Some books

I’ve been reading a lot this summer/fall.  After Lila’s bedtime, once dinner is underway, I have my spot on the deck where, book in hand, I can tell Tom that the stuff to be grilled is marinating, the salad is made, and the water for the corn is ready to be boiled.  He’s on.  Then, I lose myself in pages. 

The book that occupied most of my August was The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, by David Wroblewski. This book hooked me from the start.  For the first 100 pages or so, I was utterly swept up in this family of dog breeders.  Edgar himself (the primary storyteller) is a boy, born mute - but not deaf – to parents who, never finding an explanation for his muteness, raise him as normally as possible and groom him for the family business of rearing, training, and placing their unique breed of dogs.  

All goes well until Uncle Claude comes around, and it is at that moment that I realize, wait a minute, there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark…  This book is Hamlet!  Yes, Edgar’s mom is named Trudy (Gertude)!, and there’s Uncle Claud(ius)!  There’s even the elusive stray dog, Forte (Fortinbras!), who, like the Norweigan prince in the play, is seeking the kingdom he feels his ancestors once lost…  Dr. Papineau (Polonius)!, a wise-but-old advisor to the family, dies unexpectedly and ironically at the hand of Edgar/Hamlet. 

Of course, Hamlet’s main character flaw is that he knows Claudius killed his father, but he is crippled by his indecisiveness.  He hems and haws.  He hems… then he haws some more.  Hamlet is the quintessential tragic character in literature – in seeking to avenge his father’s murder – and hesitating too long to do so – he kills himself and everyone else in the process.  Wroblewski deftly uses Edgar’s muteness to render him ineffectual in the same way.

There was a period of time when I first began reading this book when I was excited to be making these connections to Shakespeare; but after that wore off, I have to say this book made me upset.  It ended… upsettingly.  If you’ve read Hamlet, you know how it ended. I should not have been surprised.  But I was, because the hero (Edgar), who was painted so intriguigingly for me for 100 pages before Claude showed up and killed his brother, was so compelling that I actually wanted more of his story, not Hamlet’s. 

And, so… on to other books.  I’m now rereading Mark Helprin’s short story collection,  The Pacific. Mark Helprin is one of my faves, and this collection of stories showcases his amazing talent.  I was really excited to go back and reread two stories in particular:  “Monday” is a sweet fairy tale about an honorable contractor in NYC who refurbs a 911 widow’s dreamhouse for free.  It’s the kind of story that just makes you want to be a better person; the kind of story that reminds you that people like this do still exist, and even if they don’t, people who fantasize about such selfless generosity certainly do.

The other story is “Perfection,” in which a hassidic Jewish Holocost orphan in NYC in 1956 finds himself sent by God to “The House of Ruth” in order to save the “yankiss” and Mickey “Mental” from defeat.  In the hands of a different author, this would have been a silly play on the naive confusion of a devout boy who assumes that “Ruth” refers to the Bible.  Instead, Halprin tells a story of faith and redemtion that is magical – not to mention a great baseball tale.

And, the recent death of David Foster Wallace is giving me pangs of guilt for never having attempted Infinite Jest.  But, they’re little pangs.  I probably won’t succumb.