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THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN by Garth Stein
On Sale: May 13th
Hardcover
336 pages
ISBN-10: 0061537934
ISBN-13: 9780061537936
Enzo knows he is different from other dogs: a philosopher with a nearly human soul (and an obsession with opposable thumbs), he has educated himself by watching television extensively, and by listening very closely to the words of his master, Denny Swift, an up-and-coming race car driver.
Through Denny, Enzo has gained tremendous insight into the human condition, and he sees that life, like racing, isn't simply about going fast. Using the techniques needed on the race track, one can successfully navigate all of life's ordeals.
On the eve of his death, Enzo takes stock of his life, recalling all that he and his family have been through: the sacrifices Denny has made to succeed professionally; the unexpected loss of Eve, Denny's wife; the three-year battle over their daughter, Zoë, whose maternal grandparents pulled every string to gain custody. In the end, despite what he sees as his own limitations, Enzo comes through heroically to preserve the Swift family, holding in his heart the dream that Denny will become a racing champion with Zoë at his side. Having learned what it takes to be a compassionate and successful person, the wise canine can barely wait until his next lifetime, when he is sure he will return as a man.
A heart-wrenching but deeply funny and ultimately uplifting story of family, love, loyalty, and hope, The Art of Racing in the Rain is a beautifully crafted and captivating look at the wonders and absurdities of human life . . . as only a dog could tell it.
The author of two novels, How Evan Broke His Head and Other Secrets and Raven Stole the Moon, and a play, Brother Jones, Garth Stein has also worked as a documentary filmmaker. He lives in Seattle with his family.
In Garth Stein’s touching story, the appealing narrator is a dog named Enzo, who (of course) cannot communicate as he'd like to, by talking with his family. Instead, he pours his considerable heart and spirit into this book, sharing his experiences and reflections with readers. Although Enzo is frustrated with his limitations as a canine, he comforts himself with the fact that, according to a documentary he watched about Mongolia (Enzo is a dedicated television viewer), he will be reincarnated as a human. And he knows a lot about being a human after watching his master Denny Swift, who is a hero to him.
At the beginning of the book, Enzo is just barely clinging to life, so he spends time reflecting upon his past. As Denny, who is a race car driver, has told him, drivers cannot contemplate their moves while they make them. Racing is like living; you can only do it and then remember it at a later date. For Enzo, in these last days he immerses himself in memories.
His reminiscences begin with the day Denny chose him out of a heap of puppies, taking him from a country farm to an apartment in Seattle. Although Enzo doesn't enjoy living there, he adores Denny and thus looks on this as a good life. He later develops a fondness for Eve, "the interloper," who Denny falls in love with and marries. He stands in literally for Denny on the day that his daughter, Zoë, is born. Denny is off racing in Daytona, Florida while Enzo is at the new mother's side.
For Denny, the joyous day of Zoë's birth is overshadowed as his racing career takes a beating. After a year of obtaining sponsorships in order to enter the race, he loses this hard-won opportunity to shine when a driver on his team has an accident. Denny returns to his day job as a customer service representative at a luxury auto shop.
Shortly after giving birth, Eve asks Enzo to promise to protect the little girl, and the dog's feelings of commitment to his family are intensified. Enzo's role in the family becomes that of caretaker and watchdog. He takes his role of protecting his loved humans seriously --- and faithfully not only watches over them, but also manipulates their lives, often in humorous ways, to ensure that they are taken care of. This loyalty will be needed as their lives are about to unravel.
When the family moves to a small house, Enzo enjoys a cozy backyard and sunny spots to lounge in. Eve chooses to go back to work, so Zoë enters daycare, which leaves Enzo at home, bored, until Denny begins leaving the television set on for him. But his happiness is short-lived, for he is the first one to realize that something is seriously wrong with Eve; his acute sense of smell has detected a decaying odor emanating from within her head. When Denny is away from home at his next race, Eve wakes up with a terrible pain. It's so bad that she gathers Zoë and goes away, leaving Enzo alone for days.
