Few novels so thoroughly explore how poverty shapes a person's mind, relationships, and life than Ernest Hebert's The Dogs of March. Exquisitely poetic language is veined throughout the book, and what's more, it repeatedly delivers deep insights into human nature. On self-righteous arrogance: she "felt a pleasing, malicious urge to 'improve' [the family], chloroform them and spirit them off to a clinic in Denmark to be cleansed, trimmed, dressed, manicured, pedicured, mentally honed to fulfill what she perceived to be their potential." On the estrangement between a poor father and his more educated son: "College had pulled his son apart, scattered beliefs, habits, and loves like so many bits of a machine, and was now rebuilding him into a customized version of" himself. On the self-loathing and contradictory excitement of betrayal: "He felt sad and yet exalted, as if he were the last man on earth setting out in quest of the last woman." On human nature: "When all the creatures agree on who the devil is, why, we'll all be friends." But these general observations are in the backseat to the detailed examination the novel brings to bear upon how its characters think. For instance, the novel is especially adept at portraying how the main character, Howard Elman, constantly approaches moments of revelation or intellectual depth but then flounders in a sea of confusing words and "his deepwater ignorance" until he has no choice but to back away. This is tragic not just because a lack of privilege took away so much of the main character's potential but also because the novel, by turning the very town setting into a character, suggests that Howard Elman is just one of many who've been thus deprived. Indeed, one of the novel's themes is that things repeat in tessellation on "greater and lesser scales," and we see this both in the town's other characters and in how Howard's life and relationships suffer because of how he's been denied access to his own deepest thoughts.By using an omniscient POV that doesn't hesitate to go into the minds of all of its major characters, the novel explores an entire town's interconnected lives, revealing especially how each person's inner dialogue--with its richness of language or lack thereof--influences the very thoughts that character has and the decisions he/she makes. Ultimately, the novel shows how when a thought travels across the mind, a story is being told. The characters are constantly telling themselves stories, constantly mythologizing their own lives. One is the stranger in Camus' The Stranger (Freddy, the main character's son), another is the American rugged individual (Howard Elman, the main character), another the political mastermind who's going to "get the girl" and "tame the shrew" (Harold Flagg), another the downtrodden salt of the earth who shall inherit that very earth (Elenore), and yet another the jet-setter who can shape her surroundings to her will (Zoe Cutter). In the background of all these characters are the title's dogs of March, the domestic animals that become increasingly wild in the woods and run down deer to rip them apart, not to eat but just to kill for the pleasure of killing. And as the dogs cultivate this private and twisted side of their lives, so, too, do the human characters cultivate two sides to their lives as they try to resolve their conflicts. One man assassinates peoples' characters even as he puts on a smiling face during city council meetings. Another chainsaws a cow in half as he puts on the act (or perhaps non-act) of being the town "idiot." And in an interesting inversion, the antagonist (or so she's positioned in the story, but this novel deals with reality so there are no clear-cut "good guys" or "bad guys) cultivates the public image of NYC-efficient ruthlessness when in fact she's seeking family connection and human warmth; she finds this kind of connection in the main character's daughter (and, in a different way, his teenage son).A sidenote: The omniscient POV is so skillfully done that even when it pulls a Tolstoy-like move and goes into the POV of, for instance, a cat keeping count of the humans in a room, the resulting shift in the narrative feels utterly organic and believable. This is a book that isn't afraid to take chances with literary techniques, and yet its doesn't make the typical mistake of applying them with exuberant clumsiness. Like Elman himself, it skillfully picks the right tools for the job.Perhaps all of this suggests that The Dogs of March is so intellectual and so artistic that it doesn't leave room for a simply told good story. This isn't the case. The Dogs of March deals with a loom factory laying off its workers, a rich Manhattan widow showing up in the woods of New Hampshire and disrupting the town with a mix of good and bad intentions, a comic marriage proposal that keeps not happening, and infidelity on multiple levels (man betraying wife, son betraying father, father betraying daughter, man betraying society, and much more). But even though this book expertly weaves back and forth between the characters' inner lives and their external circumstances, this is still not the kind of novel whose interest relies wholly on external events. Like most of the greatest works, this book uses its plot in part as a vehicle to explore the deepest questions. Does God exist? If so, what is His nature? Is there an afterlife? How can man be moral in society? How does he reconcile his public and private lives? How does societal injustice shape society itself by deforming all of its individual members--both the have's and the have-not's? What on earth is a grown-up? The novel expertly weaves back and forth between the normal lives of its characters and their inner worlds, revealing tragic miscommunications and startling overlaps. The novel therefore demands a lot of the reader, the way William Faulkner and Melville do. It's not meant to be light airplane or train ride fare. It's meant to expand the way we see the world. One way it did that for me was get me to question what a true adult really is. The novel shows us a man who seems financially independent and responsible; he's a parent and has struggled throughout his life to work up to the position of a foreman. He's loyal to his boss and has raised and provided for several children. And yet he's trapped in a pattern of his own aggressive and patriarchal behaviors. When he breaks that pattern in his fifties (during the novel's climax), he finally becomes a true adult in the fullest sense of the word. It's as if adulthood is in the very act of freeing one's self from one's past, in the act of allowing one's former self to father one's current self but without passing on old sins. The Dogs of March is like a coming-of-age story, for one who has already come of age.One of my favorite things about the book is that is refuses to pander to the sensational. Over and over again, the inherently interesting plot invites it to become a thriller, mystery, or even a romance. It could easily become a story of ultra-violence, of explosive conflicts, or of total scandal. But it adheres to the Literary with a capitol "L" and realistically shows us how events play out. It thus conveys how life actually feels. There's an emergent sense of genuine truth about all of the characters and the storyline. This sense of truth includes even the stranger plot elements, like a showdown between man and beast in the woods where the laws that govern everyday life seem temporarily suspended. These kind of events come and go without making the reader question their validity in the least. They are so deeply planted in the story's realism that they feel inevitable, even spiritually true.By bringing us to acute moments in the language and story, by showing us like no other novel I've read how the shoreline between a man and his circumstances are so continually erased over and over again, The Dogs of March deserves to be a classic. In my particular copy, there's a handwritten note on the front flap: "Mary--If we insist on living in New Hampshire, we should know about this--Nancy." I'd amend the message. If you insist on living in America, you should know about this incredible work.
