Genre Fiction
![Garth Stein - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_garth_stein.jpg)
The Art of Racing in the Rain: A Novel
NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE FROM FOX 2000 STARRING MILO VENTIMIGLIA, AMANDA SEYFRIED, AND KEVIN COSTNER
MEET THE DOG
WHO WILL SHOW THE WORLD
HOW TO BE HUMAN
The New York Times bestselling novel from Garth Stein-a heart-wrenching but deeply funny and ultimately uplifting story of family, love, loyalty, and hope-a captivating look at the wonders and absurdities of human life . . . as only a dog could tell it.
"Splendid." -People
"The perfect book for anyone who knows that compassion isn't only for humans, and that the relationship between two souls who are meant for each other never really comes to an end. Every now and then I'm lucky enough to read a novel I can't stop thinking about: this is one of them." -Jodi Picoult
"It's impossible not to love Enzo." -Minneapolis Star Tribune
"This old soul of a dog has much to teach us about being human. I loved this book." -Sara Gruen
MEET THE DOG
WHO WILL SHOW THE WORLD
HOW TO BE HUMAN
The New York Times bestselling novel from Garth Stein-a heart-wrenching but deeply funny and ultimately uplifting story of family, love, loyalty, and hope-a captivating look at the wonders and absurdities of human life . . . as only a dog could tell it.
"Splendid." -People
"The perfect book for anyone who knows that compassion isn't only for humans, and that the relationship between two souls who are meant for each other never really comes to an end. Every now and then I'm lucky enough to read a novel I can't stop thinking about: this is one of them." -Jodi Picoult
"It's impossible not to love Enzo." -Minneapolis Star Tribune
"This old soul of a dog has much to teach us about being human. I loved this book." -Sara Gruen
Editorial Reviews
"One of those stories that may earn its place next to Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist, and Yann Martel's Life of Pi." - Portland Oregonian
"Splendid." - People (3 ½ out of 4 stars)
"Fans of Marley & Me, rejoice." - Entertainment Weekly
"The perfect book for anyone who knows that some of our best friends walk beside us on four legs; that compassion isn't only for humans; and that the relationship between two souls...meant for each other never really comes to an end." - Jodi Picoult
"The Art of Racing in The Rain has everything: love, tragedy, redemption, danger, and-most especially-the canine narrator Enzo. This old soul of a dog has much to teach us about being human. I loved this book." - Sara Gruen, Author of Water for Elephants
"The Art of Racing in The Rain has everything: love, tragedy, redemption, danger, and--most especially--the canine narrator Enzo. This old soul of a dog has much to teach us about being human." - Sara Gruen, Author of Water for Elephants
"I savored Garth Stein's The Art of Racing in the Rain for many reasons: a dog who speaks, the thrill of competitive racing, a heart-tugging storyline, and--best of all--the fact that it is a meditation on humility and hope in the face of despair." - Wally Lamb, Author of She's Come Undone and I Know This Much Is True
"Splendid." - People (3 ½ out of 4 stars)
"Fans of Marley & Me, rejoice." - Entertainment Weekly
"The perfect book for anyone who knows that some of our best friends walk beside us on four legs; that compassion isn't only for humans; and that the relationship between two souls...meant for each other never really comes to an end." - Jodi Picoult
"The Art of Racing in The Rain has everything: love, tragedy, redemption, danger, and-most especially-the canine narrator Enzo. This old soul of a dog has much to teach us about being human. I loved this book." - Sara Gruen, Author of Water for Elephants
"The Art of Racing in The Rain has everything: love, tragedy, redemption, danger, and--most especially--the canine narrator Enzo. This old soul of a dog has much to teach us about being human." - Sara Gruen, Author of Water for Elephants
"I savored Garth Stein's The Art of Racing in the Rain for many reasons: a dog who speaks, the thrill of competitive racing, a heart-tugging storyline, and--best of all--the fact that it is a meditation on humility and hope in the face of despair." - Wally Lamb, Author of She's Come Undone and I Know This Much Is True
Readers Top Reviews
ChloeBring It On
This book is simply stunning! The idea if writing from a dogs point of view for the whole book is just genius. As humans we never understand that dogs take thing in and if they can understand. We know they can be our best friends but we forget how much of our lives that they see and experience with us. The good times and the bad times. Listening to Enzo's thoughts and experiences alongside his master Denny and his sister Zoë, is amazing and eye-opening. He is very philosophical and I have taken a few beautiful quotes from Enzo and will use them for a long time. "That which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it though intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves" That a way to look a life and to pursue it through this book, through the eyes of someone we all love in our home and our lives. Someone that gives us comfort when we dont even realise we need it. Someone we call a pet, but is really another member of our family. If you read one book this year, make it this.
