Suzanne Perez

Retractable leashes, not corgis.

And soon after, Nathan starts yipping, barking, howling, overeating, and sticking his head out of the car window.

Rose assumes the behavior is repressed trauma over witnessing the corgi's death.

But Nathan insists he is not grieving, and the dog named Hazel is not really dead.

Rather, her soul has leaped into his body and now lives inside him.

Still with me?

I know it sounds nuts, but this novel is the perfect combination of madcap comedy, true emotion, and oddball charm.

As a main character, Rose is both exhausting and endearing, a neurotic but lovable aunt who wants the best for her nephew but can't help overthinking.

And she overthinks everything.

Sometimes my mind gets active as a prairie dog and I build elaborate tunnels underground, she says, room after room of judgment and justification.

As she preps for Nathan's visit, Rose compiles a binder of vegan meal plans and spends hours searching for the perfect paint color to turn her guest room into a sanctuary.

She opts for an imported paint called Weavet, which means spider web in Dorset, and is almost white with a hint of gray.

Nathan, unfazed, calls it the sweat sock room.

As she reluctantly acknowledges the ghost corgi inhabiting her nephew, Rose sets out to exorcise the spirit and put things in order with her job, his school, her troubled friendships, and every other aspect of her life before Nathan's parents return from their trip.

The result is an absurd series of events that keeps you turning the pages, shaking your head, and often laughing out loud.

Fans of Rachel Yoder's Night Bitch or Kevin Wilson's Nothing to See Here will appreciate the preposterous storyline.

And just like those novels, The Hitch delivers flawed but deeply relatable characters who offer lessons on love, loneliness, frayed relationships, and the bonds of family.

A sweet, offbeat comedy that turns out to be the perfect cure for winter blues.

For Marginalia, I'm Suzanne Perez.