Review by New York Times Review
IT IS ONE OF THE CONCEITS of Eileen Myles's winning new memoir that it was not merely inspired by her deceased pit bull Rosie - memorably described as "a masculine girl, British bke an old upper-class dyke" - but that she also had a paw in writing it. And if that wasn't enough, speaking post-mortem Rosie claims, "I wrote virtually every poem by Eileen Myles from 1990 to 2006" (the years during which she and Myles lived together). It's true, Myles humbly admits, addressing Rosie some pages later: "I wrote poetry different ever since the advent of you.... I put you in the middle of my life and you never steered me wrong." Seven years after her death, Rosie, observing Myles at work on "Afterglow," predicts that, with her help, it will be a much greater success than Myles's "earlier Eileen-based fictions," by which she means books like "Chelsea Girls" and "Inferno," fictions that appear to be actually memoirs. According to Myles, in an interview with the British journal The White Review, "Afterglow" is "actually quite fictional, probably more than any other book I've ever written." Going back over the painful, at times gruesome, details of Rosie's decline, Myles is unflinching but also irrepressibly humorous. Her grief at losing Rosie is profound; it is also a revelation. Tending to her incontinent dying dog, she recalls, "I thought that's it. She's god. And I felt so calm. I've found god now." And: "I felt like a god too. I felt less ambivalently loving than I have ever felt in my life." Living with Rosie, writes Myles, "I was companioned, seen." The gift of being seen is key. When, in a later chapter, Myles writes that her beloved father, who died as a result of a horrific alcohol-related accident when Myles was 11, "saw me," she means it in the same way that Rosie did. In fact, for Myles, Rosie is her dead father, who, after 30 years, "decided to come back again as Rosie because I believe he simply liked me very much." But Myles also imagines that Rosie has been other dogs, and other people besides her father, including, wildly enough, the third-century Persian prophet Mani, founder of Manichaeism. A mind as searching and honest as Myles's would not be content to explore the commonplace joys and rewards of dog ownership without also looking at the dark side. "Part discomfort & humiliation and part devotion" is how she describes the relationship. Could it be that, besides being her pet's nurturer and protector, she was also her abuser? Rosie herself complains of having been cruelly spayed and claims that Myles (or rather, Jethro, as she calls her) "had me raped." (Pace Rosie, the chapter telling how Myles arranged to have her mated with another pit bull in her living room one rainy summer night is one of the high points of the book.) Myles possesses, in abundance, two qualities of the highest value for a writer, irreverence and relentless curiosity, and here both are on full display. As a prose writer she is naturally, even obsessively, digressive, and the book's loose, nonlinear form allows her to riff or ruminate on what can seem at times like a maniacal range of subjects, among them alcoholism, feminism, queerness, libraries, the transmigration of souls, the George W Bush administration, the literal and metaphorical nature of varieties of foam, writers and writing, the art of tapestry, plaid cloth, and the uniforms of U.S. postal workers (Myles's father worked as a mailman). Given how deeply concerned it is with loss, "Afterglow" is inescapably a sad book, but, because it is a love story, and because, like any serious book about death, it is full of life, it has a celebratory feel to it. "It seems you should obviously always be pleasing somebody with your writing but who," writes Myles. "That in part is the problem of the writer." The writing here, by turns playful, heartfelt, wise, compassionate, fantastical and audaciously confessional, should please many. My reluctant leave-taking of Myles and Rosie was softened by "Fetch," another memoir about a woman in a major relationship with a female dog. Nicole J. Georges was 16 when she acquired from a shelter a pup intended as a Christmas gift to her boyfriend. Short-legged, long-bodied, with a wrinkled face and ears that invite comparison with the flying nun and Dumbo, she appears to be part shar-pei and part dachshund or corgi. When her boyfriend's parents renege on their agreement to let him adopt her, Georges decides to keep the dog herself. ("Beija was my version of a love child. She was the baby I had in high school, and I saw no option but to stay the course.") Lucky dog. Given Beija's behavioral problems, which include peeing indoors, incessant