If the title of Elizabeth McKenzie’s third novel (after The Portable Veblen) have been the strangest factor about it, it might nonetheless be outstanding. Luckily for readers who like their books odd, haunting, unusual and stunning, it isn’t.
As The Dog of the North begins, narrator Penny Rush is not too long ago separated from her husband and heading from Salinas to Santa Barbara, California, the place she is aware of she has issues ready for her. Penny’s story intertwines with that of her grandmother, Dr. Pincer, a unusual, cantankerous hoarder who values privateness above all; and Burt, a lonely man who shares his toupee together with his brother and loves his Pomeranian. Burt’s van is the titular Dog of the North, and it turns into Penny’s residence and the place from which her adventures spring.
Penny is trying to find connection, for which means in her life after quitting her marriage and job. Throughout her episodic travels, there are lacking mother and father, a grandfather prepared for an journey, unusual objects that carry out mysterious and stunning capabilities, Dr. Pincer’s science experiments, shared meals, accidents, illnesses and bits of hope.
Penny’s voice is curious and sort; she’s empathetic and reserves judgment from each herself and others. Her route—by locations and amongst individuals, by landscapes each inside and exterior—surprises her. She doesn’t know what she’ll discover or who she’ll meet, and her openness permits experiences to take form that in any other case merely couldn’t. Her presence unsettles some characters, forcing them to share greater than they may have meant, and this allows a deeper connection between McKenzie’s characters and the reader, illuminating challenges we may’ve missed.
Through Penny’s eyes, we see the magnificence in the seemingly damaged, in the flawed tales we inform ourselves—and what occurs when these tales delightfully shatter.
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