Edgar Sawtelle

For the past few months I have been wallering in the pages of David Wroblewski's The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. My shoulders have slumped since I closed the book. I'm mourning for a few of the characters but mostly for myself. Soaking in the rich vocabulary and pausing to bask in each chapter is over.

Wroblewski's writing is phenomenal. Edgar's signing crept into my thoughts at stop lights. During dinner I wondered which Sawetelle dog would choose my family. I even prayed for all women who have lost like Trudy.

Edgar's adventure is 500+ pages which is one reason it took me so long to read, another being my two small rug rats are quite the time suck...the main reason is that I enjoyed every page. Ev-er-y page. Sometimes I pressed the words against my cheek and often my husband rescued it from my sleeping bear hug.

Soon I'll have to return this borrowed copy but find comfort in it's lasting eloquence. I also find solace in knowing that one day, oh say, when my kids are out of the house, that I will have the honor of rereading this remarkable work of art.