While this is unfolding, Denny's team has won first place, and he's had an offer from a big-time team, but he must turn his back on the racing he loves as he has more urgent matters on his mind. Eve suffers an increasing array of terrible symptoms, such as mood swings, vertigo and nausea. She sometimes screams from pain yet refuses to seek medical care. And when she inevitably receives the worst diagnosis possible, the family is torn apart, beginning an intense emotional rollercoaster ride. Through it all, Enzo supports them in every possible way.
THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN is getting all kinds of buzz, and it deserves every accolade. Readers will be moved by this warm hug of a story (and may find themselves looking searchingly into the eyes of their own canine companions). Enzo is a charming and witty narrator. His tale, while hilarious at times, is quite often heartbreaking, but it is ultimately uplifting and heartwarming. And I found the ending to be oh so very satisfying!
--- Reviewed by Terry Miller Shannon (terryms2001@yahoo.com)
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A Conversation with Garth Stein
Q: Where did the idea for the book come from?
GS: The first seed for this book was planted in my mind about ten years ago. I was no longer working in documentary films, but a friend asked me to consult on the U.S. distribution of a film he knew about from Mongolia, called State of Dogs. I took a look at the film and the press material they had on it. I didn't end up getting involved with the film, but the idea really stuck with me. In Mongolia, there is a belief that the next incarnation for a dog is as a man. I thought this was a cool concept and I tucked it away thinking I might some day do something with it.
Then, in 2004, I saw Billy Collins speak at Seattle Arts and Lectures. He's a great poet and a terrific reader. He read a poem, "The Revenant," which is told from the point of view of a recently euthanized dog as he addresses his former master from heaven. The poem begins, "I am the dog you put to sleep...come back to tell you one simple thing: I never liked you --- not one bit." I loved this poem. When Billy Collins finished reading, I knew I had to write a story from the point of view of a dog. And my dog would know the truth: that in his next incarnation, he would return to earth as a man.
So I had the character and the goal, but I still needed the framework of a story. A close friend of mine, who is a semi-professional race car driver but who supplements his racing by working behind the counter at an upscale automotive repair shop, was going through some personal difficulties. His plight wasn't Denny's, but it gave me some ideas about what happens to families when one member suddenly passes away. I developed a story that would really put my main character, Denny, through his paces, and then it was all there for me.
Q: What inspired you to tell the story from a dog's point of view?
GS: Using a dog as a narrator has limitations and it has advantages. The limitations are that a dog cannot speak. A dog has no thumbs. A dog can't communicate his thoughts except with gestures. Dogs are not allowed in certain places. The advantages are that a dog has special access: people will say things in front of dogs because it is assumed that a dog doesn't understand. Dogs are allowed to witness certain things because they aren't people and have no judgment.
I was able to work with this idea a lot in terms of giving the reader a unique viewpoint into the action of the book. Enzo goes off with Zoë, and while Denny, her father, doesn't know what happens, we see through Enzo's eyes and so we do know. In that sense, it was a lot of fun playing with this "fly on the wall" point of view. Especially since the "fly" in our case, is Enzo, who has very keen powers of observation.
Q: Is there any significance to the name Enzo?
GS: Yes! Denny's dog, Enzo, is named after Enzo Ferrari, who built one of the greatest car trademarks in the world. Ferrari automobiles are famous everywhere. And Ferrari is a dominant player in the world of Formula One racing.
But I have a funny story about how I arrived at Enzo's name....
When I first started writing this novel, Enzo was not named Enzo. He was named Juan Pablo, after Juan Pablo Montoya, the race car driver. When my wife read the first few pages, she said that she loved what I was writing, but the name of the dog wasn't quite right.
"How about Enzo?" she asked.
We had two sons already, and were expecting our third. I had always wanted to name one of my boys Enzo. I thought it was the ultimate cool name: Enzo Stein. But my wife very much disagreed. "We have a lot of different nationalities in our combined backgrounds," she reasoned. "Russian, German, Austrian, Tlingit Indian, Irish, English...but we have no Italian."
"But then we won't be able to name the baby Enzo," I said.
"I thought of that," she said, nodding slowly.
"I really wanted to name him Enzo," I said.
"Enzo, the dog, is your new baby," she replied. "And when our new baby comes, we'll find the right name for him."
(For those of you who are interested: We named our son Dashiell.)
Q: Are you a dog owner yourself?
