If the title of Elizabeth McKenzie’s third novel (after The Moveable Veblen) had been the strangest factor about it, it will nonetheless be exceptional. Fortunately for readers who like their books odd, haunting, unusual and stunning, it isn’t.
As The Canine of the North begins, narrator Penny Rush is lately 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 Canine of the North, and it turns into Penny’s house and the place from which her adventures spring.
Penny is trying to find connection, for that means in her life after quitting her marriage and job. All through 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 way of locations and amongst individuals, by way of 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 supposed, and this allows a deeper connection between McKenzie’s characters and the reader, illuminating challenges we may’ve missed.
By way of Penny’s eyes, we see the wonder within the seemingly damaged, within the flawed tales we inform ourselves—and what occurs when these tales delightfully shatter.
