God can't change the wild streak that sends some dogs running. God can't change the blood. Can he?
Ozark Dogs seems to exist within its own sphere, it's a novel about the gray areas, the spaces in between. It exists between the good and the bad, between the ugly and the beautiful, it sits, unassuming, and unashamed to show the truth of rural, small town living. This is a novel with some serious heart, one that's full of awful people who constantly make a string of terrible choices in life. There's no real positivity to be found within this story. This is not the book to venture into if you're seeking a warm and comforting experience, this is a bleak and depressing tale that will punch you right in the face.
Grit-Lit, Southern Noir, or Hillbilly Noir, whatever you want to call it, it's a tricky genre to get right. It's not enough to simply tell a gritty story, and it's certainly not enough for your novel to just take place in Southern USA. There's a delicate balancing act that must be mastered, nature must stand in all its beauty against the sins of humanity. The turmoil of bad choices and brutal living conditions must eventually give way to the peacefulness of the surrounding world, and yet, these stories must never shy away from the harsh realities of desperation and survival. This is one such novel that manages to nail exactly what this genre is about, with this story, Cranor has proved that he has mastered the art of Grit-Lit.
This book is propulsive, it's addictive, it's a novel that can be utterly devoured in one sitting. In fact, the only reason it took me two days to read, is because I had to force myself to bed, shutting the book away to avoid temptation. It's an all consuming head fuck of a novel that will leave its readers reeling right up until its final word.
Jeremiah felt the water beneath him, cool and clean, unaware of the violence men had brought down upon it. Jeremiah could end it all in less time than it took to breathe, but the water was so oblivious, so innocent.