GS: Yes. Our dog, Comet, is a Lab/poodle mix. She's goofy and silly and sweet.
Q: What kind of study, if any, did you do to get inside the mind and body of a dog?
GS: Um....study? The reason I write fiction is that I hate research. I don't have the attention span for it. My philosophy is to write first, ask questions later.
Q: Do you believe dogs have an evolved inner life like Enzo has?
GS: Those who are ready ...
Q: Do you think people will look at their own dogs differently after reading this book?
GS: I hope so. Anyone who has a dog knows that they have some very deep thoughts, that they have moods and emotions, they get their feelings hurt. It's not a far reach to give them opinions and values and long-term desires.
Q: Americans love dogs and cars. Was this a conscious decision on your part to interweave these two national passions, or did it happen organically?
GS: Actually, when I started writing this I had some detractors --- fellow writers and people in the publishing industry who told me that, first, nobody reads books about racing and, second, nobody will read a book narrated by a dog. And yet, as I mentioned earlier, the story did grow organically, and therefore, is perhaps more "true" than some more carefully constructed fiction and as a result, I think, appeals to people in a very personal way.
Q: The racing scenes deliver a real adrenaline rush and a feel for the intricacies of the sport. Is this seemingly expert knowledge based on personal experience or extensive research?
GS: Okay, when I said I hate research, I meant book research ...
When I moved back to Seattle in 2001, I got involved in "high performance driver education," which is a fancy way of saying I learned to drive a car really fast on a race track. That soon led to my getting my racing license with the Sports Car Club of America (SCCA). While I did fairly well as a driver (I won the points championship in the NW region Spec Miata class in 2003), I didn't really have the skill as a mechanic or the time and money needed to really excel. When I crashed my car pretty badly --- ironically, while racing in the rain --- I decided to semi-retire from racing, and now I only race enough to keep my license current.
The funny thing is that while I love cars, I never really thought of myself as a "car guy." When I finished the draft of this book, my wife said, "So that's why you were racing. You were doing research!" I guess, on a subconscious level, that's what I was doing.
Q: The custody battle between the widower Denny and the parents of his late wife is ugly and horrible, with the latter trying to manipulate the outcome by any means necessary. Is this over-the-top portrayal meant to be colored by Enzo's strong feelings of loyalty?
GS: Any narrative point of view is biased --- the narrator has his opinions --- and Enzo is extremely biased toward all things Denny and family. So what Enzo relates to us is filtered through a couple of things: first, being a dog, he's limited in what he is allowed to see; second, being so devoted to his master, his opinions are all highly skewed.
That being said, I have spoken with attorneys who have assured me that in custody and visitation battles, especially ones involving grandparents, things can get extremely ruthless, and it is not inconceivable that, for instance, one side might try to drag things out in order to put the other party into extreme economic distress.
Q: What lessons can we all learn from Enzo?
GS: I'm not sure that's for me to judge. But I would say the important things for me are twofold.
First, Enzo's mantra: "That which you manifest is before you." I think it's very important to take charge of your life, not to feel like you're a victim of circumstance or fate, but that you are an active participant in your future. It's not a new idea: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make" (Lennon/McCartney). Where I focus my energy always matches what comes back to me in my life.
Secondly, Enzo's epiphany --- the thing he learns at the end of his life --- is that his assumption that race car drivers have to be selfish to be successful, is incorrect. In fact, he determines, in order to be successful, a race car driver has to be completely selfless. He must cease looking at himself as the brightest star in the solar system, and begin to see himself as simply a unique aspect of the universe around him --- and, most importantly, as an extension of the universe around him. In this way, a race car driver sheds his ego; his actions become pure and as powerful as the entire universe. Which, in turn, leads to success.
All athletes speak about the mental element of athletics, and it usually boils down to the same thing: if you can remove your ego from the game, you can function with much more clarity and you are more likely to succeed. Wouldn't it be interesting if we all began speaking about the mental element of our lives in this way? How would our lives change if we did?
© Copyright 2008, Garth Stein. All rights reserved.
