The Hitch
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- $18.99
Publisher Description
A New York Times Book Review Editors' Pick
A riotously sharp novel about self-righteousness, control, and the unexpected afterlife of a dog
Rose Cutler prides herself on her principles—veganism, feminism, eco-consciousness, and general moral superiority. She runs a yogurt business she quietly despises and lives alone, comfortably distanced from the mess of human relationships. But, when her brother and sister-in-law let her watch her six-year-old nephew Nathan, things go spectacularly wrong.
After Rose's dog kills a corgi at the park, Nathan begins to bark, overeat, and claim that the dead dog has possessed his body. Rose assumes this is trauma. Nathan insists it's metaphysical fact. As Rose embarks on a misguided quest to free Nathan from his canine passenger, what begins as an attempt at childcare devolves into a surreal, anarchic spiral of suburban chaos.
Brimming with unhinged charm and moral ambiguity, The Hitch is a biting satire of the stories we tell ourselves to stay sane—and the havoc we wreak when those stories fall apart.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Levine (Treasure Island!!!) serves up a bizarre and mordantly funny tale of a six-year-old who might be possessed by a dead corgi. It's narrated by Rose Cutler, a progressive who frequently clashes with her uptight sister-in-law, Astrid, the mother of her nephew, Nathan. Rose is delighted when she's allowed to babysit Nathan for a week while his parents vacation in Mexico. She feeds him vegan lentil loaf, explains the environmental devastation caused by the fast-food industry, and takes him to the dog park with her Newfoundland, Walter. Disaster ensues when a corgi named Hazel nips at Nathan and Walter moves in to protect him, snapping Hazel's neck. Soon after, Nathan starts acting like a dog (he barks, sticks his head out the car window, and laps at his dinner plate). Nathan claims Hazel "jump into me," and attributes her spirit to his newfound ability to recite Shakespeare. It's all fun and games until Rose decides Hazel must be exorcised before Nathan's parents come home. Levine balances her tender depiction of the aunt and nephew's bond with Rose's excoriating rants, as in her monologue on corgis ("laughable cuddle toys with stubby legs and dopey eyes bred to entertain the bourgeois dregs of humanity"). It's a vibrant portrait of childhood wonder and adult anxiety.
