Doggone Murder

Book Review: THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME
Written by: Mark Haddon
Originally released in: 2004
Published by: Vintage
272pages
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Children’s author and screenwriter Mark Haddon’s first foray into adult literature, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, is a remarkably absorbing and dedicatedly thorough account of how coping with a child with Asperger’s Syndrome can tear a family apart.

Written from the perspective of savant teenage narrator Christopher Francis Boone’s logically methodical yet emotionally distant point of view, The Curious Incident is in equal turns a wonderful, courageous and frustrating character piece masquerading as a murder mystery novel.

The deserved winner of multiple esteemed literary awards upon its release six years ago, I can’t quite justify exactly why it has taken me this darn long to catch up with the book – especially considering how much I enjoyed Haddon’s sophomore dip into adult fiction: 2006’s A Spot of Bother.

Despite being widely disparate in characters and premise, both novels demonstrate an astonishingly acute insight into the obsessions and sufferings – major and minor – which contribute to “normal” human behaviour, whether inflicted or not, and it is a shame Haddon hasn’t written more for this demographic.

Written in Christopher’s frank unflourished style (there are many uses of the phrase “and then this happened…”), The Curious Incident’s narrative body is mottled with illustrated depictions of complex mathematical equations, street maps, road signs and visual identitifiers which assist Christopher in manoeuvring that which so terrifies him (the world at large) and aids his selfish mindset in understanding the needs and emotions of those close to him. It also aids us in associating with his naïve outlook.

Ignorant to his own inconsiderate actions, the novel can at times be eye-openingly exasperating – people who care for this boy must repeatedly forfeit their own pride and freedom for the good of a person who fails to appreciate their sacrifices or reciprocate their affection (Christopher hates to be touched, often screaming, raging or wetting himself if he is handled) – and they are driven to making difficult, heartbreaking and controversial decisions for the good of their own livelihood.

Doggedly determined to solve the mystery of who murdered his neighbour’s canine pet, Wellington, with a pitch fork, Christopher meticulously documents his amateur sleuthing as if solving a maths problem; an investigation which is hindered by his antisocial condition, an understandably over-protective father and Christopher’s restricted concept of acceptable behaviour.

Ultimately, the investigation leads Christopher to make a startlingly life-changing discovery – one which I felt every bit as much as our narrator simply because the tunnel-visioned perspective offers us no information outside what Christopher chooses to share. That Mark Haddon was still able to craft a fully realised diegesis from this bold restriction simply adds to my admiration for this committedly crafted testament to the human spirit.


In a CR@B Shell: Despite its naïve authorial voice, The Curious Incident is hardly lightweight reading. Nevertheless, this is an outstandingly rewarding novel which truly opens your eyes to the day-to-day struggles of those suffering from autism – and those who love them. As Christopher would exemplify :-)
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Puppy Power!

DVD Review: BOLT
PG – 96mins – 2009
Written by: Dan Fogelman and Chris Williams, with Byron Howard and Jared Stern
Directed by: Byron Howard and Chris Williams
Starring the voice talents of: John Travolta, Miley Cyrus, Susie Essman, Mark Walton, Malcolm McDowell, James Lipton, Greg Germann
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On the surface, this hyper-modern tale of a genetically enhanced superdog who can shoot lasers from his eyes, outrun speeding locomotives and bark loud enough to decimate motorways, sounds like a radically cool sci-fi twist on Disney's routine talking animal 'toon template.

But don't start yapping for joy just yet, folks, because unfortunately Bolt fails to reinvent the (hamster) wheel like its quirky premise promises. After a refreshingly erractic – and dare I be so complimentary? Avant garde – double bluff opening which triumphantly pulls you in two completely opposing directions, once the bombast has settled down you soon realise that you've seen this story a thousand times before.

You see, our eponymous pup (Travolta) may be a superstar, but he's only a superhero in his own mind. For Bolt is actually the lead in an action-packed hit TV show, but the powers-that-be behind the camera have made the curious decision to keep the truth of their scripted operation from their cute-but-courageous four-legged star, in order to extract a more realistic performance from their cash canine. I've heard of method acting but this takes the (doggy) biscuit!

Naturally, this causes no end of hassle in making sure that Bolt truly believes in this make believe reality where he fights off mysterious helmeted henchmen in his quest to take down his evil green-eyed nemesis, Dr Calico (McDowell), even when the cameras aren't rolling.

But when the deluded dog is accidentally let out of his trailer and separated from his co-star and young human owner, Penny (Cyrus), he is forced to confront the disheartening truth and comprehend his own mortality as he makes his way back to the Hollywood film lot he calls home through a real world which is so much more terrifying when you aren't the invincible hero you thought you were.

As you would expect, lessons are learnt, truths are told, faiths are regained and self-referential parent-pleasing quips are fired off, as Bolt treks from city-to-city in loyal search of “his person”, accompanied – as is the convention in these matters – by a couple of lovingly misunderstood sidekick “outcast” critters.

