THE American short story has an apparently inexhaustible capacity to add to an already formidable tradition. While praise is being heaped upon established writers such as Richard Ford Tobias Wolff, E. Annie Proulx Thom Jones or Robert Olmstead, more new writers appear, poised to challenge their masters. Brad Watson, a Mississippian, is yet another, and the seven stories in his first book, Last Days of the Dog-Men (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, £9.99 in UK), have both the stylistic maturity and thematic diversity of fellow Southerners such as the late Breece D'J Pancake and Pickney Benedict.
Do not be misled by the title.a This tough, often violent but controlled book is not a celebration of the dog. Watson writes with deep feeling, if little sentiment, about dogs and people, their mutual helplessness, dependency and offbeat dignity. In the outstanding title story, one of three told in the first person, the narrator remembers his father, a man who had always kept an assortment of hunting dogs and beagles, until; "neighbours finally sent the old man to municipal court charged with something like disturbing the peace".
Once his father's hunting dogs have been despatched to new homes, the narrator notes that "after that he went into decline. He liked the Labs but never took much interest, they being already a hollow race of dog, the official dog of the middle class." It is the story in which Watson comes closest to offering a philosophical meditation on dogs. He writes: "A dog keeps his life simple and unadorned. He is who he is, and his only task is to assert this." But the story quickly moves on to examine how one character uses his two dogs as a way of exploring various levels of power and control, while the narrator, having moved away from his father's home to a "dogless suburban house", reports how his wife eventually brought home a dog in order to revitalise their faltering relationship. Instead of saving the marriage, the dog helps expose the hollowness of it.
Throughout this episodic story the narrator maintains the calm, thoughtful tone which is Watson's true voice, even when relating violent events. Watson allows the exactness of his rhythmic prose to balance the violence he describes. Greeting the wife who has caught him making love to another woman, the narrator, initially relieved by signs hinting at possible reconciliation, remarks: "She seemed like someone I'd only now just met, whom I'd walked in on by her own design." However, this is followed by, "she looked at me, and my heart sank, and the knot that had formed in my chest the night before began to dissolve into sorrow".
Even at their most extreme, these are measured, traditional stories, cleverly balancing reflection, observation, incident and natural dialogue. Elsewhere, an ageing woman and her dog sit together on their porch like a Norman Rockwell illustration, she "missing her left eye, and Bob the bulldog missing his right ... together they could see anything coming, Bob to one side and Agnes to the other."
The story follows the simple daily routine of the woman and the dog she only really got to know after the death of her husband. When he had been alive, the dog had been "the son he'd never had", leaving Agnes to feel at best like the dog's stepmother. The year of her widowhood had changed their relationship but Agnes, conscious of now living in a neighbourhood of widows, does not want to end up like Lura, who at 84 insists on driving her car every day. The two eventually go on an outing intended by Agnes to amuse the old woman. But it is she who falls into danger, forcing the older woman to announce after Agnes has almost drowned: "I imagine you've had enough sun ... I'm lucky I'm not dead of a heart attack, you nearly scared me to death.
"Bill", a simple story about an old woman's final gesture of love to her dying dog, carries echoes of Maupassant. Even so Watson's subtle black humour is the spring from which the story develops. The dog had been named by her husband in memory of a boy he had known during the Great War. Although Howard, her senile husband, now resides at King's Daughters' Rest Home, she goes to consult him about her ailing dog. "I came to tell you about Bill, Howard. He's almost completely blind now and he can't go to the bathroom properly. The veterinarian says he's in pain and he's not going to get better and I should put him to sleep." With tears in his eyes, the old man replies: "Poor old Bill." Unfortunately, he thinks his wife is referring to his long-dead soldier friend.
In "The Wake", Sam becomes conscious of a dying dog who has sought sanctuary under his porch. Meanwhile, a large crate arrives. Inside it is his estranged girlfriend. While the estranged couple continue to bicker, Sam's dinner guests arrive. Eventually Sam leaves them arguing and goes in search of the dog. Lying under the porch with it he is aware of the "shuffling sounds" overhead as the guests attempt to release Marcia from her packing case.
Several of the narratives are as complex as Rubik cubes, none more so than "Kindred Spirits", in which a lawyer calmly explains how he was tricked into successfully defending a killer who then ran off with the lawyer's wife. The story begins in a peaceful barbecue setting, which proves a dramatic contrast to the barbaric events which follow.
Watson is an assured, thinking, original writer who succeeds in creating the impression that he is as much taken by surprise by his stories as his readers are.
