The Art of Racing in the Rain

by Stein, Garth

• ISBN13: 9780061537967
• ISBN10: 0061537969
• eBook ISBN(s): 9780061738098
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2010-07-26
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications
• More Book Details

About This Book

The Art of Racing in the Rain: A Novel

By Garth Stein

Published: May 22, 2018

Publisher: Harper Paperbacks

Pages: 336

About the Book:

"The Art of Racing in the Rain" is a heartwarming and thought-provoking novel narrated by Enzo, a wise and philosophical dog. This bittersweet story delves into themes of family, love, loyalty, and hope. Enzo's unique perspective offers readers a fresh and engaging look at the world through the eyes of a canine philosopher. The book is perfect for anyone who loves animals, family stories, and philosophical reflections.

Who Uses It?

Primarily, this book is used by students and readers interested in literature and animal-themed stories. It's also a great choice for book clubs and anyone looking for a compelling narrative that explores deeper themes.

History and Editions:

"The Art of Racing in the Rain" has been a beloved novel since its publication in 2018. The book has captured the hearts of many readers with its poignant and uplifting storyline. Garth Stein's writing style makes the book accessible to a wide range of readers, from young adults to adults.

Author and Other Works:

Garth Stein is the author of "The Art of Racing in the Rain." He is known for his engaging storytelling and his ability to create memorable characters. Stein has also written other notable works, including "Raven Stole the Moon" and "A Sudden Light."

Detailed Information

ISBNs and Formats

• Hardcover: ISBN-13: 9780061537967 (The ebook for "The Art of Racing in the Rain" is available right here on eCampus.com!)
• eTextbook: ISBN-13: 9780061738098 (The ebook for "The Art of Racing in the Rain" is available right here on eCampus.com!)
• eTextbook: ISBN-13: 9780061738104 (The ebook for "The Art of Racing in the Rain" is available right here on eCampus.com!)
• Rental Options: Available through eCampus.com with various rental durations

Publication Details

• Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
• Publication Date: May 22, 2018
• Number of Pages: 336
• Language: English

Other Editions and Formats

• Paperback: Available through eCampus.com

Related ISBNs:

9780061537967

9780061738098

9780061738104

Rental Options

Rental options are available through eCampus.com with various rental durations.

Excerpts

The Art of Racing in the Rain
A Novel

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 really can't get up. Shit. Life imitating art.

"Take it easy, kid," he says, pressing down on my chest to calm me. "I've got you."

He lifts me easily, he cradles me, and I can smell the day on him. I can smell everything he's done. His work, the auto shop where he's behind the counter all day, standing, making nice with the customers who yell at him because their BMWs don't work right and it costs too much to fix them and that makes them mad so they have to yell at someone. I can smell his lunch. He went to the Indian buffet he likes. All you can eat. It's cheap, and sometimes he takes a container with him and steals extra portions of the tandoori chicken and yellow rice and has it for dinner, too. I can smell beer. He stopped somewhere. The Mexican restaurant up the hill. I can smell the tortilla chips on his breath. Now it makes sense. Usually, I'm excellent with elapsed time, but I wasn't paying attention because of my emoting.

He places me gently in the tub and turns on the handheld shower thing and says, "Easy, Enz."

The Art of Racing in the Rain
A Novel. Copyright © by Garth Stein . Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Excerpted from The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.