The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime
Mark Haddon
A Today Show Book Club Selection
Despite the age-old maxim warning against such things, the assessment of any book does at least begin with its cover. This last bit noted here under the author’s name stood out, even more than the red cover with the upside-down poodle. The last book I read that had the endorsement of the likes of Katie Couric and Matt Lauer put me to sleep, literally, all summer, until I gave up on page 45 or so. So I was scared. I knew I had to read this whole book, and I also knew I had little time for napping this time of year.
There were no such problems with this book. Right from the opening scene, where the narrator/protagonist encounters Wellington, the dead poodle, I was wondering and wanting to know more. One of the marks of a good book for me is how quickly I can read it. This one took me about four to five hours over the course of about two days. I attribute this to two elements: the readability of the narration, be it first person or otherwise, and the layering of the plot.
There are a lot of reasons I instantly cared about this narrator. The most obvious reason was likely that I recognized his educational exceptionality on page two, as the classic behavioral modification aide for children within the autistic spectrum with the smiley faces was described. I had the privilege of teaching a student who was very similar to Christopher Swindon, and the author certainly put the same sweetness in his character. His descriptions are straightforward and somewhat blunt, but sweet, innocent, and unspoiled. Chris likes the police. He described his mother as “a small person who smells nice.” The differences between good, super good, and black days, as determined by the color of the cars he sees on the bus, are prefect and real. The Monty Hall Problem was a classic. The careful logic he applies to not quite asking people probing questions about the incident is clever without being calculating – it was the kind of sneakiness you could forgive of Chris, but not, ultimately, of his father. The resignation Chris has at the end of this first section, as his father catches him reading his supposedly-dead mother’s letters, is complete, and heartbreaking.
The chapters are prime numbers! This perhaps signals to me the incredible depth of the remaining plot, and I wonder if Haddon is a fan of Carl Sagan at all. In Sagan’s Contact, prime numbers are the means by which a message from outer space is received, and it turns out to be layer upon layer of technical readouts and instructions for building a device to propel five persons into space.[1] Dr. Arroway explains that the languages of science and math make sense because they are based on a logic that transcends culture and species difference among humans. I think this is why it appeals so much to Christopher – since he cannot understand the complexities of human nature (which is consequently why he prefers animals) he is attracted to the logic and absolutism of math. As his life is revealed to him to have many more layers, Chris is forced to open up, and face both his need for people and his fear of them.
The second half of the book has one mystery revealed – the fact that Mrs. Swindon is still alive and living with Mr. Shears from across the street – and one horrible realization – that Christopher could not blindly trust any adults in his life anymore. It is something like learning your parents are mortal, and have faults – it’s part of growing up, and becoming a flawed adult yourself. Even in his desperation Chris tries to reason, making himself an options chart about where he can flee.
The end of the book -- Chris’ amazing ride on the train to London, his facing the truth about his mom and about other adults’ opinions of him, and ultimately of the compromise his parents reach, read like lightning. On a personal level, Chris achieved his A levels in maths, and proved he had worth, to his teachers, his parents, his neighbors, and most importantly to himself. It was that coming-of-age moment that was all the more sweet for this teenager, considering what he had to endure to get there; on the last page, he makes a list of things he can do, ending with:
“And I know I can do this because I went to London on my own, and because I solved the mystery of who killed Wellington? And I found my mother and I was brave and wrote a book and that means I can do anything. “ (p. 221)
Would I teach this book? Definitely, and in fact I think it should be required reading for teachers of exceptional students (which is pretty much all of them, really.) This ending sentiment is so absent in today’s world – often kids will approach their parents with an idea, and instantly be met with twenty-five reasons why it will never work. My own parents suffer from this pessimistic affliction. As I parent, I am vowing not to as much as I can. As a teacher, I have to have a can-do attitude, or I will find myself in the airing cupboard, slowly multiplying by the powers of two.