barking and attacking small children, it's doubtful she would have been permitted to live out the full measure of her days or found a better home than the one Georges struggles over the next 15 years to provide for her. The dream of a good home is central to this charming and tender graphic memoir. Raised in a chaotic household, the late child of a neglectful mother, Georges recalls that she found comfort only in the company of her pets. But she also confesses to taking out on them her childhood rage and frustrations, which in turn gave rise to feelings of being "unworthy and feral" that would haunt her all her life. As a young adult Georges settles in Portland, Oregon, where her home becomes a kind of artists' commune-cum-flophouse, throbbing with punk energy and alternative creativity, but hardly ideal for a dog of nervous temperament. Beija, soon notorious for being "bad" and "crazy," is forced to wear a neckerchief saying Don't Pet Me. But is she wholly to blame? What about strangers who expect her to behave like a stuffed animal whenever they feel entitled to touch her or otherwise invade her personal space? When Georges creates a flier ardently pleading Beija's case for a right to autonomy and posts copies of it around the neighborhood, she is gratified to discover that at least some people - namely, women - get it: "It's kind of like feminism," says one, "but for dogs." And, for all the disruption she causes, it's Beija who helps Georges find her path as an artist. "Through zines I found diary comics, and something clicked. You didn't need superheroes or gags. A person could draw her own life." And, in Georges's life, funny-looking, crisis-prone Beija, "constant source of drama and joy," is an irresistible sidekick. Georges begins self-publishing comics based on their days together. It's in her zine also that Georges comes out as a lesbian, acknowledging her "immense excitement and deep sense of home around gay ladies." But finding a true, lasting home with another person turns out to be no easy matter, and after one especially brutal breakup Georges succumbs to suicidal despair. At this darkest hour, reflecting on their long relationship, she sees that her incorrigible but ever-faithful dog, who "loved me even when I lapsed in loving myself," has been as much a home for her as she has been for Beija. "Neither of us had ever been chosen," she writes, "but we chose each other." By never giving up on her bad dog, Georges learns never to give up on herself. Georges's career has included doing pet portraits as well as comics, and the beguiling black-and-white drawings that illustrate "Fetch" attest to her assertion of finding "real satisfaction by imbuing animal images with emotions." Muse, lodestar, teacher, therapist, god. No wonder these writers wished to pay tribute to their dogs. Is it possible, though, that each gives her dog a little too much credit for her own accomplishments? I think so. And would that all human weaknesses were so endearing. "Each writer is required to tell a dog's story," Rosie says. Here, twice, the thing is done well. Myles, tending to her dying dog, recalls, 'I thought that's it. She's god. And I felt so calm.' SIGRID NUNEZ'S latest book, "The Friend," a novel, will be published in February.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [October 8, 2017]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* A teenage Georges (Calling Dr. Laura, 2012) surprises her boyfriend with a dachshund puppy. In four words, it doesn't go well. They name the adorable, neurotic mutt Beija and love her beyond reason. Unfortunately, the list of Beija's enemies starts with the teens' parents and grows by many unhappy landlords and neighbors during several subsequent failed attempts to find Beija a better home. But that settles it: Georges and Beija are a team, and they will be one another's constant for the next 16 years. In telling her dog's story, Georges tells others of a feral childhood that left her craving stability, of discovering her creative voice and her career, of love and relationships, of learning empathy from books. She fights for Beija, protects her, and together they grow up. Georges in her cat-eye glasses and changing hairstyles and capricious, sweet-faced, small-bodied Beija appear in most drawings, while occasional text on ribboning scrolls heralds comic and serious realizations (Canine Non Grata, or I believed Beija was my horcrux). This dual bildungsroman of a woman and her pet is a touching tale of how a friend, even a difficult, four-legged one, can become a kind of home to live in.--Bostrom, Annie Copyright 2017 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
