The title of Jon McGregor’s third novel derives from an anecdote told by one of the many vivid, dispossessed characters whose voices burst from its pages: Steve is a homeless ex-soldier who agrees to help deliver a lorry-load of aid to a Bosnian town, but is turned back on the grounds that ‘even the dogs’ there are dead.
The title of Jon McGregor’s third novel derives from an anecdote told by one of the many vivid, dispossessed characters whose voices burst from its pages: Steve is a homeless ex-soldier who agrees to help deliver a lorry-load of aid to a Bosnian town, but is turned back on the grounds that ‘even the dogs’ there are dead. The words also recall the gospel of Matthew, where even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table — an apt echo, since this is a novel that explores the life-defining dependencies of those on the margins of society, and the ensuing guilt when co-dependency is neglected.
It is late December, and the body of Robert Radcliffe lies undiscovered in his squalid flat for days before the door is finally kicked in.
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