The advance praise printed on the back cover of Arthur Bradford’s first collection of short stories, Dogwalker, is a force to be reckoned with. Peppered with humorous compliments from such literary bigwigs as David Foster Wallace, Zadie Smith and Dave Eggers of McSweeny’s fame, Bradford’s first book, described by Smith as “quite simply the mutt’s nuts,” has certainly impressed the popular kids. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous reviewing such hip material.
The essence of this 12-story book is suggested in its epigraph, taken from Richard Linklater’s anti-narrative, cult classic film Slacker. The quote tells of a book read in a dream about how every thought splinters off to create its own separate existence, eventually spawning an infinite number of parallel realities. Dogwalker can be read as this very book; it’s as if each individual story is its own reality in the myriad worlds of the same narrator. Dogwalker really isn’t a collection of 12 separate stories but more like a novel made up of chapters whose narratives coexist rather than connect.
The consistent narrative voice of Dogwalker, while never giving any kind of textual resolution or character progress, is what keeps the reader afloat. These stories are told with a calmness that surpasses apathy and enters the realm of unbelievable serenity. The tranquility of Bradford’s prose persists even in the face of the most incredulous events – such as when the character’s deranged neighbor falls asleep on the train tracks and is severed in two by a massive locomotive in “Bill McQuill.”
The language of Dogwalker remains anecdotal even when translating violence, and it’s this casual air with which the narrator approaches his surroundings that I found most impressive. Just as his idol and former teacher Denis Johnson did before him in Jesus’ Son, Bradford is able to create a surprisingly magical world with a straightforward first-person narrative.
Bradford’s talent emerges most fully when he aspires to depict the same kind of redemption and beauty that makes Johnson’s writing so powerful. Unfortunately, sometimes the stories in Dogwalker don’t find these moments. Certain pieces, like “Mattress,” about the narrator’s failed trip to get a used bed, fall a little short. Some of his stories are a little mundane, like a joke missing the punch line. In these cases, Bradford’s writing style only hurts him, proving that he is still only an admirer of Johnson. Clearly, Bradford can’t do with dogs what Johnson has done with heroin addiction.

And oh yes, there are so many dogs. Although the canine motif often gets a bit tiresome, there are times when the animals really add something to the stories. At their best, the dogs are at the center of the book’s occasional magnificence, proving how capable the narrator is of love and loyalty. As the narrator wanders through his confused existence, dogs frequently show up in his life. These dogs, in a sense, highlight the narrator’s transience, rather than becoming a stamp of responsibility.
After finishing Dogwalker, I wanted to repeat my favorite stories aloud to someone who hadn’t read the book, figuring that their anecdotal nature would make them easy to translate into speech. And after I did a couple of times, I began to really appreciate Bradford’s knack for storytelling. The incredible events he dreamed up never failed to amaze my listeners. Despite its misgivings, Bradford’s first collection is promising, and I’m certain his next publication will be superb.