The friend in the title could be a Great Dane named Apollo,
or it could be the narrator’s writer friend—a man who has recently committed
suicide. The dog belonged to the writer
until the writer’s death, and now our female narrator, a self-proclaimed cat person,
reluctantly takes ownership of Apollo, despite the fact that the lease on her
tiny apartment prohibits dogs. She and
Apollo bond over their shared grief, and they become virtually inseparable,
initially because Apollo becomes destructive on the one occasion where the
narrator leaves him alone for too long. Call
me crazy, but I loved the image of the 180-lb dog lying in bed with her on his
own pillow. The narrator also shares
with the reader quite a few fascinating opinions about writers, including what
they write and why they write. She
herself teaches writing and has abandoned writing a book about human
trafficking. The narrator peppers her
musings on writing with a fair amount of cynicism regarding fiction today,
especially when quoting her deceased friend.
She offers a scathing criticism of James Patterson’s claim that anyone
can write a bestseller and his selling of videos that promise the viewer the
ability to do just that, as if he didn’t already have an obscene amount of
money. This book is funny at times, but
mostly it is incredibly touching, and I had to remind myself constantly that it
was fiction and not a memoir. One
chapter threw me for a loop until I realized that it was basically a detour
into magical thinking, ending in sort of a guilt trip. At least, that’s how I interpreted it. This is so much more than a dog book, and yet
it addresses so beautifully why we accept the constant violence against humans,
in movies and in real life, but cannot bear the mistreatment of animals.
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