The Graybar Hotel

May 29, 2017
Set mostly in jails and prisons—the author is himself serving a sentence of life without parole—the 14 stories in this debut collection give a fascinating human dimension to the lives of prisoners and the world that they inhabit. In “A Human Number,” the convict narrator discovers that his random phone calls from jail reach outsiders who are as desperate as he is to communicate with another person. The narrator of “573543” ponders the fate foreordained for prisoners who inherit their identifying numbers from previously deceased inmates. “In the Dayroom with Stinky” sets the tone for its portrait of an eccentric prisoner with the narrator’s bracingly honest admission, “Most of my friends have killed someone.” Dawkins’s tales impress with the authenticity of real-life experience, and his prose is rich in metaphor and imagery—as when he describes one prisoner’s arraignment as “his courtroom wedding to the state of Michigan, till death do you part,” and how the fogged-up windows of a prison transport van “effectively erased us” from the outside world. His often wryly amusing observations about the routines of prison life make him a striking guide for navigating the terrain.

Starred review from May 1, 2017
Stories about the subtle indignities and wandering imaginations that shape prison life, written by an inmate.Debut author Dawkins is an MFA graduate serving a life-without-parole term in a Michigan prison for a 2004 murder. Whatever one makes of the circumstances behind his incarceration, he's unquestionably a keen observer of the psychological tools inmates use to sustain themselves behind bars. "Every emotion is multiplied," writes the narrator of "Sunshine," who suspects a cellmate's girlfriend lied about her cancer diagnosis to dump him. "Your mind becomes a very clear prism, into which every feeling enters." To cope, some play at mental illness ("Daytime Drama"), some obsess over their dreams ("The Boy Who Dreamed Too Much"), and some--as in the especially supple "Engulfed"--become serial liars to the point that the lying becomes a personality trait. And the narrator discovers there are consequences to challenging that persona: "Once you become a number, all you are is the words you use. If your words aren't real, then neither are you." Dawkins isn't much interested in the cliched tales of prison violence, overcrowding, sexual assault, and drug abuse, though such themes occasionally surface. Nor does he dwell much on the reasons for his protagonists' imprisonment--the narrator of "573543" was caught buying large amounts of ketamine, but his chief flaw is ignorance. For Dawkins, the true defining element of prison life is tedium: too much time to watch TV, to call random numbers collect in hopes of a connection, to jury-rig tattoo guns. And time, above all, to indulge in reveries about life on the outside. Or, barring that, turn prison life strange, like the prisoner who seems to have developed the capacity to make himself disappear. Magical realism? Wishful thinking? Dawkins leave the answer purposefully, poignantly vague. A well-turned and surprising addition to prison literature.

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March 1, 2017
Dawkins's debut collection is something different: an intense look at the terror and tedium of prison life from a man with an MFA who is also a convicted murderer serving life without parole. His characters connect to the outside world through collect calls and smuggle in dandelions from the wretched prison yard. In-house raves.

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