Review: "The Graybar Hotel" by Curtis Dawkins

I try to buy debut novels and short story collections when I can, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to buy The Graybar Hotel, the debut short story collection from Curtis Dawkins. That is because Dawkins, as it states simply on the back flap of the hardcover edition, is imprisoned for a drug-related murder and serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole. I looked up the crime he committed (and I suggest you do the same if you are curious about this book), and its details are both disturbing and off-putting. With the victim’s family in mind, I couldn’t purchase the book and financially support him, even if the money went to Dawkins' children, but I was curious enough to reserve a copy at the library. I am a big fan of prison literature: the stories I have come across that take place inside prison walls are always compelling and immediate as well as eloquent critiques of the time period they were written in, and the way they look into the lives America has failed, or had a hand in failing, always gives them a timeless quality. This book is no different in that respect, but in its execution it offers a completely new take on the idea of prison fiction. As does Dawkins’ story, where he got his MFA before committing the murder that sent him away to prison for what will most likely be the rest of his life. The prison of Dawkins' stories is rarely a violent one filled with gangs and rape, although it is hinted at a few times. Instead, these stories focus more on the strange mix of boredom, creativity and regret that exists in the lives of people who have nothing but time on there hands. The stories themselves act like a sort of novel, with some stories being twenty pages long and some only a few, but you get the feeling that the world created in each one is all encompassing: the mostly unnamed narrators could all be the same person, and in reality, they might as well be. It reminded me of the debut short story collections of writers like Donald Ray Pollack and Frank Bill, which presented trapped characters eking out a living as best as they can, with their search for happiness rendered with the utmost dignity and respect by a writer who knows all to well the feelings he is expressing in each story. A few standouts here are “A Human Number” where an inmate dials random numbers on a telephone just to talk and hear noises from the outside world, and “Daytime Drama” which sees an unnamed prisoner tell the story of the wounded Arthur, an inmate who wears a cape at all times and whose arrest, conviction and sentencing blends together into a nightmarish, subconscious soup. The shorter stories like “Sunshine” and “The World Out There” act as interludes to longer centerpiece stories like “Depakote Mo”, where a tobacco shortage leads an inmate to a suicidal act of violence and “Engulfed”, where an inmate’s increasingly ridiculous lies leads to a prison faux pas and a doomed ending. Dawkins’ eye for prison life is exquisite: from the tattoo guns made out of a cassette player’s motor, to the Mexican candy had of powdered milk, sugar and hot sauce, to the near saint-like importance of Bob Barker and Sanford and Son. I do wholeheartedly recommend this book. Buy it if you want, but if you, like me, have a moral issue with financially supporting someone like Dawkins, I’d check this out at the library ASAP. It is really something special.

Rating: 5/5