A review by trudilibrarian
Cataract City: A Novel by Craig Davidson

5.0

First off, in case you didn't know Craig Davidson is also horror writer [a:Nick Cutter|6984661|Nick Cutter|https://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1373913431p2/6984661.jpg] who blasted onto the scene in 2014 with [b:The Troop|17571466|The Troop|Nick Cutter|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1397768496s/17571466.jpg|24510359] -- the book Stephen King declared scared him. Davidson, writing as Cutter, then went on to publish two more horror novels in quick succession -- [b:The Deep|21412284|The Deep|Nick Cutter|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1421037680s/21412284.jpg|40713268] and [b:The Acolyte|24497842|The Acolyte|Nick Cutter|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1421252620s/24497842.jpg|44093225]. I binge read all of them as fast as he could get them published (actually, truth be told I couldn't even wait for the books to be published; so smitten was I from the start I begged, borrowed, stole advance reading copies any way I could get them).

You could say Nick Cutter was my gateway drug to finding Craig Davidson. Once the connection was made it was only a matter of time before I picked up a Davidson novel to see what his other more literary, less genre focused, alter ego was capable of. Let me just say, no complaints here. Not a single one.

If like me, you're finding your way to this book because you've loved any or all of Davidson's Cutter books, just know that Cataract City is not graphic horror but rather contemporary literature. Yet, there is a lot of similarities in the intensity and emotionality of the writing. The character development that defines his horror writing is present here as well, taking possession of the narrative and of the reader in a way that's as addicting as it is signature.

Cataract City is Canada's version of grit lit or country noir in the tradition of [a:Daniel Woodrell|65135|Daniel Woodrell|https://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1276358809p2/65135.jpg], [a:Frank Bill|3983305|Frank Bill|https://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1366952773p2/3983305.jpg] and [a:Donald Ray Pollock|784866|Donald Ray Pollock|https://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1240540889p2/784866.jpg]. And now I'm going to do something lazy and narcissistic and quote myself here from a blog post I wrote about this genre:

These are tales about ordinary folk trapped in dead-end places in dead-end lives who don’t even have the wherewithal or wisdom to get the hell out of Dodge even if it means chewing their own goddam leg off to do so. No matter how beautifully written — the stories reveal a kind of brutalization lined with a deep and abiding sadness. People are desperate — or deranged — and behave accordingly. Sometimes it’s because of crushing poverty, other times it is because of inheriting a mantle of family violence that stretches back countless generations. I don’t know what that says about me that this sort of visceral reading experience appeals to me, but it does. Perhaps it’s the cold comfort that no matter how bad my life seems at any given moment on any given day, it will never be as bad as that.

Cataract City is not rural noir in the strictest definition, but it is close enough to get you a cigar. It's small town life, it's being trapped, it's facing lack of opportunity and tragedy with grace, or reckless ineptitude. And reading it is going to break your heart.

This book is many books in one. It starts out a coming-of-age story worthy of Stephen King -- two 12 year old boys, best friends, lost and starving in the woods. Then Davidson moves his narrative along to include dog racing, dog fighting, and bare-knuckle brawling. The stakes are always high, the details so sharp and expansive that vivid pictures are created in your head whether you want them there or not. Davidson is not shy about being graphic -- this is cinematic, visceral writing at its finest. You will feel the blood spatter across your face, you will taste the aluminum tang of adrenaline. You will grip this book in your hands white-knuckled and hang on for dear life.

I couldn't put it down. I could have binge read this in a few days, but I was glad life and work got in the way. Because it forced me to slow down. I was able to savour the prose -- let the sentences roll around in my mind and on my reader palate like smooth whiskey and unfiltered cigarettes. I am in love with Nick Cutter, but I will gladly have a torrid affair with Craig Davidson.