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Where did the idea for the book come
from?
The first seed for this book was planted in my
mind about ten years ago. I was no longer working in documentary films,
but a friend asked me to consult on the U.S. distribution of a film he knew
about from Mongolia, called "State of Dogs." I took a look at
the film and the press material they had on it. I didn't end up getting
involved with the film, but the idea really stuck with me. In Mongolia,
there is a belief that the next incarnation for a dog is as a man. I
thought this was a cool concept and I tucked it away thinking I might some day
do something with it.
Then, in 2004, I saw Billy Collins speak at
Seattle Arts and Lectures. He's a great poet and a terrific reader.
He read a poem, "The Revenant," which is told from the point of view
of a recently euthanized dog as he addresses his former master from
heaven. The poem begins, "I am the dog you put to sleep...come back
to tell you one simple thing: I never liked you--not one bit."
I loved this poem. When Billy Collins finished reading, I knew I had to
write a story from the point of view of a dog. And my dog would know the
truth: that in his next incarnation, he would return to earth as a man.
So I had the character and the goal, but I still
needed the framework of a story. A close friend of mine, who is a
semi-professional race car driver but who supplements his racing by working
behind the counter at an upscale automotive repair shop, was going through some
personal difficulties. His plight wasn't Denny's, but it gave me some
ideas about what happens to families when one member suddenly passes
away. I developed a story that would really put my main character, Denny,
through his paces, and then it was all there for me.
What inspired you to tell the story from a
dog's point of view?
Using a dog
as a narrator has limitations and it has advantages. The limitations are that
a dog cannot speak. A dog has no thumbs. A dog can't communicate his thoughts
except with gestures. Dogs are not allowed certain places. The advantages are
that a dog has special access: people will say things in front of dogs because
it is assumed that a dog doesn't understand. Dogs are allowed to witness
certain things because they aren't people and have no judgment.
I was able
to work with this idea a lot in terms of giving the reader a unique viewpoint
into the action of the book. Enzo goes off with Zoë, and while Denny, her
father, doesn't know what happens, we see through Enzo's eyes and so we do
know. In that sense, it was a lot of fun playing with this "fly on the
wall" point of view. Especially since the "fly" in our case, is
Enzo, who has very keen powers of observation.
Is there any significance to the name Enzo?
Yes! Denny's dog, Enzo, is named after Enzo
Ferrari, who built one of the greatest car trademarks in the world.
Ferrari automobiles are famous everywhere. And Ferrari is a dominant
player in the world of Formula One racing.
But I have a funny story about how I arrived at Enzo's
name....
When I first started writing this novel, Enzo was
not named Enzo. He was named Juan Pablo, after Juan Pablo Montoya, the
race car driver. When my wife read the first few pages, she said that she
loved what I was writing, but the name of the dog wasn't quite right.
"How about Enzo?" she asked.
We had two sons already, and were expecting our
third. I had always wanted to name one of my boys Enzo. I thought
it was the ultimate cool name: Enzo Stein. But my wife very much
disagreed. "We have a lot of different nationalities in our combined
backgrounds," she reasoned. "Russian, German, Austrian, Tlingit
Indian, Irish, English...but we have no Italian."
"But then we won't be able to name the baby Enzo,"
I said.
"I thought of that," she said, nodding
slowly.
"I really wanted to name him Enzo," I
said.
"Enzo, the dog, is your new baby," she
replied. "And when our new baby comes, we'll find the right
name for him."
(For those of you who are interested: We named
our son Dashiell.)
Are you a dog owner yourself?
Yes. Our
dog, Comet, is a Lab/poodle mix. She's goofy and silly and sweet.
What kind of study, if any, did you do to get
inside the mind and body of a dog?
Um....study? The reason I write fiction is
that I hate research. I don't have the attention span for it. My
philosophy is to write first, ask questions later.
Do you believe dogs have an evolved inner life
like Enzo has?
Those who are ready ...
Do you think people will look at their own
dogs differently after reading this book?
I hope so. Anyone who has a dog knows that
they have some very deep thoughts, that they have moods and emotions, they get
their feelings hurt. It's not a far reach to give them opinions and
values and long-term desires.
Americans love dogs and cars. Was this a
conscious decision on your part to interweave these two national passions, or
did it happen organically?
Actually, when I started writing this I had some
detractors--fellow writers and people in the publishing industry who told me
that, first, nobody reads books about racing and, second, nobody will read a
book narrated by a dog. And yet, as I mentioned earlier, the story did
grow organically, and therefore, is perhaps more "true" than some
more carefully constructed fiction and as a result, I think, appeals to people
in a very personal way.
The racing scenes deliver a real adrenaline
rush and a feel for the intricacies of the sport. Is this seemingly
expert knowledge based on personal experience or extensive research?
Okay, when I said I hate research, I meant book
research ...
When I moved back to Seattle in 2001, I got
involved in "high performance driver education," which is a fancy way
of saying I learned to drive a car really fast on a race track. That soon
led to my getting my racing license with the Sports Car Club of America
(SCCA). While I did fairly well as a driver (I won the points
championship in the NW region Spec Miata class in 2003), I didn't really have
the skill as a mechanic or the time and money needed to really excel.
When I crashed my car pretty badly--ironically, while racing in the rain--I
decided to semi-retire from racing, and now I only race enough to keep my
license current.
The funny thing is that while I love cars, I
never really thought of myself as a "car guy." When I finished
the draft of this book, my wife said, "So that's why you were
racing. You were doing research!" I guess, on a subconscious
level, that's what I was doing.
The custody battle between the widower Denny
and the parents of his late wife is ugly and horrible, with the latter trying
to manipulate the outcome by any means necessary. Is this over the top
portrayal meant to be colored by Enzo's strong feelings of loyalty?
Any narrative point of view is biased--the
narrator has his opinions--and Enzo is extremely biased toward all things Denny
and family. So what Enzo relates to us is filtered through a couple of
things: first, being a dog, he's limited in what he is allowed to see;
second, being so devoted to his master, his opinions are all highly skewed.
That being said, I have spoken with attorneys who
have assured me that in custody and visitation battles, especially ones
involving grandparents, things can get extremely ruthless, and it is not
inconceivable that, for instance, one side might try to drag things out in order
to put the other party into extreme economic distress.
What lessons can we all learn from Enzo?
I'm not sure that's for me to judge. But I
would say the important things for me are twofold.
First, Enzo's mantra: "That which you
manifest is before you." I think it's very important to take charge
of your life, not to feel like you're a victim of circumstance or fate, but
that you are an active participant in your future. It's not a new
idea: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you
make." (Lennon/McCartney) Where I focus my energy always
matches what comes back to me in my life.
Secondly, Enzo's epiphany--the thing he learns at
the end of his life--is that his assumption that race car drivers have to be
selfish to be successful, is incorrect. In fact, he determines, in order
to be successful, a race car driver has to be completely selfless. He
must cease looking at himself as the brightest star in the solar system, and
begin to see himself as simply a unique aspect of the universe around him--and,
most importantly, as an extension of the universe around him. In this
way, a race car driver sheds his ego; his actions become pure and as powerful
as the entire universe. Which in turn leads to success.
All athletes speak about the mental element of
athletics, and it usually boils down to the same thing: if you can remove
your ego from the game, you can function with much more clarity and you are
more likely to succeed. Wouldn't it be interesting if we all began speaking
about the mental element of our lives in this way? How would our lives
change if we did?
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