THE DOG FIGHTER

In 1940s Mexico, men fight dogs to the death, though violence isn’t confined just to the ring.

The narrator has no name, and, to give him a distinctive voice, newcomer Bojanowski lightly scrambles standard English syntax: The result reads like a bad translation, but at least we always understand the kid as he tells us about his childhood. His grandfather shaped his personality by reading him stories of fearless warriors and seeing to it that the boy’s blood wasn’t tamed by his weakling of a father. Blood, the foundation of machismo! The boy even comes close to killing his father to eradicate that weakness. Once a teenager, immensely strong and towering above his peers, he finds work in California, where he stabs another Mexican to death and is deported. In 1946, at 19, he arrives in Canción, a picturesque seaside town controlled by a businessman, Cantana, who has the police in his pocket. Cantana is building a big hotel to lure American tourists, but the narrator needs more than low-wage construction work. The dog fights, where the men wear claws and protective clothing, are what pay, both in money and instant fame. For all the blood and guts, the description of the ringside ritual is highly stylized as businessmen place their bets, flanked by their mistresses. Our guy wins with ease, even as he is transfixed by Cantana’s mistress, whose beauty, floating out of reach, begins to consume him on his long nocturnal walks, the monthly fights no longer a preoccupation. Meanwhile, the town seethes with violence as saboteurs disrupt hotel construction. Hatred of Cantana runs deep, and our dog fighter is given an ultimatum by two old men he knows: Kill Cantana or die yourself. The dog fighter’s dilemma provides a smidgen of suspense, but it’s too little, too late.

A bold conception, though Bojanowski’s big lug just isn’t interesting enough to hold our interest.