Publisher's Weekly Review
A man and his dog survive in most precarious circumstances-and with something close to aplomb-in this classic memoir of homelessness, reissued for its 20th anniversary. Eighner (B.M.O.C.) spent the tail end of the 1980s living on the streets of Austin, Tex., with several epic hitchhiking excursions to Los Angeles and back in pursuit of dubious writing gigs, with his dog Lizbeth as his one steady companion. It's a ground-level view of American life, built around the semiprofessional harvesting of Dumpsters for food and other necessities; scorched-earth warfare against fire ants; Kafka-esque run-ins with welfare agencies, hospital staff, cops, and dog catchers; the perpetual search for an unexposed place to sleep; the kindnesses of strangers; and the grinding boredom of having nothing to do but continuing to exist. The author tells this fraught picaresque with unsentimental clarity and deadpan humor, and the book includes vivid, Twainian sketches of a wandering demimonde of gay drifters and crazed drivers. Eighner's material possessions dwindle, but the detritus that remains-dogfood, cigarettes, a sheltering shower curtain-adds resonance as a substrate of pleasure, companionship, and meaning. This most threadbare of lives makes for rich, entertaining reading. (Dec.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Kirkus Review
Steinbeck, Eighner isn't--his stiff sentences and three-dollar words betray him--and Lizbeth is no Charley, either. But as a once- homeless gay writer who, with his dog, was down and out from Austin to Hollywood, Eighner has an unusual tale to tell nonetheless. Unfortunately, he's told the best part of it in ``On Dumpster Diving,'' an essay about living out of dumpsters that's included here but that's already reached a wide readership through its original publication in Threepenny Review and reprinting in nine periodicals and seven anthologies. A nifty bit of urban anthropology, it balances street savvy (``Candy...is usually safe if it has not drawn ants'') and pavement philosophy (``Once I was the sort of person who invests objects with sentimental value. Now I no longer have those objects, but I have the sentiments yet''). Here, it's embedded in the fortysomething author's account of his wanderings in the late 80's as he--after quitting a job at a mental hospital--tried to make it as a writer (mostly of gay, often erotic, fiction). The problem is that, as Eighner admits, ``Every life has trivial occurrences, pointless episodes, and unresolved mysteries, but a homeless life has...virtually nothing else.'' What's offered here, though, is mostly minutiae of Eighner's own homeless life: hunting for food, shelter, and rides; befriending this vagabond and that; gay couplings. Occasionally, Eighner soapboxes (e.g., contending that the number of homeless addicts is ``greatly overestimated'') or injects minor drama into his yarn (e.g., Lizbeth's capture by a dogcatcher--an incident that reveals cracks in the author's facade when he says that it allowed him to understand mass vengeance killings by lone gunmen). But for the most part, Eighner's story is a tedious one, told with little style. A more reliable memoir of homeless life than Joe Homeless's My Life on the Streets (1992)--but less revealing and gripping than Jennifer Toth's The Mole People (p. 924).
Booklist Review
Travels touches on many subjects, but its most dominant quality is good storytelling. Eighner fills his pages with vivid descriptions, perceptive observations, humor, and writing that carries the reader easily over troublesome issues. His theme is homelessness. Since Eighner is knowledgeable, clear-eyed, and sharply articulate about the social welfare system, his book is also about waste, self-righteousness, and generosity in an affluent society. It's a story of poverty, physical stress, and ever-present anxiety, yet his dog Lizbeth, who can't be trusted to guard anything or keep quiet when necessary, brings with her a warm and amusing story of man and pet. It is also, variously, about a homosexual, mistrustful, talented, and difficult man doing his best to set and follow his own well-ruminated and admirable priorities under distressing conditions. Together, the pieces form an unaffected, absorbing narrative. ~--Virginia Dwyer
Library Journal Review
A writer of gay erotic fiction, Eighner first attracted the attention of the literary world when the Threepenny Review published ``On Dumpster Diving,'' his essay on how to forage for food, clothing, and other items from dumpsters. That piece is included in this remarkable account of Eighner's three years of homelessness. After quitting his job at a state mental hospital and being evicted from his rented shack, Eighner embarked with his dog, Lizbeth, on an odyssey of hitchhiking from Texas to California and back and of struggling to live on Austin's inhospitable streets. Refusing to panhandle or steal and fiercely attached to Lizbeth (a bed at the Salvation Army would have meant putting her to sleep), he endured numerous misfortunes and indignities. At first, Eighner's wierd prose--stiff, with lots of big 19th-century words--is off-putting, but then his unique voice--part naif innocent, part eccentric fool--has the reader rooting for Eighner and Lizbeth. Strongly recommended.-- Wilda Wil liams, ``Library Journal'' (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
