In the first chapter of Eileen Myles’s Afterglow (a dog memoir), we learn that the author’s pit bull Rosie, whom Myles chose in 1990 from a street litter and cared for until her death sixteen years later, was not always pleased with her owner. Leaving the apartment for the dog run, Myles finds a letter from a “dog lawyer,” who is seeking to file a lawsuit against Myles for crimes committed against Rosie. A reader might ask: Is this letter real, a neighbor’s prank, a figment of Myles’s fertile imagination? But these are the kinds of distinctions that Myles’s shape-shifting narrative obliterates