I normally love experimental literature, but the extreme form of the narrative make Even the Dogs too hard for me to follow. I may try again later.

Even the Dogs takes us into the grimy subculture of heroin addiction in a British urban centre. The story is rudimentary. The body of Robert Radcliffe is discovered in a squalid, chaotic apartment about a week after his death from the accumulated effects of long-term alcohol abuse and general physical neglect. Prior to this event Robert’s apartment was the nexus for a group of addicts to whom he permitted use the place to get high so long as they contributed to the supply of food and drink. But Robert’s death, which happens between Christmas and New Year’s, sends the group scattering into the streets, and once police and a forensics team move in the apartment is off limits. The remainder of the novel chronicles, often in grisly detail, the fates of the addicts as well as the agonizing journey of Robert’s body from point of discovery through to autopsy and, finally, disposal. Jon McGregor’s fiction is routinely cited for bold departures from conventional storytelling strategies and techniques. In Even the Dogs he utilizes a collective narrative voice to depict events as they happen, writing from the perspective of the group of addicts, who serve as a kind of Greek chorus, observing the proceedings from the shadows as police, medical examiners and others go about their business. The novel is at its best when the narrative zeroes in on the individual addicts—Danny, Mike, Ben, Laura, Ant—and we learn how circumstances conspired to lead them down a tragic and desperate path. The novel is densely written in prose that echoes an urban streetwise vernacular, and McGregor conveys, vividly and dispassionately, the painful craving of drug addiction and the catastrophic decisions it forces on its sufferers. But it’s impossible to ignore the fact that the book also presents a case of technique overwhelming story. After a while the reader longs for a simple, straightforward description or scrap of dialogue that would enable us to connect with a character. The book’s brilliance is that it shows us everything and turns away from nothing. But the tone throughout is clinical, and in the final analysis our response to this novel is blunted by its lack of emotional depth. ( )

Dismal, bleak and mercifully short. This was like Melvin Burgess's [b:Junk|98973|Junk|Melvin Burgess|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1171430616s/98973.jpg|2756729] crossed with Jim Crace's [b:Being Dead|92559|Being Dead|Jim Crace|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1362225657s/92559.jpg|1239782]. Cut off sentences add urgency but also stand for muddled minds unable to focus. I thought this was a powerful work about loneliness, addiction and people living beyond the borders of society. Impressive. ( )

Some of the descriptions are stomach-churning. ( )

Well, this made for somewhat odd Yom Kippur reading. Strong start, strong finish, indifferent middle. Hated, hated, hated the way it was written. I'm all for taking chances with style, but the random sentence fragments were driving me nuts. ( )