Fiquei surpreendida com este livro. Fico normalmente surpreendida pela positiva quando compro um livro a custo zero e descubro que este livro deveria ser vendido pelo menos por cinco ou seis euros.É um bom estudo sobre a psicologia de quem passou pela vida tendo pouco ou quase nada. Examina a mente de forma imparcial, as lutas e dificuldades de quem não consegue vingar na vida por falta de intelecto, não de inteligência da alma humana.O livro relata a história de Howard e Elenore, cinquentões (mais ou menos, pois Howard não sabe a sua idade ao certo) que vivem numa pequena cidade chamada Darby, no interior dos EUA.Howard e Elenore têm 4 filhos: Heather, Charlene, Sherry Ann (fugida há anos e nunca mais vista) e Freddy (rato de biblioteca vegetariano, como eu).Vivem uma vida recatada e simples, mas a verdadeira dificuldade começa quando Howard decepa um dedo numa máquina de tear na empresa onde trabalha como mecânico. O seu sonho era ter uma empresa de camionagem mas, por se achar demasiado simplório e saloio, deixa esse sonho de lado, até ao dia em que a empresa fecha e ele fica quase inválido, numa idade demasiado avançada para arranjar novamente um emprego que não lhe retire toda a dignidade masculina que tem.A partir daqui a história constrói tensão e... murcha. Gostei muito da tensão que construiu até este ponto, em que de repente me vejo a olhar para a mente dos personagens envolvidos na trama, tendo Howard como o ponto principal e pivô, sobre o qual o enredo gira.Seria interessante se ao longo do retrato psicológico de todos envolvidos, houvesse algum desenvolvimento da prosa, pois acabei por me sentir tentada a fazer spreading em algumas partes pois acabou por se tornar demasiado maçador.Não me entendam mal, eu adorei a prosa deste autor: fluida, fácil de compreender, lírica em algumas partes, o que achei interessante no meio de alguns palavrões aqui e ali.Gostei do livro, recomendo, e talvez a parte maçadora para mim seja interessante para outros leitores.Nunca vi um livro que relatasse tão bem o que vai na cabeça de quem se acha menos capaz por ter tido menos oportunidades na vida.
What do You think about The Dogs Of March (2014)?
This is a memorable book. Mostly, we see the world of Darby, NH through the eyes of Howard Elman. Despite having no education, Howard's deep thinking brings the reader from losing his job at a textile mill to having peace of mind and working to improve himself in many ways at the end of the story. In between he must battle personal and actual demons. Excellent writing describes the people and town of Darby in lyrical and emotional prose that, at times, will leave the reader as breathless as the main characters.Eventually, I will read the 6 other books in The Darby Chronicles.
—Valerie
Tale reflecting the change that has come over the working manThe novel has interesting insights throughout. It is well written, and the happenings between the main characters are real and gritty. It tells the story of the downfall of the opportunities for the man (or woman) who used to be destined to work at an often repetitive job to support his family. The problems that these often less educated people encounter when trying to become employed after losing a job with which they have been comfortable are well known to today's older workers. The resilience of such an older job seeker is also evident later in the novel. The relationship and caring between an aging married couple is touching. Also explored is the tearing asunder of The ties between the father with older American values and his various mostly grown children who seek to follow more modern paths is tempered with familial caring and love. All in all an enjoyable and worthwhile read.
—Claire Osgood
"What we have here is a failure to communicate." That about sums up the frustration and anger of the characters in this book--both the rich and the poor. I do not mean this in a dismissive or trivial way--this failure of communication is at the heart of the poverty most of the characters of this book suffer through. This reminds me of a new setting (New Hampshire) for Erskin Caldwell and Flannery O'Connor--in a good way. It is a brilliant, moving, compelling, sensitive book, and one I am so very happy I stumbled upon. I have no idea why Hebert isn't as well known as others, such as Caldwell and O'Connor, but after reading this, I have no doubt that he should be.
—Pamela
