The Way of the Dog
*Starred Review* Savage made his debut at age 65 and, over three remarkable novels, became a prime example of late-life artistic achievement. Perhaps paradoxically, the protagonist of his fourth novel, Harold Nivenson, is an elderly, dying artist who judges himself as having “failed at art and life.” Yet this shouldn’t be surprising: when Savage puts himself inside a character’s head, he, as Nivenson says about himself, “does not stop thinking at the point where he happens to feel comfortable.” Less humorous than the earlier novels, this unforgettable portrait of alienation and regret is told in short passages we infer have been written on index cards by the narrator. Living in squalor in a large, decaying house, he watches his neighbors from the window, submits to the care of a woman named Moll, and seethes as his son has his collection appraised. The centerpiece of the collection is a massive nude by a deceased painter and former friend whose shadow is nearly obliterating. Nivenson also mourns his dog, whose canine Zen foreshadows a well-earned moment of peace at book’s end. With paragraphs as rich as koans, this is as powerful a meditation on living life—and facing its end—as you are likely to read anytime soon. --Keir Graff