Algonquin Books wants to make a bit of a big deal about the fact that the author wrote her first novel when she turned 60. This new sophomore effort certainly has plenty to say about having to admit to the aging process, but this is far from the most important thing going on in Carry the Dog. The publisher's blurbs also try to evoke comparisons to Daisy Jones and The Six, but that seems true in only the most superficial of senses. Gangi's coverage of the New York punk scene has the sort of ring of authenticity present in Garth Risk Hallberg's City On Fire, while Daisy Jones seemed to me a very cliched and largely uninteresting story of 1970s arena rock. And once again, rock culture is not the centerpiece of Gangi's book, any more than aging is.
Rather, Gangi riffs on the photographers of the late 1960s and 1970s who used childhood and adolescent nudity as a subject. Many were shunned and even investigated as social mores changed. Of course, we live in a current era of cancel culture where comedians claim they can't get gigs on campuses because there is no sense of humor or irony left. All this may be true, Gangi says, but we should also recognize that some photographers and visual artists of mid-20th-century were very disturbed people, and some probably should have been investigated for possible crimes of abuse and child pornography.
Gangi tells her tale through the eyes of Bea Seger, a woman in her mid-60s who has never come to terms with being a photographic subject for her own mother, who dodged most reconsideration of "the Marx Nudes" by committing suicide before her three children had finished high school. Seger suffered plenty of additional losses before packing it all in and taking off with the founder of Chalk Outline, a downtown band that opened for New York Dolls. Although I'm a rural cis male, I tried to reach several empathy points with the character - we both saw the New York Dolls on the night of our proms, for example. But unlike Bea, I never dumped my date on prom night to opt for a life on the road.
Seger is coming to terms with her childhood and wild adolescence some 45 or 50 years after the events, in part because she married and divorced the lead guitarist for Chalk Outline twice. Her bank accounts are floating close to red zones, she drifts through a variety of employment gigs, and has a hard time knowing how and when to reconcile with other members of her family. As a result, her father and brother consider Bea the one who has abandoned the family, while she sees things the other way around.
What finally brings matters to a head are offers from a movie screenplay writer and from MoMA curators to help them work on a reconsideration 0f her mother's photographic work. They tell Bea that the world is ready for a reconsideration of her mother's work, but she realizes they want to gain access to a storage lockeer in upstate New York with a possible motherlode of additional works. Her doubts as to how she wants to market her mother lead her to further investigations of why mom always wanted to pose her children nude in confrontational tableaus. She begins to wonder if maybe mom was more than a flawed mother -- perhaps she was a profoundly disturbed individual who was just as twisted as her prurient critics of the 1970s described.
Through her visits to her ailing father in a nursing home and her estranged brother who has tried his best to forget his family, Bea tries to assemble fragments of family ties that are worth saving. The toughest thing is to avoid being bitter when confronted with familial truths. A few years ago, a documentary on the music group The Cowsills revealed what a disturbed svengali the kids' father, Bud Cowsill, really was. The 21st-century Cowsills fans have tried to micro-psychoanalyze Bud in order to heap on abuse, but Susan Cowsill (the baby of the family and a fine singer in her own right), is adamant in telling people to love, forgive, and toss the anger to the winds. Seger, like Susan Cowsill, is not trying to cover up or whitewash the past. Instead, the book's protagonist wants to find a way to move on in love and kindness.
In this short but powerful novel, Gangi warns us that it is not easy to transcend when our families are dysfunctional even beyond the typical limits one encounters. An important element of reconciliation is to abandon myths. It is no accident that Miriam Marx gave up photographing nudes in order to make a sojourn to Woodstock in August 1969 to photograph children. She was trying to move back to inniocence, but ran out of time. Her daughter Bea decides that the first step in regaining innocence is to abandon the idea of golden eras, whether hippie dreams of Woodstock or later punk dreams of DIY. Scoundrels and profoundly damaged individuals have populated every decade and century of human existence. When the scoundrels are in your own family, your immediate response may be to throw the family members under the bus. But to preserve a sense of community, you may have to go back and collect the shreds and pieces after the bus has passed.