The Dog of the South

The Dog of the South by Charles Portis (1979) On the surface, there’s no reason for me to like this book—about a young guy I can’t relate to who whose wife has left him. It’s a road journey from Arkansas down through Mexico, to Belize. They guy, Ray, is a humorless history buff who makes one bad decision after another. His wife has gone off with a sketchy loser—they’ve taken Ray’s awesome car (a Torino—an old Ford that was particularly badass) and shotgun, so Ray has to follow them in the loser’s broken-down Buick, sneaking his revolver across the border in a store-bought pie. Nothing about his methods inspire confidence. At first, I was cringing along, but as Ray came across one eccentric, over-the-top character after anther—something happened—I shifted into pure joy. I can’t recall having this much fun reading a book in a while, and I’ve read some terrific books lately. One of the funniest characters he meets is Dr. Symes, a larger-than-life schemer, one of those guys who has so many unbelievable stories and plans to get rich—you don’t care if he’s making most of it up—you just want to hear him keep talking. But that’s really just the beginning—it keeps getting more outlandish—each time you expect disaster—it fizzles out hilariously—and something strange and expected comes along—one oddball character and then the next—one failed plan after another—and the story keeps getting weirder and better. This is one of those books that I want to keep a copy around like an old friend—I was sad when it ended—but then was thinking—what was that all about, anyway? It gives me comfort that it exists because I know it’s there for me to re-read, some day. Though… I have no idea if it will be one of those books that gets better over time, and subsequent readings—or I’ll be baffled, and think—was I insane when I read that the first time? You never know.

10.17.23