hungrybookwormChl
This is a book I enjoyed enormously, not just for the captivating story which stands on its own merits but for its humanity and insight as well. The author obviously knows dogs and completely captures the special relationship/bond formed between animal and owner. It doesn't matter one jot that the tale is told by Enzo, the dog. If dogs really could talk they would tell it exactly like it is, as Enzo does; no frills, no lies, just facts, good or bad but always with unswerving loyalty, whether their owners are good to them or not. Through Enzo's eyes we learn so much about human nature, how each individual deals with adversity and how focus, grit and determination can ultimately triumph against apparently insurmountable odds, especially where love is involved, as it is in many forms in this story. The author draws wonderful parallels between the skills and focus a racing driver needs to win the race, particularly when 'racing in the rain' and how those same skills and being focussed on the outcome, can keep us from skidding out of control in real life. He makes you believe that if you want a thing badly enough then anything is possible. This is a story about love and the determination to succeed when the chips are down. You don't have to be a dog lover to appreciate that, or to enjoy this thoroughly engaging book.
hungrybookworm
Apologies, me again.I have read many books, Historical, Biographies, Crime, Action and adventure.. Romance, Horror and Murder mysteries. Apart from the fact that this book involved a dog, I probably would have never read it- a book about a dog watching sports car racing. My favourite book ever was Stephen King- The Shining and in my opinion nothing compared. Until this book. If you ever read one book in your life, then read this one. The Shining was down to one's imagination. To see it in film took that away. I believe this book is also being made into a film. Good for the author, but the dog in question in down to the reader's imagination- Not like Marley and Me kind of dog.
Grassshopper021
I've read thousands of books, yet this is my favorite book ever. I originally read it when it first came out, but let a friend borrow it and she moved away with it:( This is my second copy. I actually cried reading this book, and I am not a very sensitive or emotional person. I bawled like a baby. The book has so many happy moments, but the tragedies will break your heart. I like how this is from the viewpoint of the dog, and how he sees everything. The story: A dog named Enzo is owned by a man wanting to be a professional racecar driver. Enzo sees his owner go through marriage, life, death, legal issues, a career change, etc. Enzo shows you, through his dog eyes/brain, what it is like being there through all those moments. The book is not slow at all, has truly hilarious moments, and will make you want to hug your pets over and over. I am in love with this book.
Been there, done
I am a sucker for dog books - no matter how many, I read them. A Dog‘s Purpose, where the dog dies and is reincarnated five times, has a happy ending-the dog is reunited with his true companion/owner. This book has a similarly predictable ending. But along the way, there were countless chapters that preened breathlessly about auto racing stars and pontificated with litanies of Hallmark platitudes. I ended up skipping them. The story arc is ridiculously dull: you know what’s going to happen with the wife, you know what’s going to happen with the dog, you know what’s going to happen with the grandparents, you know what’s going to happen with the criminal case. As a divorce lawyer, I found the whole custody/support case storyline just plain dull. As for the voice of the dog - he sounds like a highly educated adult male. He says that is because he watches TV and has educated himself so that he is ready to go to the next life reborn as a human. A rehash of A Dog’s Purpose, only without anywhere near as much affection. The animal abuse in the pages of this book was particularly horrifying. The dog’s dewclaws are removed without anesthesia. The dog is left alone for three days without food and water, his owner strikes him in the face, he’s left alone bored out of his mind. After reading this book, I spent the following day giving my dog extra special attention to make sure she never feels like poor Enzo. I will never understand how this book out to be such a big deal. I will not be seeing the movie. Its only saving grace is it didn’t take very long to read, but that’s partly because I skipped through the endless homilies, the word repetition (I must’ve read it about that Mongolian documentary five or six times at least) and the incredibly boring racing descriptions.
