Memoir/Eamon Delaney: One day, the writer Paul Bailey found himself becoming the unexpected owner of a dog.
He saw the puppy in the window of a pet shop and was instantly, and lastingly, beguiled. The dog was given the name Circe by Bailey's dying partner, David, who was also overcome by her charms, though after a great deal of initial resistance. The memoir tells of the 16 years Paul Bailey spent in Circe's company, while also giving us portraits of friends and acquaintances, living and dead.
There are nice images of the various characters encountered during his walks with the dog, and hilarious, quixotic descriptions of Bailey's trips abroad - to Italy, Hungary and, especially, coastal Romania.
It must be said that this is a popular form of memoir now, and deservedly so, taking things from a sideways perspective, rather than the chronological route, with revelations made through cities lived in, successive spouses, sports tournaments or, in this case, a dog to lead the way.
As Bailey proved with an earlier memoir, An Immaculate Mistake, he has a gift for the spare, immediately compelling narrative, which gets directly to the quick of life and memory. He particularly captures the poignancy of a gay man of his generation, dodging the snoopy law enforcers of the 1950s and 1960s, devoting serious attention to the opera, travelling and the importance of etiquette at good dinner parties. Not observing of which is the boorish Kingsley Amis, who predictably, at one dinner, rants about "foreign muck".
In this way, Bailey's account is similar to those of American author, Edmund White, and captures that interesting period of muted and tasteful gay culture before it became the tiresome business it is today, with offensive drag queens and screaming men in bicycle shorts. The love that dare not speak its name is now, it seems, screaming its exploits everywhere.
Dogs are surrogate children in this world, of course, and are treated as such, with Bailey excitedly taking the dog to the park, scolding her for snapping at passing bicycles.
Death comes early and often in this memoir, which is probably what gives it such a melancholy resonance. There is an attrition not just from the deadly AIDS virus but also from the lonely ravages of alcohol and unkempt living. But, always, the grim optimism and joie de vivre:
"Jeremy's stability," writes Bailey cogently of his companion, "was all the more remarkable when one considers his itinerant upbringing. Yet I know of men and women who were raised in loving, settled families, and who lacked his steely strength of character in a crisis."
Bailey has a gift for the one-liner and bon mot, even if at times it drifts into the double entendres of Benny Hill (there is, it seems, an "ooh-er" drag queen element to even the most muted of gay culture). But this is delightful and unusual, especially for those people with close relationships with their pets, among which I (and apparently the fallen spin doctor, Alistair Campbell) most certainly are not.
A Dog's Life By Paul Bailey Hamish Hamilton, 182pp. £15.99
Eamon Delaney is an author and critic