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Executive Times |
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2008 Book Reviews |
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The Story
of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski |
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Rating: |
**** |
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(Highly Recommended) |
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Click
on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Shakespearean David
Wroblewski’s debut novel, The Story
of Edgar Sawtelle, packs a wallop. I can’t recall another debut novel
that rated a four-star recommendation. I was reminded of Jane Smiley’s Moo, a version of King Lear set in
Iowa. The
Story of Edgar Sawtelle might be considered a version of Hamlet set in
Wisconsin with dogs. The Sawtelle family has specialized in breeding and
training dogs. Edgar is born mute and highly intelligent. The novel is his
story with the dogs and with his family. It is the quintessential tragedy.
Here’s an excerpt, from the end of the chapter titled, “The Stray,” pp.
88-90: He
spent the evening in the barn, Almondine close by, grooming dogs until his
hands ached. Claude approached him once, but Edgar turned away. The sun had
set and the stars were coming into sight overhead when the truck pulled into
the driveway. The carcass of the deer hung by
one back leg from a low branch of the maple tree. His father was asking
questions even before he was out of the cab. Claude walked over to meet them.
Forte had finally downed a deer, he said. He'd watched it from the barn roof,
but by the time he'd gotten the rifle the deer was down and the stray was
working on it, and he'd fired a shot to scare it off. "The doe was still alive
but tore up pretty bad. No choice but to shoot it I didn't want to leave it, so I
dressed it out and took off the one leg he'd chewed up and brought it back
here," he said. The lie didn't surprise Edgar,
but what Claude said next did. He expected Claude to return to the old
argument, insist they bait Forte and shoot him, or poison him. And this time
it was an argument he would probably win. Instead, he suggested they forget
Forte. "As far as that dog
goes," Claude said, "I don't think I hit it, but I know I scared
the hell out of it. Took off so fast I never had time to take a second shot.
We're never going to see it again." He looked at Edgar as he spoke,
and at first Edgar didn't understand. His mother caught Claude's gaze and
turned to look at him. "Where were you during all this?" she asked. Lit by the porch light, flies
penciled their shadows against the carcass of the deer. Edgar's father turned
to face him as well. Claude stood behind and between them, and the resolute
expression on his face lifted. The corners of his mouth edged up into a
smile. Claude was presenting Edgar
with a choice. He saw that. All his talk of scaring off Forte had just been
making the terms of the deal clear. He was offering to forget the stray,
let him come or go. The price was silence. Edgar looked at the carcass of the
deer and then at his parents. I was asleep in the living room, he signed. I missed
everything. If he and Claude had struck a
pact that night, it remained a silent one. Claude never again suggested they try to find or
kill Forte and Edgar never told his father the truth about the deer. When he
could be surreptitious about it, Edgar filled the steel dish with kibble and
set it behind the garden. It was empty by morning, though whether licked
clean by Forte or plundered by the squirrels he couldn't tell. One
evening, as Edgar was crossing the lawn, in that dilated moment after sunset
when the sky holds all the light, he saw Forte watching from the far side of
the garden and he stopped, hoping the dog would finally trot into the yard.
Instead, he edged back. Edgar returned to the barn. He filled the steel dish
with kibble and walked up the carefully weeded rows of sweet peas and corn
and musk melon until he stood a single pace away. Even then the dog would not
come forward. It was Edgar who took the final step, out of the garden and
into the wild grass growing at the tree line. There, Forte ate the kibble
from Edgar's hand, trembling. Afterward, he let Edgar lay a hand on his
shoulder. Thus began a ritual that would last all that summer and into the
fall. A week might pass before the stray appeared again. Edgar would carry
food out and the dog would eat while Edgar worked burrs from his coat.
Always, before Edgar had finished, Forte would begin to pant and then he
would turn and walk away and bed down at the forest's edge, where the lights
of the house glittered in his eyes. And if Edgar came closer then, the dog
would rise and wheel and trot into the woods without pausing to look back or
making a sound. Wroblewski’s
first novel is so good that expectations for another will be high. Whether he
writes another or not, The Story
of Edgar Sawtelle is a fine accomplishment and among the best novels of
2008. Steve
Hopkins, August 15, 2008 |
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Go to Executive Times Archives |
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The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the Seeptember 2008 issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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