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The quirky premise of Carolyn Parkhurst's debut novel, The Dogs of Babel, is original enough: after his wife Lexy dies after falling from a tree, linguistics professor Paul Iverson becomes obsessed with teaching their dog, a Rhodesian Ridgeback named Lorelei (the sole witness to the tragedy), to speak so he can find out the truth about Lexy's death--was it accidental or did Lexy commit suicide?
In short, accelerating chapters Parkhurst alternates between Paul's strange and passionate efforts to get Lorelei to communicate and his heartfelt memories of his whirlwind relationship with Lexy. The first 100 pages or so bring to mind another noteworthy debut, Alice Sebold's brilliant exploration of grief, The Lovely Bones. Unfortunately, the second half of The Dogs of Babel takes too many odd twists and turns--everything from a Ms. Cleo-like TV psychic to an underground sect of abusive canine linguists--to ever allow the reader to feel any real sympathy for the main characters. Parkhurst's Paul Iverson can certainly be appealing at times, and his heartbreak is often quite palpable ("...for every dark moment we shared between us, there was a moment of such brightness I almost could not bear to look at it head-on."). But his mask-maker wife Lexy--Paul's driving inspiration--is a character whose spur-of-the-moment outbursts, spontaneous fits of anger, and supposedly charming sense of whimsy (on their first date, they drive from Virginia to Disney World, eating only appetizers and side dishes along the way), become so annoying and grating that it's hard to believe anyone could ever put up with her, let alone teach their dog to speak for her.
Despite its cloying tone, The Dogs of Babel marks a notable debut. Parkhurst possesses a wealth of inspired ideas, and no doubt many readers will respond to the book, but one hopes that the author's future efforts will be packed with richer character development and less schmaltz. --Gisele Toueg
From Publishers Weekly
It's a terrific high concept: a woman falls from a backyard tree and dies; the only witness is the family dog, a Rhodesian Ridgeback. To find out what happened-accident? suicide?-her grieving husband tries to teach the dog to talk. Parkhurst's debut novel has been getting a lot of pre-pub attention, probably mostly for this concept, because the execution of this first novel is flawed. The tantalizing prospect of linguistics professor Paul Iverson attempting to teach Lorelei to talk is given short, and erratically plotted, shrift. Paul's narration oscillates between his present-day experiences and the backstory of his romance with Lexy Ransome, a mask maker. The two meet when Paul drops by Lexy's yard sale, buys a device for shaping hard-boiled eggs into squares, then returns with a bunch of square eggs ("And we stood there smiling, with the plate between us, the egg-cubes glowing palely in the growing dark"). This incident, a maxi-combo of cute and sentimental, defines much of the couple's love story (on their first date, Lexy whisks them off to DisneyWorld), marking much of this novel as a sentimental, manipulative romance not unlike James Patterson's Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas; some readers will adore it, while others will gag even as the pages darken toward tragedy. Few will relish the sketchy account of Paul's work with the dog, which goes nowhere until it veers, bizarrely and unbelievably, toward an underground group performing illegal surgical experiments on dogs. Parkhurst is a fluid stylist, and there are memorable moments here, as well as some terrific characters (particularly the enigmatic Lexy), but one gets the sense of an author trying to stuff every notion she's ever had into her first book, with less than splendid results.Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From AudioFile
Alternately witty and sad, this love story has three characters--a man, a woman, and a dog. When the beloved woman dies mysteriously, her husband, a linguist, tries to teach their Rhodesian Ridgeback to speak. "Lorelei is my witness." A genuine study of language is mingled delightfully with invented facts, and so we hear of one scientist who felt that dogs were the lost tribe of Israel, and one dog who learned only to say roast beef in Hungarian. Erik Singer's rich, masculine voice actively deepens the drama, since the book--although written by a woman--is narrated by the husband. The novel reminds us that marriage, however well intentioned, can be a mortal blow. B.H.C. © AudioFile 2003, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine
From Booklist
*Starred Review* Paul Iverson, a linguistics professor, calls his wife, Lexy, at home one ordinary afternoon, only to learn from a police officer that she has fallen from a tree in their backyard and broken her neck. Only their dog, Lorelei, witnessed Lexy's death, and in his grief Paul decides he's going to teach Lorelei to talk, so she can tell him whether Lexy fell accidentally from the tree or on purpose. Paul delves into the somewhat dubious field of canine linguistics, even going so far as to get in touch with a scientist jailed for animal cruelty for his experiments with dogs. His skeptical colleagues try to get him to come back to work, but Paul's research consumes him entirely. Interspersed with Paul's quest is the story of his courtship of and marriage to Lexy, a beautiful, insecure artist who makes extraordinary masks. The brilliance of Parkhurst's novel lies in the subtle buildup of emotion as Paul digs deeper and deeper to discover the truth about the woman he loved, who may have worn a mask even when with him. The beauty of the novel lies in how powerfully that emotional wave hits the reader. An unforgettable debut. Kristine Huntley
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