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A review by rhubarb1608
Dog Boy by Eva Hornung
3.0
Romochka, four years old, wakes up one morning to find that the apartment he lives in is totally empty. His mother seems to have been dead for a short time, and his uncle has disappeared -- along with everyone else in the building. There is no running water, electricity, or heat. Romochka goes to bed, but things are worse when he wakes up, not better. When no one has returned for him after several days, he puts on all the clothes he can and ventures out onto the street, where he becomes one of Moscow's two million homeless and abandoned street children.
Or rather, he almost does. Something remarkable happens to him within hours of setting out. See, I did not know when I picked this book up that the street dogs of Moscow are in fact a big deal. Mostly what made me pick it up is the fact that I have a long-standing fascination with feral children, presumably sparked by repeated readings of The Jungle Book and My Side of the Mountain when I was a kid. I didn't realize just how close to being a 20th century Mowgli in Moscow the book actually is, though. As Romochka sits huddled against a water pipe for warmth is that one of Moscow's 35,000 feral dogs passes by and ends up letting him follow her "home."
Mamochka, as he ends up calling her, is a wily yellow dog who has already raised two pups to adulthood and has a small litter of four in her den. Despite the horrible stink of the place, it is warm, and there is food (of sorts) -- Ramochka helps himself to the dog's milk and makes brothers and sisters of the four puppies. With the provision of Mamochka and her two grown pups, the abandoned four-year-old is able to survive the freezing Russian winter, though that is only the very beginning of his story.
Eva Hornung keeps the plot moving by slightly changing perspective in each of the book's four parts, gracefully blending the passage of time so that we scarcely notice that four years of Ramochka's life go by in the process. He quickly finds himself dominant to these feral dogs in many ways, much as young Mowgli discovers he alone has the ability to stare into their eyes unblinking without looking away. And while the youngster laments his lack of hair and very poor sense of smell, by age six he has learned how to beg food for them in the metro stations (a popular haunt of wild dogs) and carry his own weight in his pack.
Like Mowgli, Ramochka discovers that he is between the world of the pack and the world of the humans, but not truly welcome in either. Imaginative and clever, he is able to lead them and order them as no human could have done before -- but due to his wild appearance, he is hated and feared by the other homeless that live around "trash mountain." He has some harrowing adventures, getting lost in the metro with his favorite White Sister; being captured by police, who rather than help him, sell tickets to see the wild child; and being tortured by a gang of skinheads. He is not without friends though, including the sweet cook at an Italian restaurant, who helps him survive one of Moscow's worst winters by giving him blankets, clothes, and a coat, as well as food. Conversing with her keeps him in touch with his humanity, keeps it in his mind that the ways he is different from his dogs are not shortcomings.
Things take a surprising turn when Mamochka brings home another human, this one a baby who fills Ramochka with jealousy as well as strong feelings of love and protectiveness. But the reader understands what the youngster cannot, that this lifestyle -- horrifying and fascinating -- cannot last. And that's when the directors of a children's clinic take notice of these "dog boys."
It's not a book for anyone with a sensitive stomach. Dogs, if you have never noticed, are disgusting. Feral dogs are like a million times worse. And while those in the picture look completely fluffydorable, there's so much filth, bodily fluids, carcasses, and general blood and muck in this book that Kipling so graciously skipped in his. It adds a layer of realism, but I still don't recommend reading it over lunch.
Still, for the most part, I really enjoyed it and was not disappointed at all. In fact, I found the ending one of the best I've read, with all the pieces fitting just perfectly to a resolution that is somehow both distressing and yet right. Hornung has a strong voice, a sharp sense of place, and I was completely fascinated by Ramochka's dogventures, in spite of all the viscera.
Or rather, he almost does. Something remarkable happens to him within hours of setting out. See, I did not know when I picked this book up that the street dogs of Moscow are in fact a big deal. Mostly what made me pick it up is the fact that I have a long-standing fascination with feral children, presumably sparked by repeated readings of The Jungle Book and My Side of the Mountain when I was a kid. I didn't realize just how close to being a 20th century Mowgli in Moscow the book actually is, though. As Romochka sits huddled against a water pipe for warmth is that one of Moscow's 35,000 feral dogs passes by and ends up letting him follow her "home."
Mamochka, as he ends up calling her, is a wily yellow dog who has already raised two pups to adulthood and has a small litter of four in her den. Despite the horrible stink of the place, it is warm, and there is food (of sorts) -- Ramochka helps himself to the dog's milk and makes brothers and sisters of the four puppies. With the provision of Mamochka and her two grown pups, the abandoned four-year-old is able to survive the freezing Russian winter, though that is only the very beginning of his story.
Eva Hornung keeps the plot moving by slightly changing perspective in each of the book's four parts, gracefully blending the passage of time so that we scarcely notice that four years of Ramochka's life go by in the process. He quickly finds himself dominant to these feral dogs in many ways, much as young Mowgli discovers he alone has the ability to stare into their eyes unblinking without looking away. And while the youngster laments his lack of hair and very poor sense of smell, by age six he has learned how to beg food for them in the metro stations (a popular haunt of wild dogs) and carry his own weight in his pack.
Like Mowgli, Ramochka discovers that he is between the world of the pack and the world of the humans, but not truly welcome in either. Imaginative and clever, he is able to lead them and order them as no human could have done before -- but due to his wild appearance, he is hated and feared by the other homeless that live around "trash mountain." He has some harrowing adventures, getting lost in the metro with his favorite White Sister; being captured by police, who rather than help him, sell tickets to see the wild child; and being tortured by a gang of skinheads. He is not without friends though, including the sweet cook at an Italian restaurant, who helps him survive one of Moscow's worst winters by giving him blankets, clothes, and a coat, as well as food. Conversing with her keeps him in touch with his humanity, keeps it in his mind that the ways he is different from his dogs are not shortcomings.
Things take a surprising turn when Mamochka brings home another human, this one a baby who fills Ramochka with jealousy as well as strong feelings of love and protectiveness. But the reader understands what the youngster cannot, that this lifestyle -- horrifying and fascinating -- cannot last. And that's when the directors of a children's clinic take notice of these "dog boys."
It's not a book for anyone with a sensitive stomach. Dogs, if you have never noticed, are disgusting. Feral dogs are like a million times worse. And while those in the picture look completely fluffydorable, there's so much filth, bodily fluids, carcasses, and general blood and muck in this book that Kipling so graciously skipped in his. It adds a layer of realism, but I still don't recommend reading it over lunch.
Still, for the most part, I really enjoyed it and was not disappointed at all. In fact, I found the ending one of the best I've read, with all the pieces fitting just perfectly to a resolution that is somehow both distressing and yet right. Hornung has a strong voice, a sharp sense of place, and I was completely fascinated by Ramochka's dogventures, in spite of all the viscera.