Baxter by Jessica Hamilton

 I have been reading a strange little book over this past long and sweltering weekend. It is a curious tale about a dog, which I would wager is a better read than other books of its ilk, such as Stephen King's Cujo and James Herbert's Fluke. 

I have always known this book by its original UK title - Baxter, rather than its American name - Hellhound. And I prefer its 'quiet' title.  The horror that lies between its covers, I believe, is not served well by its comic, overly dramatic, in-your-face title, which smacks the reader in the face. This story, like the author's earlier work, Elizabeth (which led me to seek out this work), is a more sublte beast.

Whilst on the topic of names, I am not a fan of pen-names. I find them almost dishonest. I can not speak for other readers, but I like to form an idea of the author when I read their work. And when I discover that the author has invented a name, and even lied about their sex with their misnomer, I actually feel manipulated, cheated even.

Such was the case when I read Grady Hendrix' Paperbacks from Hell, and discovered Jessica Hamilton was actually a guy called Ken Greenhall! I remember feeling rather annoyed by the discovery at the time. And, perhaps strangely, when I decided to read Baxter, I sort out an old and rather tatty copy, with the UK title and Jessica Hamilton as the named author over the pristeen current edition of the book published by Valancourt: