Almost ten years ago, I read Caroline Knapp's memoir of dog ownership Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs, which explored, among other things, her relationship with her shepherd mix Lucille. I wasn't too far from being a single (divorced) woman with a dog myself, so I was intrigued by the story.
In many respects, though, Caroline and Lucille belonged to a "pack of four," along with Caroline's closest friend, Gail Caldwell ("Grace" in the book) and Gail's Samoyed, Clementine. A dog trainer played matchmaker of sorts for the two women, but they soon found many things that connected them in addition to their dogs, who accompanied them on their long walks and talks. But their time together came to an unexpected end after just a few years, when Caroline was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. In this relatively brief and moving memoir, Gail Caldwell - a columnist, book critic for the Boston Globe, and author of a prior memoir - takes readers on a rambling "long way home" as she recounts episodes and experiences from her friendship with Caroline.
Speaking both frankly and intimately, Caldwell discusses some of the common elements of their personal histories - in addition to having their devotion to dogs and their writing careers in common, both women were recovering alcoholics, but forged their friendship after they'd both stopped drinking - and how their relationship was shaped by their shared experiences. She never outright tells the reader why and how she and Caroline became so close, but illustrates their bond through the stories she has chosen to tell.
Because the reader already knows that Caroline is dead when the book begins - and the book's ending chapters center on the events surrounding that - it's understandable that one might shy away from reading something so "sad." However, this is a memoir, not a memorial - and while Caldwell certainly does not skirt around or minimize the sadness and grief, this is a story of shared life. The attachment between Gail and Caroline is genuine and healthy, and I didn't get the feeling that Caldwell was idealizing it.
It's all too common to place friendships, no matter how close they are, on a rung below family and romantic relationships; one of the things I loved about this book is that it's the story of two people who never did that. I also appreciated the fact that both of these women were well into adulthood when they met and became friends. There are many stories about friends who've been together since preschool days - no matter how well they like each other, it seems like those friendships eventually become at least partly about the longevity of their own existence. It seems much rarer to form bonds like that when we're older - and reading about two people who did gives me some hope. Gail Caldwell and Caroline Knapp were lucky to have the kind of friendship they did, and it's lucky for readers that Gail Caldwell chose to let them share in it.
What did you think of this review?
Fun to Read
About the reviewer
Florinda Pendley Vasquez (florinda_3rs)
Apr 15, 2009
Feb 19, 2011 08:10 PM UTC
Consider the Source
Use Trust Points to see how much you can rely on this review.
Amazon Best Books of the Month, August 2010: "The flaw is the thing we love." Of all the passages worthy of dog-earing (orhighlighting) inLet's Take the Long Way Home(and there are many), this one is the most powerful wellspring. It captures the very thing we hope to find in friendship: a person who admires and cares for us not in spite of our flaws, but in acceptance of them, as part and parcel of who we are. For Gail Caldwell and Caroline Knapp--two intensely driven, talented writers who found in each other an uncannily similar share of life experiences and ambitions--loving the flaws became a cornerstone of their friendship. This is a beautiful story of the best things about best friends: shared rituals and private jokes, long walks (in this case, with their dearly loved dogs) and longer talks, confessions and discoveries. It would be wrong to say that their friendship ended with Caroline's unexpected death, because it so obviously lives and breathes in the rich and wonderful tapestry of stories told here. --Anne Bartholomew