Slipping Through the Cracks

Describing a book is almost as difficult as explaining a smell. “What’s it about?” we ask. “Is it happy? sad? funny?” We can talk about the writing— good, bad, breezy, dense. But the experience of living in a world other than the one we share— with characters familiar only to the person reading the novel— for an hour, a day, or weeks and weeks, how can you express that?

I’m not interested in certain characters and plotlines (e.g. alien abductions, talking animals, coming-of-age hipsters, crumbling marriages). My mom won’t read another book about dysfunctional families or mothers and daughters. My friend P. stays away from violence, while many of my male friends don’t read books with female protagonists. Our prejudices probably prevent us from reading some wonderful books. But every once in a while, one of them slips through the cracks.

I can’t tell you why I’ve enjoyed the first 100 pages of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Nothing in its flap copy, other than a mention of Hamlet, entices me to read it.“Born mute, speaking only in sign, Edgar Sawtelle leads an idyllic life with his parents on their farm in remote northern Wisconsin. For generations, the Sawtelles have raised and trained a fictional breed of dog…” “…it’s a novel about the human heart…” says Stephen King. If I look in a few reviews, I bet I’ll find the phrases “gentle soulfulness” and “evocative of the stoic American pioneer spirit.” Blech! Yet, I’m enchanted. After the PC coziness of The Brooklyn Follies and the cinematic romance and mayhem of Mosquito, I adore the quiet of Edgar Sawtelle. But “quiet” doesn’t mean slow or precious. Plenty has happened in these first 100 pages, and the complications have just begun (the book is 562 pages).

I read quickly and often skim long descriptive passages. David Wroblewski, maybe in deference to his mute protagonist, doesn’t waste words. So when he chooses to spend a sentence or two depicting the scenery, he also moves us forward. “That evening Edgar pulled two yearlings into the kennel aisle and got the grooming tackle. By the time he’d finished, the setting sun bathed the back of the house in crimson.” Pretty scene, but we also know it’s almost night now and something is about to happen.

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle reminds me of Wendell Berry’s Hannah Coulter in its portrayal of the beauty and depth of some mighty quiet people. Berry’s characters had a sense of humor about them that I’m not sure Wroblewski’s do. But it’s early yet.