We meet Evan at Tracy’s funeral and we are given the following facts: Tracy and Evan used to date, Tracy is no longer alive and Tracy was killed in a car accident. Oh, and she has a son named Dean.
What we come to find out is that Dean is actually Tracy and Evan’s son and that they have never met until, pardoning the expression, Evan decided to crash the funeral.
The plot of the novel is a fairly simple one: can Evan, a guy who can barely control his own life as he deals with overbearing parents, a favorite-son brother, a potentially re-emerging rock-and-roll career and his own epilepsy which he’s kept secret from basically everyone, become a father after missing the first 14 years of his son’s life?
I won’t spoil anything further than that, except to say there are a few moments where things get a little frustrating. There’s the all-too-perfect girlfriend—Mica—and how she bounces into his life with far too much ease. Or, there’s some of the annoying decisions Evan makes regarding Tracy’s parents (who initially fight for Dean’s custody) and his own parents.
But, despite some minor blips, I think we all need to be clear on one thing: Garth Stein is one hell of a writer. If you haven’t heard of him… well, I’m not sure what can be done to save your soul at this point. If you have and haven’t yet read his best-selling The Art of Racing in the Rain… go do so, immediately. Go ahead, we’ll all be here when you get back.
I’ve now read two of his novels (shockingly, he’s only written three) and can say that he could probably write a book detailing the intricacies of paint drying and I’d find it interesting. Or, at the least, very enjoyable to read. There’s a flow to his writing, a sense that pervades the stories he tells that keeps you engrossed. Perhaps it’s that Stein is a man who sticks to what he knows.
A simple Google search will tell you he used to be a professional race car driver, no doubt where much of the basis for Racing came from (though he now says, after a crash–in the rain, of all places–that he only races enough to maintain his license). Look a little further and you’ll find out that Stein’s sister dealt with epilepsy and that Stein himself played in a rock band when younger. Throw in the fact that he’s spent much of his life living in Seattle, a location for both novels, and it becomes clear why Stein’s writing feels so comfortable and settled.
Evan is certainly not Stein’s best work, thought that’s a point of relative comparison more than strict analysis. What this book is, however, is an immensely enjoyable story of family, both new and old, and the lies we tell and sacrifices we make to keep them together.
It works.
