Dog Boy by Eva Hornung

Meticulously researched with stingingly simple prose, Hornung creates a disturbing but believable portrayal of a young boy’s adoption by a pack of wild dogs, says Tanya Simmons
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Tanya Simmons
The Guardian , Tuesday 13 October 2009
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Dog Boy
by Eva Hornung 293pp, Text, $32.95

Set in post-perestroika Russia where homelessness and poverty are rife, Dog Boy gives the account of four-year-old Romochka who is abandoned in a cold and desolate Moscow apartment by his mother and uncle. Left to fend for himself, Romochka’s hunger forces him to ignore his mother’s threats of ever leaving the building unattended although he adheres exactly to her advice “Don’t go near people.” On the snow-laden streets, a pale-yellow dog rescues him from a dog attack and he follows the friendly stray to her den in the basement of a deserted church. There, amongst the stench and filth, Romochka satisfies his instinct for survival, suckles his “Mamochka” (little mother) and is kept nourished and warm from the freezing-cold winter.

And so begins Romochka’s existence as a feral dog where he is quick to follow the lead and language of his fellow puppies and older pack members. He learns to communicate through observation and mimicry, using his body rather than words; and is taught to forage, hunt, mark boundaries, attack, defend and understand the pack hierarchy, all under the watchful eye of his protective dog-mother. Sometimes Romochka is ashamed and conflicted by his stubby teeth, small ears and poor sense of smell but gradually he realises his contribution to the pack is unique and important. By balancing his canine skills with his human intellect, Romochka is able to lead his family to survive four Russian winters, street gangs, rival dog packs and the brutal militzia raids to “clean up” the Moscow streets.

Hornung skilfully creates a raw and plausible world; her vivid and matter-of-fact style conjures up the smell, taste and texture of being amongst and belonging to a wild pack of dogs. At times, Hornung’s descriptions are confrontational, even disturbing, but are rich with detail, insightful and ring of authenticity because they omit nothing and are dispassionately told.

In the latter part of the novel, the introduction of dialogue, humans and their theoretical ideas about Romochka’s pack clashes with the simple and primal urgency of dog boy’s world. This deliberate juxtaposition sharply relays the intrusion and ultimate intervention in Romochka’s dog life.

The novel’s themes of identity, alienation and displacement compliment Hornung’s award-winning literary criticism and fiction, and relate to her tireless activism for human rights. But admirably, Hornung’s prose is objective when describing the callous treatment of the Russian homeless and refrains from moralising.

Similarly, Hornung does not sentimentalise the relationships between the dogs and Romochka or romanticise their life. Instead she enables their immense love and strong loyalty to be heart-wrenchingly felt especially when the pack is subject to incredible acts of cruelty and misguided help.

Hornung’s novel was inspired by Ivan Mishukov, a Russian boy who was raised by dogs. She studied Russian for nine months, read extensively and observed dog behaviour before visiting Moscow to complete her research. The result is an astonishing and stark tale of survival that neatly dismantles the construction of humans and dogs, and explores what belonging means.

Hornung is an Australian author of six novels published under the name Eva Sallis. Her first novel, Hiam, won the 1997 Vogel Literary Award and The Marsh Birds won the 2005 Asher Literary Award. She is the co-founder of Australians Against Racism and an advocate for the rights of asylum seekers.