Short Excerpt Teaser
The Art of Racing in the RainA NovelBy HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.ISBN: 9780061537967
Chapter One
Gestures are all that I have; sometimes they must be grand in nature. And while I occasionally step over the line and into the world of the melodramatic, it is what I must do in order to communicate clearly and effectively. In order to make my point understood without question. I have no words I can rely on because, much to my dismay, my tongue was designed long and flat and loose, and therefore, is a horribly ineffective tool for pushing food around my mouth while chewing, and an even less effective tool for making clever and complicated polysyllabic sounds that can be linked together to form sentences. And that's why I'm here now waiting for Denny to come home-he should be here soon-lying on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own urine.
I'm old. And while I'm very capable of getting older, that's not the way I want to go out. Shot full of pain medication and steroids to reduce the swelling of my joints. Vision fogged with cataracts. Puffy, plasticky packages of Doggie Depends stocked in the pantry. I'm sure Denny would get me one of those little wagons I've seen on the streets, the ones that cradle the hindquarters so a dog can drag his ass behind him when things start to fail. That's humiliating and degrading. I'm not sure if it's worse than dressing up a dog for Halloween, but it's close. He would do it out of love, of course. I'm sure he would keep me alive as long as he possibly could, my body deteriorating, disintegrating around me, dissolving until there's nothing left but my brain floating in a glass jar filled with clear liquid, my eyeballs drifting at the surface and all sorts of cables and tubes feeding what remains. But I don't want to be kept alive. Because I know what's next. I've seen it on TV. A documentary I saw about Mongolia, of all places. It was the best thing I've ever seen on television, other than the 1993 Grand Prix of Europe, of course, the greatest automobile race of all time in which Ayrton Senna proved himself to be a genius in the rain. After the 1993 Grand Prix, the best thing I've ever seen on TV is a documentary that explained everything to me, made it all clear, told the whole truth: when a dog is finished living his lifetimes as a dog, his next incarnation will be as a man.
I've always felt almost human. I've always known that there's something about me that's different than other dogs. Sure, I'm stuffed into a dog's body, but that's just the shell. It's what's inside that's important. The soul. And my soul is very human.
I am ready to become a man now, though I realize I will lose all that I have been. All of my memories, all of my experiences. I would like to take them with me into my next life-there is so much I have gone through with the Swift family-but I have little say in the matter. What can I do but force myself to remember? Try to imprint what I know on my soul, a thing that has no surface, no sides, no pages, no form of any kind. Carry it so deeply in the pockets of my existence that when I open my eyes and look down at my new hands with their thumbs that are able to close tightly around their fingers, I will already know. I will already see.
The door opens, and I hear him with his familiar cry, "Yo, Zo!" Usually, I can't help but put aside my pain and hoist myself to my feet, wag my tail, sling my tongue around, and shove my face into his crotch. It takes humanlike willpower to hold back on this particular occasion, but I do. I hold back. I don't get up. I'm acting.
"Enzo?"
I hear his footsteps, the concern in his voice. He finds me and looks down. I lift my head, wag my tail feebly so it taps against the floor. I play the part.
He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, sets down the plastic bag from the grocery that has his dinner in it. I can smell roast chicken through the plastic. Tonight he's having roast chicken and an iceberg lettuce salad.
