Jill Sonke, a Ph.D. who works at the University of Florida, says—after an exhaustive study—that reading for pleasure has fallen off the table in the 21st century: a decline of 40%. Obviously those people haven’t met Bernie Little and his sidekick, Chet. This is the kind of can’t-put-it-down, gotta-read-one-more-chapter crime/suspense/mystery novel that only a few writers can pull off. I think of Michael Connolly, John Sandford, and Lee Child, but Spencer Quinn has something those books don’t: the narrator is a wonderful dog who sees (and smells) things his detective partner can’t. Chet is brave, and has a wonderfully optimistic view of life in the American Southwest; he often assures devoted readers (like me) that he is feeling “tip-top.” We should all be so lucky, and Bernie is lucky to have such a devoted friend. Chet is positive that Bernie will eventually sell all those Hawaiian pants he has in storage, and if it’s good enough for Chet, it’s good enough for me. Don’t want to oversell the book by claiming it’s up there with Melville and Joyce, but when you want a tip-top tale, Bernie is your guy and Chet can both tell a tale and wag one. This is no cutie-poo “cozy” mystery, either. There’s some hard bark (as well as barking) here. Humor? Got it. First-class whodunit? Check. Good writing without any show-off bells & whistles? Yes and yes. I could go on and on, but as Chet so wisely says, “No time for that now.” - Stephen King