Meet Mittens, a cynical, de-clawed alley cat, and Rhino, an overweight TV-obsessed hamster in a transparent exercise ball. Mittens provides Bolt with the no-nonsense reality of his predicament, while dreamer Rhino is noteworthy only for his over-use of the word “awesome” (which, ironically, is anything but). He even hilariously (sic) evolves it into “be-awesome”, which is a whole syllable easier to say than 'beyond awesome', except it makes absolutely zero sense.

Annoying word use aside, the crux to Bolt's success is that once the high concept disguise is stripped away from this slick pup, all you are left with is just another syrupy sweet rite of passage Disney clone, straddled with the added disadvantage of requiring even more of a stretch of your imagination than usual.

The scriptwriting team don't exactly help themselves either by seemingly being unable to make up their minds regarding a rather major plot point. Is Bolt the biggest and most easily distinguishable celebri-dog since Lassie with billboards and merchandise in his image, or is he just another mutt with a lightening bolt painted on his fur who is not recognised by pigeons and gets thrown in the dog pound without a glance at his Hollywood engraved dog tag? Furthermore, if he's such a valuable asset to the TV network, then are we really supposed to believe that when he goes missing, the best advertising they can muster is Penny's crudely handwritten A4 poster?

No, I'm not barking mad (just a stickler for pedantry), and yes, I'm well aware that I'm looking far too deeply into a light-hearted family-focused animation, but as even the in-film executives at the Hollywood television studios understood: consistency helps build a believable universe, and without it, you're completely boned.


In a CR@B Shell: “Be-awesome” on the outside but less-than-pedigree on the inside, Bolt fails to innovate from Disney's rigid tradition, despite a wicked hook which sadly tails off after five thunderous and unconventional opening minutes. Doggone it.
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Hair of the Dog

Book Review: MY TALKS WITH DEAN SPANLEY
Written by Lord Dunsany
First published in 1936 by William Heinemann Ltd.
Film tie-in edition released in 2008 by HarperCollins
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Playwright, poet and novelist Edward Plunkett (published under his official title of Lord Dunsany) was most well renowned for his fantasy fiction, into which genre it is fair to say My Talks with Dean Spanley falls, for it truly is an utterly bizarre tail- I mean, tale. Over the course of the 14 chapter novella, the eponymous dean divulges a deluge of details of his supposed past life... as a dog named Wag (!) to a fame-hungry scientific writer, who dupes the religious leader into spilling the beans on his transmigratory secrets – by getting him drunk on Tokay at dinner parties.

The novella comprises of the dean's ridiculous rambles recorded verbatim (this is all in the name of science, after all), mixed with the writer's agenda-driven observational notes, making him a character in his own right. The formal and outdated prose style takes some getting used to, but it does help characterise the nameless writer – by highlighting his immoral (and surely unscientific?) ways. He readily admits to not having the Dean's wealthfare at heart; his goal being to “rob” the man of his regressive memories and publish them in a report on his “Investigations into the Origins of the Mentality of Certain Serious Persons”, therefore making him famous across Europe.

The Dean's irritatingly twee canine callbacks – including burying food to add to the taste, being beaten by his “Masters” and hunting with fellow mutt “Lion-hunter” – soon become increasingly repetitive, not only to us (indeed, only the shortness of the work convinced me to stick with it), but also to the author, who complains in his notes of the “common” and “ordinary experiences” the Dean details, in lieu of the “strange beliefs” of a “spiritual traveller.... from a past age”. In desperation, the writer invites more guests to his devious dinner parties, in the hope more Tokay will be drunk and more revolutionary secrets unveiled.

And so we reach the hallowed pay-off to these numerable talks with Dean, as the sozzled Spanley lays bare his most remarkable century-old reminiscences, revealing the truth behind canine homing skills, how they are able to sense rabies in other dogs before humans can tell, and much, much more. Except – and herein lies the moral of the story, kids – drinking glass for glass with his guests, the author blanks out and fails to remember anything the Dean has said. The same is true of the other individuals, leaving the scientific writer without any answers to his years-long studies.

Good, I say, for the in-story author was a low and despicable man who didn't deserve fame and fortune for robbing an honest – if decidedly eccentric – man of the cloth of his tipsy blathering. But did this ethical one-note twist* really require 122-pages of squandered preamble? Much like the Dean, I too feel duped into giving up so much of my time to the 'scientific' writer. If only I'd been wasted on Tokay also, the book would have been a far more entertaining read.

CR@B Verdict: So the whole point was My Talks with Dean Spanley was pointless? Wow, what a journey(!) - I'd rather have spent my time chewing on a bone... And no, that is not innuendo. Filthy mongrels.
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* It is no wonder screenplay writer Alan Sharp created a new major character (and a more emotional backstory) when he translated Dean Spanley for the screen, as a faithful interpretation would fail to warrant a 90minute running time. A review of the 2008 film will follow, in due course.