Sawtelle

I laid awake for a good hour last night after I turned the light off. I'd just finished reading "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle," by Dave Wroblewski, and my mind just wouldn't shut off.

It's a great book, and I highly recommend reading it. There are the obvious undertones of "Hamlet," but Wroblewski's writing also seems to combine the traits of some of my favorite American writers – John Steinbeck, Richard Adams and John Irving.

Wroblewski's writing waxes poetic – he's wonderful at describing things in a way you haven't quite heard before. His best writing is about abstract concepts, though, and I particularly enjoy the few chapters that are about the family's dog, Almondine. Her loyalty and devotion are touching. I don't want to give much away, but here's a passage from a chapter about her from late in the book:

"She had learned, in her life, that time lived inside you. You are time, you breathe time. When she'd been young, she'd had an insatiable hunger for more of it, though she hadn't understood why. Now she held inside her a cacophony of times and lately it drowned out the world. The apple tree was still nice to lie near. The peony, for its scent, was also fine. When she walked through the woods (infrequently now) she picked her way along the path, making way for the boy inside to run along before her. It could be hard to choose the time outside over the time within. There was still work to do, of course. The young ones in the barn knew so little and she had taught so many before. It hardly seemed worth trying when she was asked, though she did."