Ever read J.G. Ballard’s CRASH and thought, “You know, if they took away all the car accidents and just left the sex, this would be a better book”? I’m here to answer, “No, it would not.” The proof is Daniel Davies’ THE ISLE OF DOGS, and I believe the term “soulless” popped into my head more then a few times while reading it.
The story deals with Jeremy Shepherd, a man who gave up a high-paying job in London to move back in with his parents. He does so to simplify his lifestyle into only the basic needs: food, shelter and the anonymous sex on which he thrives. The type of sexual exploits we are talking about entails hanging out in deserted parking lots, waiting for other couples to show up.
It’s called “dogging,” where people meet up for these sessions where names are usually fake and people are extremely cautious. The story explains the process of how Shep — as Jeremy calls himself — operates in this world, including numerous message boards and websites that cater to this culture of dogging.
THE ISLE OF DOGS is told through Shep’s experiences and meet-ups, be it with an older couple or a former boy band singer who does it with his mistress. Throughout the story, you see this world closing in on itself, as people are attacked and even blackmailed to keep things quiet. All of it leads to a massive police raid one night at a new and supposedly safe location.
But the final outcome — with what looks to be Shep’s last attempt at dogging — was so telegraphed, it’s anticlimactic. Davies’ writing is breezy enough and shows some talent, but this novel is just a cheap excuse to push sexual morays and taboos. I’m hopeful his next one will have a bit more meat to hold it together, rather than being what seems like some sort of expanded PENTHOUSE FORUM letter. —Bruce Grossman