"Every dog manual will tell you not to pick the dog hiding at the back of the cage," writes Georges (Calling Dr. Laura) in her second graphic memoir. Yet, in the midst of her own semi-feral childhood as a high school drop-out, Nicole adopts Beija, a mutt with an overly large shar-pei head, stubby legs, and a long dachshund body. Beija grows into a temperamental and challenging companion, with a hatred of men and a tendency to lunge at small children, and accompanies Nicole and her boyfriend to Portland, Ore., into a punk house full of underground musicians and artists. Fifteen years and many relationships later, Beija is still by Nicole's side, having taught her the true definition of loyalty, love, and personal boundaries. Drawn in black and white with watercolor washes and elegant hand lettering, this book is an homage to classic zine aesthetics that captures an incomparable friendship. An honest, moving portrayal of the essential bond between humans and animals. Agent: Holly Bemiss, Susan Rabiner Literary Agency. (July) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
Lambda Award-winning author/artist Georges's (Calling Dr. Laura) prickly, moving account of growing up with a misbehaving mutt begins near the end of the duo's time together. The author is hosting a Quinceañera for Beija, a shar-pei/corgi mix with issues, when the dog lunges at two children, one a toddler. This latest eruption sends Georges and Beija to the basement to reflect on their history. A 15-year-old Georges had rescued Beija in a misbegotten attempt to heal her boyfriend's childhood traumas. That didn't go as planned, nor did several tries to find the dog another home, so Beija becomes the author's one constant, sticking with her through car wrecks and college evasions, a move from the suburbs to a Portland, OR, punk flophouse, and the transition from dating boys to dating girls. One sees the influence of Lynda Barry in chapters about the artist's life as a "feral child," drawn differently than those featuring teen/adult "Georges." A West Coast vibe infuses her quest to rehabilitate her bad dog, with visits to a pet psychic, nods to Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan, and a stint working at an animal refuge. When Georges finds a lump while bathing Beija, the inevitable final act is touchingly, beautifully conveyed. Verdict Part grief memoir, part coming-of-age story, part feminist manifesto, this well-written, splendidly illustrated title would be a good YA crossover. It will stir the hearts of misunderstood riot grrrls, owners of unruly canines, and LGBTQ readers.-Liz French, Library Journal © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
A graphic memoir about a pet dog is more about the artist who lived with her for 15 years or so.A bit of a handful from the start, Beija, the puppy that illustrator Georges (Calling Dr. Laura, 2013, etc.) rescued from the adoption center to give to her high school boyfriend, would become not only her rites-of-passage companion, but also her therapist, antagonist, and muse. She was a difficult dog, in some ways just like her owner. As a small mutt with some Shar-Pei and corgi in her, Beija was uncomfortable around strangers and particularly among men, didn't like unsolicited attention, and tended to attack when she was afraid. As the narrative plays chronological hopscotch back and forth to the author's girlhood before Beija, there's an inference that Georges might not have known how to raise a dog right because she herself hadn't been raised rightthat neglect and lack of sensitivity had turned her into "the feral beast of self-defense" whenever the presence of yet another babysitter threatened her. When her boyfriend's parents refused to let the dog live with them, the artist and her family kept her. Eventually, the author, boyfriend, and dog shared an apartment, where the dog presented plenty of complications, from housebreaking to attacking. They did their best to find her another home, but she kept being returned; no one was able to manage her. Ultimately, they moved from the Midwest to Portland, where the chaos of the punk scene seemed more accommodating for Beija. Ultimately, the artist split from her boyfriend, kept the dog, and went through a process of sexual awakening when she went from considering herself bisexual to gay. Georges covers a lot of material in a narrative that could have used a little editing and is accompanied by black-and-white illustrations that might have benefitted from splashes of color. Will appeal to readers who love both graphic narratives and dogs, but it's not as memorable as the author's previous memoir. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