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Chapter One
Gestures are all that I have; sometimes they must be grand in nature. And while I occasionally step over the line and into the world of the melodramatic, it is what I must do in order to communicate clearly and effectively. In order to make my point understood without question. I have no words I can rely on because, much to my dismay, my tongue was designed long and flat and loose, and therefore, is a horribly ineffective tool for pushing food around my mouth while chewing, and an even less effective tool for making clever and complicated polysyllabic sounds that can be linked together to form sentences. And that's why I'm here now waiting for Denny to come home --- he should be here soon --- lying on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own urine.
I'm old. And while I'm very capable of getting older, that's not the way I want to go out. Shot full of pain medication and steroids to reduce the swelling of my joints. Vision fogged with cataracts. Puffy, plasticky packages of Doggie Depends stocked in the pantry. I'm sure Denny would get me one of those little wagons I've seen on the streets, the ones that cradle the hindquarters so a dog can drag his ass behind him when things start to fail. That's humiliating and degrading. I'm not sure if it's worse than dressing up a dog for Halloween, but it's close. He would do it out of love, of course. I'm sure he would keep me alive as long as he possibly could, my body deteriorating, disintegrating around me, dissolving until there's nothing left but my brain floating in a glass jar filled with clear liquid, my eyeballs drifting at the surface and all sorts of cables and tubes feeding what remains. But I don't want to be kept alive. Because I know what's next. I've seen it on TV. A documentary I saw about Mongolia, of all places. It was the best thing I've ever seen on television, other than the 1993 Grand Prix of Europe, of course, the greatest automobile race of all time in which Ayrton Senna proved himself to be a genius in the rain. After the 1993 Grand Prix, the best thing I've ever seen on TV is a documentary that explained everything to me, made it all clear, told the whole truth: when a dog is finished living his lifetimes as a dog, his next incarnation will be as a man.
I've always felt almost human. I've always known that there's something about me that's different than other dogs. Sure, I'm stuffed into a dog's body, but that's just the shell. It's what's inside that's important. The soul. And my soul is very human.
I am ready to become a man now, though I realize I will lose all that I have been. All of my memories, all of my experiences. I would like to take them with me into my next life --- there is so much I have gone through with the Swift family --- but I have little say in the matter. What can I do but force myself to remember? Try to imprint what I know on my soul, a thing that has no surface, no sides, no pages, no form of any kind. Carry it so deeply in the pockets of my existence that when I open my eyes and look down at my new hands with their thumbs that are able to close tightly around their fingers, I will already know. I will already see.
The door opens, and I hear him with his familiar cry, "Yo, Zo!" Usually, I can't help but put aside my pain and hoist myself to my feet, wag my tail, sling my tongue around, and shove my face into his crotch. It takes humanlike willpower to hold back on this particular occasion, but I do. I hold back. I don't get up. I'm acting.
"Enzo?"
I hear his footsteps, the concern in his voice. He finds me and looks down. I lift my head, wag my tail feebly so it taps against the floor. I play the part.
He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, sets down the plastic bag from the grocery that has his dinner in it. I can smell roast chicken through the plastic. Tonight he's having roast chicken and an iceberg lettuce salad.
"Oh, Enz," he says.
He reaches down to me, crouches, touches my head like he does, along the crease behind the ear, and I lift my head and lick at his forearm.
"What happened, kid?" he asks.
Gestures can't explain.
"Can you get up?"
I try, and I scramble. My heart takes off, lunges ahead because no, I can't. I panic. I thought I was just acting, but I really can't get up. Shit. Life imitating art.
"Take it easy, kid," he says, pressing down on my chest to calm me. "I've got you."
He lifts me easily, he cradles me, and I can smell the day on him. I can smell everything he's done. His work, the auto shop where he's behind the counter all day, standing, making nice with the customers who yell at him because their BMWs don't work right and it costs too much to fix them and that makes them mad so they have to yell at someone. I can smell his lunch. He went to the Indian buffet he likes. All you can eat. It's cheap, and sometimes he takes a container with him and steals extra portions of the tandoori chicken and yellow rice and has it for dinner, too. I can smell beer. He stopped somewhere. The Mexican restaurant up the hill. I can smell the tortilla chips on his breath. Now it makes sense. Usually, I'm excellent with elapsed time, but I wasn't paying attention because of my emoting.
He places me gently in the tub and turns on the handheld shower thing and says, "Easy, Enz."
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