owe looked like a kid again.
And I wished we could be kids again, just for a while. Revoke for just one day our breaking bodies, our tortured minds. I would have given anything to spend one more day as we once had, even if it was one of those piss-away afternoons reading comic books in Owe's basement while the rain clicked in the downspout like marbles.”
I just found out that Craig Davidson is Nick Cutter’s pen name- so it makes perfect sense why this book is pure gold.
This book was everything and touches on so many themes - survival-story, friendship, adulthood, regret, loss.. I could go on and on.
There is so much action and suspense- I really did not have any clue what to expect.
This book was everything I needed and more. I picked it up on a whim because I read The Saturday Night Ghost Club (which was also so good.)
The writing reminds me of how Stephen King writes- you have an in-depth understanding of the characters and who they are. The writing is so descriptive, you can picture the scenery, the feelings, and the fear these characters face.
Here you will see how two childhood friends from the same city experience life in their own ways; but find their way back to one another as adults.
And I wished we could be kids again, just for a while. Revoke for just one day our breaking bodies, our tortured minds. I would have given anything to spend one more day as we once had, even if it was one of those piss-away afternoons reading comic books in Owe's basement while the rain clicked in the downspout like marbles.”
I just found out that Craig Davidson is Nick Cutter’s pen name- so it makes perfect sense why this book is pure gold.
This book was everything and touches on so many themes - survival-story, friendship, adulthood, regret, loss.. I could go on and on.
There is so much action and suspense- I really did not have any clue what to expect.
This book was everything I needed and more. I picked it up on a whim because I read The Saturday Night Ghost Club (which was also so good.)
The writing reminds me of how Stephen King writes- you have an in-depth understanding of the characters and who they are. The writing is so descriptive, you can picture the scenery, the feelings, and the fear these characters face.
Here you will see how two childhood friends from the same city experience life in their own ways; but find their way back to one another as adults.
May 19, 2025
Honestly, I wanted to like this book. I loved the small-town Canada vibe. My grandpa loved watching wrestling and growing up, I knew not only about WWF (now WWE) but about the local circuits as well. This took place in Southern Ontario but could have taken place in Brandon, Regina, Kenora, Winnipeg, or anywhere in 1980s Canada. Like the main characters, I knew nothing about kayfabe and thought the story arcs were real.
When I was in high school, I brought a writing project to one of my teachers to critique. While she approved of my imagery and settings, she gave me some important advice. "I find you tell too much too soon." That's my issue with Davidson and this book. The crucial traumatic incident that kicks everything off gets told in one MASSIVE exposition dump. I would have drawn it out and spread it out over the course of flashbacks. Whet the audience's appetite - give them little bites followed by palate cleansers - rather than stuff an uncomfortable meal down their throats.
I would have given this book 3 stars had this mess of a exposition dump not happened.
When I was in high school, I brought a writing project to one of my teachers to critique. While she approved of my imagery and settings, she gave me some important advice. "I find you tell too much too soon." That's my issue with Davidson and this book. The crucial traumatic incident that kicks everything off gets told in one MASSIVE exposition dump. I would have drawn it out and spread it out over the course of flashbacks. Whet the audience's appetite - give them little bites followed by palate cleansers - rather than stuff an uncomfortable meal down their throats.
I would have given this book 3 stars had this mess of a exposition dump not happened.
March 2, 2019
The book jacket description didn't spoil a thing with this one - I had no idea what kind of story I was in for. Really solid characters and descriptions of the hardness of living in Niagara Falls - I've only spent a bit of time in the city myself but I can tell it must be a tough place to get by, with such a strange juxtaposition of this world wonder in your face all the time. Sometimes the whole "this city eats away at you" type statements got a little corny since they cropped up so much but it was still a pretty page turning story. I didn't love the animal cruelty aspect but it was critical to the characters' motivations - if you're bothered by reading about dogfighting, fair warning.
If you're going to read one of Craig Davidson's Cataract City set books, I preferred Saturday Night Ghost Club. But this one is still a solid choice and a really original story.
If you're going to read one of Craig Davidson's Cataract City set books, I preferred Saturday Night Ghost Club. But this one is still a solid choice and a really original story.
September 5, 2021
This book broke my heart at times and frustrated the heck out of me at other times. It tells the story of two young boys growing up in Niagara Falls, and follows through some key moments of their lives. The friends are initially inseparable but over time find they are on opposite sides of the law when one becomes a police officer and the other goes to prison. An excellent read but a tough one.
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