Arts
Faerie Tales From the Rainbow Library
Doggone Ridiculous!
Doggone
Ridiculous!
by Scott Sherman
No,
not a dog as in homely: an honest to goodness canine. Four-legged. A dog.
Woof. Having earned a reputation as a "free thinker" in previous
books such as Out on a Limb, in which she professed her belief
in reincarnation, MacLaine truly appears to have gone off in the deep
end in this bestial confessionary. Listen, I like dogs too, but MacLaine
sees her pet not only as an animal companion, but as a guide, spiritual
leader, and paranormal presence. "Perhaps she is a messenger from
God. Perhaps in her warm little body and soul lies all I need to know
of life and death and spirit. Perhaps the TRUTH is my dog Terry, and the
joke is that dog spelled backwards is God."
But as loving as MacLaine is to her dog,
her people skills seem to need some work. How horrible for her children,
not to mention her ex- husband and ex- lovers, that she feels closer to
her dog than to them. "Have I discovered that I am capable of unconditional
love?" MacLaine wonders, pondering her relationship with Terry. Or
how about her question to a friend whose son was murdered? Referencing
karma, the Buddhist principle of cause and effect, MacLaine asked her,
"Do you believe that on some level you played a part in the death
of your son?" Just the question every grieving mother wants to hear.
MacLaine's experience is twisted not only
by her own outré spiritual beliefs (she spends time practicing
"thought transference" not only with her dog, but with "flowers,
birds and trees — and yes, even rocks." I especially like the
way she adds that last part, as if we all can understand sharing the thoughts
of birds and trees, but rocks — hey, that's hardcore), but by her
belief in her own self-importance.
"I know in my heart that good films
probably have a more profound effect on human lives than anything other
than war," she shares. Of course, as an actress in so many good films,
that makes her pretty important. I, for one, know that The Turning
Point had me wearing leg warmers for at least six months.
However, as bizarre as any of MacLaine's
meanderings might be, nothing prepared me for the fact that every other
chapter of the book is written in the italicized voice of her dog. I have
known my Mistress Mother before, in an Egyptian lifetime, when I was the
animal god Anubis, and she was a minor, mortal princess, Terry "writes"
in her first chapter. Notice MacLaine's egotism here — she can't
have just an ordinary dog — it has to be a reincarnated god.
In over 50 pages, Terry enlightens us as
only a former dog-God can. Even though we dogs are perfect, we do
have some problems, she bravely admits. For example, when males of our
species go around lifting their legs and peeing to mark their territory,
that is not a good thing. Or how about this revealing profundity: I think
people make too much of sex. It's certainly not an issue for me, since
I've been neutered, and it's not much of an issue for MM, who went though
menopause some time ago.
While
most of Terry's chapters are painful to read, she does have a good heart.
I'm watching humans as they grapple with the subject of what they
call 'gay' sex. I don't understand the problem. Neither does God. But
then she says things like I am perfectly happy with this stick in my mouth...
I may start to chew on it, but if I do the stick will be perfectly fine
with my need to chew on it. It isn't afraid of me. I know it isn't afraid
of me because I can feel its energy, and its energy doesn't know anything
about fear. Everything and everyone is energy. Did I mention that
there are over 50 pages of this?
MacLaine ends the book by remembering "something
Terry said to me once." No, what she said isn't important. What matters
is that MacLaine actually believes her dog talks to her. The last person
I can remember making that claim was David Berkowitz, better known as
the Son of Sam.
Of course, his crimes were literal. MacLaine's
are only literary. And while I would have liked to like Out on a Leash,
I'm afraid the book, like MacLaine's co-author, is a dog.
Scott Sherman speed-reads on airplanes and at home in Richmond.