Michelle de Kretser’s 2008 novel, The Lost Dog, presents a complex narrative that delves into themes of time, memory, and the interconnectedness of human lives, all ostensibly sparked by the disappearance of a beloved pet. While the premise of a dog running off might seem simple, de Kretser crafts a literary experience that requires close attention, weaving together past and present, individual struggles, and broader societal commentaries. This exploration of loss and the search for connection, though at times challenging, ultimately offers a profound look at the human condition.
The novel begins on a Tuesday with Tom Loxley’s dog, leash still attached, bolting into the bushes. The narrative then unfolds chronologically through the following week, with Tom persistently searching for his missing companion. However, the true depth of The Lost Dog lies not in the plot of a lost pet, but in the intricate inner lives and relationships of its characters. De Kretser sets herself the ambitious task of making the characters’ emotional landscapes and interpersonal dynamics the focal point of a story with a seemingly uninteresting structure and minimal traditional plot.
As Tom embarks on his search, the narrative seamlessly transitions between different timelines. We are taken back to mid-twentieth century India to witness the meeting and marriage of Tom’s parents, Arthur and Iris. Iris, shaped by her father Sebastian’s grand expectations and subsequent disappointment, navigates a life that deviates from his plans. Sebastian’s harsh assessment of his son-in-law, Arthur, highlights the flawed relationships that permeate the novel: “Four days after Iris returned from her honeymoon, her father informed her of her mistake. The enumeration of his son-in-law’s inadequacies occupied the following half an hour, and then the rest of Sebastian’s days.” Arthur himself is depicted as a somewhat phantom character, a reflection of his limited presence in life, yet Tom continues to care for Iris even after Arthur’s death, mirroring the search for the dog with the search for connection and truth.
Tom’s own life is populated by a cast of characters including an ex-wife, a former fling, and a rival. His growing connection with Nelly Zhang introduces another layer of complex relationships, including her son, Tom’s rival (and the intriguing dynamic between them), and her own missing husband. This lost husband serves as a structural parallel to the lost dog, adding a layer of mystery and suspense. Tangential remarks about the husband, such as, “Tell you what, mate, you want to watch how you go. Look at what happened to the poor bloody husband, eh,” hint at deeper unresolved questions about his fate – whether it was suicide, murder, or something else entirely.
The Lost Dog is rich with interwoven themes, touching upon modernity, consumerism, post-colonialism, art and literary criticism, and the fundamental human-animal bond. De Kretser masterfully manages these diverse currents, prompting readers to consider each theme individually and their collective resonance within the greater narrative. A particularly compelling theme is the pervasive influence of the past on the present. The present is depicted as a liminal space, existing between the past and the future, birth and death. This idea is powerfully conveyed through evocative imagery: “The past was not always past enough here. It was like living in a house acquired for its clean angles and gleaming appliances; and discovering a bricked-up door at which, faint but insistent, the sound of knocking could be heard.” The novel also draws parallels with the work of Henry James, whose own struggles with history and the supernatural offer a subcurrent that resonates with Tom’s own internal battles. Haunted by his past and lacking a clear connection to the future, Tom desires a life free from such burdens, yet finds himself trapped in an autobiographical circle: “He lived in a country where he had no continuity with the dead; and, being childless, no connection with the future. Most lives describe a line that runs behind and before. His drew the airless, perfect circle of autobiography. What he missed, in the world, was affiliation.”
The presence of the dog becomes a poignant symbol of affiliation, contrasting with the human experience of time and mortality: “Animals do not suffer as we do. They do not live in time, they are not nostalgic for the past, they do not imagine a better future, and so they lack awareness of mortality.” The novel even alludes to Goya’s ambiguous dog painting, “poised between extinction and deliverance,” further underscoring the themes of searching and potential resolution.
While the initial pages of The Lost Dog might feel disjointed and deliberately obscure, the narrative rewards the attentive reader. As the seemingly disconnected episodes begin to coalesce, the novel’s intricate structure and thematic depth become increasingly apparent, leading to a more engaging and thought-provoking experience. However, the latter third of the book shifts in tone, with an overemphasis on certain visceral elements that, for some readers, may become distracting and detract from the novel’s otherwise compelling philosophical explorations. Despite these moments, The Lost Dog remains a significant literary work that prompts reflection on the nature of time, memory, and the enduring human quest for connection.
The novel’s complex structure and layered themes suggest that it may offer even greater rewards upon re-reading, allowing for a deeper understanding of the intricate connections de Kretser has so skillfully crafted. The search for a lost dog ultimately becomes a powerful metaphor for the human search for meaning, belonging, and an understanding of our place in the vast tapestry of time.
