A Work of Art: The Art of Racing in the Rain

Well, since my reading material still sucks right now, I’m going to go back into my repertoire again and let you guys know about an old favorite of mine: Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain. And I guess this book isn’t really that old—it only came out in 2008. But it’s just one of those books that will feel like an old friend and old favorite once you’ve read it. And I’m telling you, no lie, your life won’t be complete until you go out, buy it, and read it.

Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration—I can see where everyone might not like this book. It’s about a dog. Well actually, it’s narrated by a dog (that one got your attention didn’t it?), and it’s about race car driving, loss, the merits of daytime TV, following your dreams, and life. So actually, no, I can’t see why anyone would dislike this book. If you hate a book told by a wise and amusing dog, the epitome of man’s best friend, then maybe you’re just kind of a jerk. But I’ll try to support my assertions first by telling you why this book is awesome, and then I guess you can just decide for yourselves.

For starters, it’s really refreshing to read a book from the point of view of a dog, especially this dog, Enzo. Maybe that’s just because too many of the books I read are narrated by whiny teenage girls (yeah…I told you my reading material isn’t doing so good right now), but it was really nice to come across something new. I mean, I don’t know if you guys read books told by dogs all the time, but for me it was pretty original. On top of that, it gives you a different perspective as a reader. To read about the hopes, concerns, and joys of a dog as opposed to those of a human is enlightening. It takes your mind off the things that bother you every day; it surprises you and makes you laugh thinking about what your pets do when you’re not around; and it helps you realize that sometimes the things we’re taught are important may not be as worth worrying about in the grand scheme of things.

Plus Stein does a great job getting into Enzo’s head—yes we may never know what dogs are actually thinking, and yes the way it’s told is often informed by the way we, as humans, think, but I commend Steins effort—I think his choosing to narrate this story through a dogs eyes was a mostly successful endeavor. The fact that Enzo narrates this book makes the somewhat cliché messages he shares more acceptable and believable. If a human narrator tried to share this kind of wisdom I think many readers would find it too contrived—we’re always just waiting for and expecting other members of the human race, even fictional ones, to be selfish idiots. We even enjoy that in fiction because it makes us feel less badly about our own episodes as selfish idiots. But we expect our pets, almost like children, to see things as they are, uninhibited by societal pressure. Enzo let’s Stein share things without causing readers dismiss his wisdom as purely fictional, fable-induced moral guidance.

And in case you were thinking that the dog is all this book has got going for it, let me set you straight: Stein definitely didn’t skimp on the rest of the book either. I mean, you’d think writing a book about a dog would be enough—and for people obsessed with animals like me, it probably would in most cases. But Stein doesn’t leave Enzo to carry the whole weight of this book by himself. He’s crafted genuinely interesting, believable, and relatable human characters as well. And though it may have been stuff he knows from his own life experience, he definitely didn’t leave out researched details. Even if you’re not interested in race car driving, Buddhism, or anything else Enzo learned about by watching daytime TV, the tidbits of information in this story really bring it home. They’re the type of things we all pick up watching TV, watching people, and from being around the people we love. And they’re told in a way that reminds us that our own details and tidbits are important, even though sometimes we don’t remember that.

And before I go, I better warn you, this book will make you cry. In a good way, but I guarantee even the most hardened college rugby player, determined not to let his teammates see any sign of weakness, would tear up reading this book. Steins writing is not super, impressively advanced, not is it intentionally difficult. It’s the type of writing you won’t have to kill yourself reading, but you also won’t kill your brain-cells reading. And it’s not the some edgy, super modern, depressing story. It’s a feel good read, playing on all your emotions but ultimately leaving you with a happy-ending-feeling. And in this case that’s a good thing. I don’t want to go too far, but I almost want to say it’s one of those books that restore your faith in humanity.

So if you don’t want to read an uplifting book about a faithful canine friend, you can skip The Art of Racing in the Rain. If you do, you can join me and put this book on your shelf.