Sight Hound
Pam Houston
W.W. Norton & Company. January, 2005.
342 pages, $23.95
In her brave new novel, Sight Hound, Pam Houston deftly renders
the story of Rae, a complex woman who finds herself in urgent need
of faith. And not any ordinary pulpit faith, but a faith in the deepest
machinations of life. Of past lives and lives yet to come. With the
counsel of her three-legged wolfhound, Dante, Rae frantically searches
for it despite herself, the years of worry etched like arabesque into
the corners of her eyes. Dante has cancer and Rae needs salient proof
that something exists that will carry her through.
Houston conjures flesh from type on the page. Her characters, so bright
and clear, go on living in our soul far beyond the closing of this
book. Houston imbues everything we need to know in this world with
passion, a delightfully honest passion that will inspire any right-minded
person to put their faith into something, anything, and live a better
life.
Told in twelve breathtaking first person narrators, Sight Hound
not only allows us to see Rae and Dante through their own eyes, but
also through the orbiting views of those around them, human as well
as animal. We see everything. From the expansive wildfire closing
in on Rae’s ranch, to the therapist guiding her mind, to the
human stalker threatening the one person she needs most. Houston does
not pull punches or withhold a stitch. She simply tells the story
and tells the story and tells the story. She does it with grace. And
it will break your heart.
No ordinary dog, the wolfhound Dante possesses all the intelligence
-and then some- of any human. He tirelessly works to guide Rae through
transitions with men, transitions with friends and absent parents,
and finally, with Dante’s own transition from this life into
the next. Animals take equal footing in Sight Hound, acting as cairns,
protectors, and psychics. They are often as wise as Tibetan monks.
Sight Hound centers on Rae. Her ropey legs, her Buddha belly,
her panics, her ticks. But it is her heart that commands every utterance,
smile, and cocked eyebrow we see. From the little girl with a Barbie
suitcase to the playwright with a ticket to Lhasa, it is her heart
that sends her running. It’s not on the page, but I imagine
Rae’s 4-Runner, always, always with Dante in the back, to be
a standard transmission. Something Rae grips and shifts with tight
squeezing hands. But when it comes time for the next 4-Runner, she
will buy an automatic. Rae is learning to let go. She is listening
to Dante’s heartbeat and smelling the cinnamon of his ears and
memorizing his handsome face. But she is also learning to let a man
stay in her life, cultivating true friendships, and beginning to stop
running to the point of collapse. Dante teaches Rae to slow down.
He teaches her to trust.
Rae learns to trust Dr. Evans, her veterinarian, when the choices
for Dante become impossible. She learns to trust Howard, her lover,
when he sings made-up dog songs and assures her that it is healthy
to laugh. She learns to trust her psychiatrist until he reveals his
own weakness. Afterwards, she trusts him even more. Rae learns to
trust her instincts, willing her manic personality to ease up enough
to breathe. It’s faith, and through it, Sight Hound distils
the very breadth of human experience to a girl and her dog. This one
simple connection represents all of them, teaching us when to hold
on and when to let go.
* This review originally appeared in New Delta Review, Winter 2005