Poor Thomas Mann spent so much time and effort writing books w unprepossessing title like death in Venice or about dreary subjects like sanatoriums when all along he could have been writing best sellers. Who knew? But then we come across the novella A Man and His Dog that seems to be about just that - no hidden allegories or meditations on life and art and freedom and free will and fascism and anarchy - at least not yet - and I'm seeing here the predecessor to my dog skip or whatever that book was called and it's many imitators and I see that Mann could have been onto a genre - man acquires ugly runt puppy that misbehaves and they come to love one another and a movie deal is in the works. Compare this w Kafka's dog diary from the point of view of the dog ( food provided from above on response to ritual dances) - about as far from a potential best seller as any dog book ever written.
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