"Oh, Enz," he says.
He reaches down to me, crouches, touches my head like he does, along the crease behind the ear, and I lift my head and lick at his forearm.
"What happened, kid?" he asks.
Gestures can't explain.
"Can you get up?"
I try, and I scramble. My heart takes off, lunges ahead because no, I can't. I panic. I thought I was just acting, but I rea...
Chapter One
Gestures are all that I have; sometimes they must be grand in nature. And while I occasionally step over the line and into the world of the melodramatic, it is what I must do in order to communicate clearly and effectively. In order to make my point understood without question. I have no words I can rely on because, much to my dismay, my tongue was designed long and flat and loose, and therefore, is a horribly ineffective tool for pushing food around my mouth while chewing, and an even less effective tool for making clever and complicated polysyllabic sounds that can be linked together to form sentences. And that's why I'm here now waiting for Denny to come home-he should be here soon-lying on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own urine.
I'm old. And while I'm very capable of getting older, that's not the way I want to go out. Shot full of pain medication and steroids to reduce the swelling of my joints. Vision fogged with cataracts. Puffy, plasticky packages of Doggie Depends stocked in the pantry. I'm sure Denny would get me one of those little wagons I've seen on the streets, the ones that cradle the hindquarters so a dog can drag his ass behind him when things start to fail. That's humiliating and degrading. I'm not sure if it's worse than dressing up a dog for Halloween, but it's close. He would do it out of love, of course. I'm sure he would keep me alive as long as he possibly could, my body deteriorating, disintegrating around me, dissolving until there's nothing left but my brain floating in a glass jar filled with clear liquid, my eyeballs drifting at the surface and all sorts of cables and tubes feeding what remains. But I don't want to be kept alive. Because I know what's next. I've seen it on TV. A documentary I saw about Mongolia, of all places. It was the best thing I've ever seen on television, other than the 1993 Grand Prix of Europe, of course, the greatest automobile race of all time in which Ayrton Senna proved himself to be a genius in the rain. After the 1993 Grand Prix, the best thing I've ever seen on TV is a documentary that explained everything to me, made it all clear, told the whole truth: when a dog is finished living his lifetimes as a dog, his next incarnation will be as a man.
I've always felt almost human. I've always known that there's something about me that's different than other dogs. Sure, I'm stuffed into a dog's body, but that's just the shell. It's what's inside that's important. The soul. And my soul is very human.
I am ready to become a man now, though I realize I will lose all that I have been. All of my memories, all of my experiences. I would like to take them with me into my next life-there is so much I have gone through with the Swift family-but I have little say in the matter. What can I do but force myself to remember? Try to imprint what I know on my soul, a thing that has no surface, no sides, no pages, no form of any kind. Carry it so deeply in the pockets of my existence that when I open my eyes and look down at my new hands with their thumbs that are able to close tightly around their fingers, I will already know. I will already see.
The door opens, and I hear him with his familiar cry, "Yo, Zo!" Usually, I can't help but put aside my pain and hoist myself to my feet, wag my tail, sling my tongue around, and shove my face into his crotch. It takes humanlike willpower to hold back on this particular occasion, but I do. I hold back. I don't get up. I'm acting.
"Enzo?"
I hear his footsteps, the concern in his voice. He finds me and looks down. I lift my head, wag my tail feebly so it taps against the floor. I play the part.
He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, sets down the plastic bag from the grocery that has his dinner in it. I can smell roast chicken through the plastic. Tonight he's having roast chicken and an iceberg lettuce salad.
"Oh, Enz," he says.
He reaches down to me, crouches, touches my head like he does, along the crease behind the ear, and I lift my head and lick at his forearm.
"What happened, kid?" he asks.
Gestures can't explain.
"Can you get up?"
I try, and I scramble. My heart takes off, lunges ahead because no, I can't. I panic. I thought I was just acting, but I rea...
