This is an astonishing, mysterious, bewildering and profound novel. And even though the ending is sad and heart-breaking, it is a deeply satisfying novel as well. Not since I read Yann Martel's mesmerizing novel, "Life of Pi", have I found myself so deeply absorbed in a novelist's magical creation as I was while reading "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle".The novel begins with a needless killing of an injured, limping, stray dog with poison by a medicine man or herbalist. This brutal killing fits into the novel later, as the novel progresses.
The protagonist of the novel is a fourteen years old boy named Edgar Sawtelle, who was born mute. His parents - Gar and Trudy Sawtelle are dog-breeders, who live on a farm in a remote part of northern Wisconsin, not far from the Chequamegon National Forest. They breed and train a unique and special breed of canine developed by Edgar's grand father, John Sawtelle; hence the name of the breed: Sawtelle. The dogs earn good reputation not only for their noble temperament, but also for their intuitive ability to anticipate their masters' command, and then interpret and act on the command independently also. The family's peaceful farm life is disrupted when Claude, Edgar's charming, conniving paternal uncle visits them. Gar offers him a job at the farm and a place to stay. Soon Gar dies suddenly and mysteriously. Edgar suspects that Claude murdered Gar. He tries to prove that Claude did indeed murder Gar, but his plan misfires, and so to save himself from Claude he runs away into the Chequamegon woods, accompanied by three young dogs named Almondine, Baboo and Tinder.
The author's vivid descriptions of nature, his ability to describe the terrors of the wilderness and the horrors of living in a jungle, and his decision to narrate a part of the story from a dog's perspective have added distinct charm to the novel. The magic of his pen is such that even the supernatural and paranormal incidents in the story seem to be natural, logical and believable.
The ending of the novel is bewildering, wrenching, unpredictable and quite shocking. And it is heart-breaking as well.
David Wroblewski is a masterful narrator. His prose is spare but mellifluous; and even though it lacks the grandeur and splendor of Yann Martel's or Joseph O'Neill's prose, its understated elegance shines through: "Late in the morning he found himself navigating along a heavily washboarded dirt road. The limbs of the trees meshed overhead. Left and right, thick underbrush obscured everything farther than twenty yards into the woods. When the road finally topped out at a clearing, he was presented with a view of the Penokee range rolling out to the west, and an unbroken emerald forest stretching to the north - all the way, it seemed, to the granite rim of Lake Superior. At the bottom of the hill stood a little white farmhouse and a gigantic red barn. A milk house was huddled up near the front of the barn. An untopped stone silo stood behind. By the road, a crudely lettered sign read, "For Sale."
This novel is so extra-ordinary and so exquisitely written that I am sure that I shall be reading it again soon.
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