To really understand Paul Yoon’s new novel, “Etna,” I went back and read his tribute to his dog Oscar, which was one of the short pieces in the collection “The Best Dog in the World: Essays on Love.” And while I didn’t cry while reading “Etna,” I did cry when I reread the essay “Oscar,” substituting the fictional Etna for Yoon’s actual dog, Oscar.
It’s in the essay that I can see the evolution of Etna’s story and the brilliant way that Yoon created this near-magical dog, a shepherd mix, to be the epitome of what a dog can be. Yoon’s essay shares his feelings about his own dog, “I grow to need him beside me on the couch as I write my books. That it’s because of him, as he literally lies on my lap, a few levels down from my gaze, that I learn to think about how to present things in my stories from different angles.” And those feelings are beautifully translated into the lovely, lyrical story about Etna, a dog of not-very-noble-lineage but a huge and noble heart. Etna was born on a farm near the coast of an unnamed country. He lived on the farm with his mother and siblings and two humans who cared for them.
His country is at war, and other countries, including America, are sending soldiers to help. Etna is taken from the farm by a unique woman who can communicate with dogs. She takes him to soldiers who train him not only to sniff out bombs, but also to protect the soldiers. What Yoon describes in the novel is how Etna’s relationship with the soldier who is his handler evolves. They sleep together, Etna under his cot, Etna protecting him. In fact, Etna protects all those humans he connects with; it’s in his genetic makeup. He doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t consider the odds, he just protects them.
In his nonfiction essay, Yoon also writes about his parents and their refusal to connect with his dog, Oscar. It was something foreign to what they knew, having lived in South Korea after the war, “when home invasions and theft were rampant.” Dogs were chained outside the homes as protectors, nothing more. And in “Etna,” many of the people in the novel, in the war-ravaged country, see dogs as simply tools to use and then discard. As weapons to use against their enemies. But others love dogs, so we see both sides of human nature: Yoon’s love as opposed to his parents’ aversion.
Yoon loves his dog Oscar with his whole being, and Etna is a dog we come to love with our whole being. Etna is tired of the war, the fighting, the violence, the cruelty, and the loss. At this point in his life, he just wants to go home to the farm where he was born and see what is there. He wants to be with his family. He’s been told that there will be nothing left, and that’s easy to believe after reading Etna’s first person narrative about the terribly destroyed country, from cities to villages to the countryside. Etna hasn’t even seen a bird since before the war; such was the complete and total devastation of everything by the fighting and the aftermath. Humans, wildlife, domestic animals — all have suffered horribly and senselessly from the destruction.
Everything is burned and blackened. Homes are shells and few have all the walls erect, with a roof for protection. And while the war and the humans that wreak such devastation on this poor country are single-minded and ruthless, the individuals we meet who become Etna’s pack are wonderful people. From the soldier who selflessly saves Etna’s life to the doctor who takes medication meant for humans and heals Etna’s wounds, we want to be one of those people who help Etna. We want Etna to find peace after all he’s been through and all he’s lost: his family, the farm he loved, the dog he worked with, and others.
But (I’m being really honest here), I didn’t understand the ending of “Etna.” So that’s when I went and reread Yoon’s essay about Oscar, and that helped everything come together, at least for me. In fact, the whole essay is insightful in that we can see how Yoon was influenced in writing “Etna” by his parents’ life experiences living in a country at war, and the horrific violence and death they saw. In the novel, the heartrending sense of loss and grief alternate with Etna’s encountering humans and animals who become his pack, his family.
Yoon says that he wanted to write a book from the point of view of a dog because he fell in love with a dog. He says he was curious about what would happen in a story if he pushed humans to the side and made animals front and center. What he accomplished is to make all of us fall in love with Etna. And Fuji. And Semeru. And while I’m furious that we don’t know Semeru’s fate, in life there’s always something we don’t know. People we have cared for in the past whom we wonder about years later. I hope that some of the love that all the readers feel for Etna makes its way across the universal consciousness into Oscar and helps him to live many more years. For Etna. For Paul Yoon. For us all.
And at the end of both the essay and the novel, both dogs are high on a cliff, over a body of water. We don’t know what their future will bring; we only know that dogs bring magic with them, and that those of us who are lucky enough to have a dog who worships us (as my own shepherd-mix worships my husband and me), understand that feeling completely. Etna will be fine. Etna will find his pack. And Etna will find his peace (at least that is what we desperately hope). And isn’t that what we all want in life? To find our own peace and our own pack?
This review was first posted in a slightly abbreviated format on Bookreporter.com.