Missed the Tapas, Where’s the Dead Dog?

I am so relieved. I am relieved that Garth Stein did not bring Enzo with him to his talk about his New York Times Best Seller, The Art of Racing in the Rain because I would have eaten him. Yes, I would have devoured Enzo’s decaying corpse and wiped the moldy tendons from my lips the same way that Enzo licked the squirrel’s blood off his face and ate curdled yogurt off the baby’s highchair. In fact, I was so hungry that while Stein was sharing tales about the writing process and how tough it was to sell a book narrated by a dog, I stared at his burgundy loafers, wondering if there was a piece of gum or sticky Laffy Taffy on his soles. Hunger replaced the excitement that I felt earlier.

So consumed by anticipation for the event, I spent most of my day bouncing back and forth between housework, laundry, and Facebook – doing none of them with focus or concentration. Well, with one exception, I did manage to write blog entries, Facebook posts and emails about my hot black leather boots. My boots consumed all my thoughts and distracted me from properly doing my husband’s laundry. One load of pants, one load of dress shirts and one load of socks and underwear. It was the same every week until this week. I forgot to turn on the dryer for the third load, resulting in soggy socks and dripping underwear 15 minutes before my husband was scheduled to catch the airport shuttle.

My laundry faux-pas resulted in me driving my husband to the airport, eating half a bambino burger from Good Times in the car and arriving 45 minutes late to the chic restaurant where the Book Club Mamas were meeting for appetizers and drinks before the author talk. Not wanting to appear undignified, I declined offers of both bread and crackers. I soon realized this was a mistake when I started seeing parachutes landing behind the author’s head and the six rows in front of me looked like gigantic Hershey bars. Next time, I’ll just drop my earring and pick up the scraps, or I could just arrive promptly.

Hittin' the Club...Again

A short black sleeveless dress, black kneehigh leather boots, black pantyhose and a sexy burgundy scarf will be my attire when I go clubbing tonight for the second time in four days – book clubbing that is. Even bookworms need a social life and sometimes bookworms splurge on a babysitter to discuss a rather mediocre book, not once but twice. Truthfully, Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain is really not worth all the trouble, but it just happens to be the book that our dog friendly community selected for its version of a One Book, One City program. So, Stein’s arrival in town is the Book Club Mamas’ excuse for a night on campus in our college town. Wearing nice clothes, eating delicious food, and having splendid drinks are my primary motives, but if the author actually looks like his picture on the back of his book, the talk could be riveting too.

Oh, the nightlife of a clubbing bookworm…

Adorable Canine Redeems Lame, Cheesy Novel: A Few Thoughts on The Art of Racing in the Rain

Shocked! This was the look on the faces of my fellow book club members when I gave Garth Stein’s “The Art of Racing in the Rain” a thumb in the middle during our traditional opening Thumb up/Thumb down ceremony. It was strongly anticipated that I would not like this book because I am petrified of dogs; I ridicule gimmicky narratives; I do not typically read New York Times Best Sellers; and, most importantly, I despise uplifting endings.

For all the above reasons, I really should have loathed this book, but I did not on two simple grounds: Enzio, the charming narrating dog suckered me in with his jokes and wisdom and the racing metaphors absolutely captured my imagination. In actuality, The Art of Racing in the Rain is a simplistic story of a man, a woman, their child, the man’s dog and the woman’s horrible parents. Not much interesting happens. Man gets dog; man marries woman; dog and woman don’t care for each other too much; woman gets cancer; and the grandparents try to steal the child from her father. In terms of plot, this novel is really sort of puerile until the dog comes along and gives the reader an “under the table” view.

Enzio narrates every detail with a four-legged perspective. We hear from his point of view the details of human mating rituals; we learn what is like for a dog to discover a rancid chicken nugget under a kitchen table; we experience firsthand a dog’s thirst for squirrel’s blood and how that is a magnificent metaphor for irrational acts of human passion. And of course, Enzio charismatically draws us in with his T.V. addiction, hatred of monkeys and ardent belief that he would transform into a human upon his death. Reviewing that list, it still surprises me that this ridiculous book appealed to me, but the success of this book lies in the humanistic portrayal of the universe from a non-human point of view. Furthermore, it gave me that tingling in the nose about to cry feeling many times.

In fact, for a moment or two, I adored Enzio so much that I wished I liked real life dogs (not likely to ever happen). Enzio is a literary device not a dog, a literary device that makes this non-dog-lover’s experience with this novel very different than a dog lover’s encounter. Generally, dog-lover’s were ecstatic about this book. For the non-dog lover, Stein’s book is a light, tolerable read. If you have a few hours to kill, this one will make you laugh and tear up a little.

Enzio, Nothing Has Changed

Dear Enzio:

I like you. I like you a lot. You are funny, charming, loyal, protective, a keen observer, and you love your family unconditionally. You made me laugh; you made me cry. You made me feel guilty for not buying my kids the dog that they desperately want. You made me want to go to animal shelter and get my children the puppy they passionately desire.

But, my urge to head to the animal shelter soon passed. Guess what, Enzio? You are not a real dog. You are a fictional character created by the clever author Garth Stein, a pet lover who has made a career out of spinning animal yarns. I have always been a sucker for a man with a good line and I am especially suspicious of men who talk to animals. Most likely being kind to animals is just part of Stein’s master plan to get laid. Stein probably has women tossing bras at him at every book signing and speaking event. But, I will no longer be duped by his charismatic, quadruped oracle. My bra will remain firmly in place when I hear Stein speak in November.

By then, I will be over the happy buzz that Enzio the philosopher-dog and Stein gave me. I will be fooled no longer. The Art of Racing in the Rain is a cheesy, schmaltzy, overly sentimental, ridiculously melodramatic book that I absolutely loved. I think I am still in shock; it is not in my nature to like a book that is so simple and concludes with a reasonably happy ending.

As of tomorrow, I go back to disliking dogs and calling animal control when I see a dog off of its leash. There really needs to be at least one person in this town who doesn't think it is fashionable to sneak a pocketbook dog into Walmart or to buy gourmet dog treats at a canine only bakery.

So Enzio, remember I am not a dog lover just a lover of silly dog narratives.

Sincerely,

Garabageman's Daughter