Their Dogs Came with Them by Helena Maria Viramontes
Published 2007 · 328 pages · 120,187 words · about 9 hours at an average pace · Fiction, Literary Fiction
How hard is Their Dogs Came with Them to read?
Their Dogs Came with Them scores 62 out of 100 for difficulty on ReadingRate, making it quite demanding. The score is a weighted composite of nine measures: four of how hard the prose is to parse, five of how hard the meaning is to extract.
- Vocabulary: 62 out of 100
- Viramontes weaves Spanish phrases, Chicano vernacular, and East Los Angeles street slang throughout the text without translation — frajo, chola, comal, culeros, malflora, chota, ése — creating a bilingual texture that requires cultural literacy as much as standard vocabulary knowledge. The register shifts between lyrical poetic passages and raw street idiom, demanding readers navigate multiple linguistic worlds simultaneously. This places the novel between Blood Meridian's archaic diction and The Great Gatsby's elegant accessibility.
- Sentence structure: 65 out of 100
- Viramontes builds long, accumulative sentences that stack sensory details and subordinate clauses, often running through multiple time frames within a single paragraph before the period arrives. The novel routinely shifts tense mid-sentence — a child becomes a young woman becomes a child again — requiring readers to hold temporal position consciously. These baroque accumulations fall short of Faulkner's extreme clause-nesting but significantly exceed standard literary fiction, closer to Toni Morrison's sentence-level demands.
- Abstraction: 52 out of 100
- The novel grounds its concerns in relentless sensory specificity — the smell of tar, the weight of boots, the sound of helicopter blades — rather than discursive philosophy. Yet beneath the concrete surface the text carries allegorical weight about colonial displacement, state violence against brown bodies, and the erasure of Chicano community. The spiritual-magical elements (Papa Tomás's levitation, the cacti medicine, Tranquilina's near-flight) introduce a metaphysical dimension that arrives through image rather than argument, placing it at the literary midpoint of accessible meaning.
- Information density: 62 out of 100
- The novel sustains four interwoven storylines — the Zumaya child/Ermila, Turtle, Tranquilina, Ben — across multiple time periods (1960s freeway construction through early-1970s Vietnam era), with the historical context of East LA displacement, the Vietnam War draft, and the Quarantine Authority's rabiés curfew all layered simultaneously. Mexican historical references (Aztec voladores, hacienda peonage, the earthquake of Chavela's memory) add further density without annotation. The concentration of meaning per page places it above Anna Karenina but below Moby-Dick's encyclopedic cataloguing.
- Narrative indirection: 68 out of 100
- The novel employs deliberate temporal dislocation — the child who becomes a young woman mid-paragraph, four storylines that intercut without conventional transitions — requiring readers to track multiple threads and assemble their connections. The QA helicopter rabies quarantine is presented as literal fact while functioning as unmistakable allegory for immigration enforcement, a meaning the text never announces. The degree of indirection falls between Never Let Me Go's evasive revelation and The Great Gatsby's unreliable filter.
- Symbolic density: 72 out of 100
- Dogs saturate the novel from title to final scene — shot by helicopters, followed by the homeless woman, serving as metaphor for how the state treats its most vulnerable residents. Lizards recur as a cold-blooded emblem linking Luis Lil Lizard to the Gamboa boy's cruelty to the child. Freeway construction mirrors the QA helicopters as twin forces of displacement spanning the book's two time periods. Papa Tomás's shoeless feet, Tranquilina's poncho, the matchbox pyramid, rain as cleansing and violence — each motif builds a dense symbolic architecture comparable to Woolf's lighthouse system.
- Ironic distance: 35 out of 100
- The novel operates primarily through sincere empathy rather than ironic detachment. Viramontes inhabits her characters' interior lives with direct compassion, and the QA quarantine's satirical resonance — treating residents as rabid animals, deploying sharpshooters against dogs that stand in for people — registers as moral outrage rather than Swift-style irony. The occasional deadpan comedy (Ermila's Alfonso excuses, Mousie's YoYo stories) operates within a fundamentally earnest register, placing the novel closer to Morrison's engagement than to Nabokov's detachment.
- Resolution withholding: 72 out of 100
- The novel ends mid-action in the rain with Turtle shot and dying, Tranquilina defying the QA sharpshooters with arms at her sides, her fate left completely open. Nacho — who the reader gradually realizes is likely the victim of the McBride Boys' gang jump — disappears without confirmation. Ben remains lost throughout. None of the novel's threads are tied: no character achieves safety, no injustice is addressed, no grief resolved. The resistance to closure is structural rather than accidental, approaching the Kafka zone without its full existential bleakness.
- Structural complexity: 68 out of 100
- The novel alternates between four main focal characters across fourteen numbered chapters, with non-linear time jumps occurring within chapters — a hallmark move where a child's present tense abruptly becomes an adult's present tense mid-paragraph. Mama's backstory is told through embedded oral history; the 1960s freeway construction and the 1970s QA helicopter quarantine create two temporal registers that echo each other structurally. The architecture is significantly more complex than The Great Gatsby's retrospection but less architecturally extreme than Midnight's Children's multiple timelines.
How Their Dogs Came with Them is regarded
Their Dogs Came with Them holds a literary regard score of 45 out of 100, weighing its place in the canon, its critical reception, its influence on other writers, and the standing of its author. Regard is measured separately from difficulty: a demanding book is not necessarily an admired one.