Following the cult success of Grimmish, which was shortlisted for the Miles Franklin Literary Award, Michael Winkler returns with Griefdogg, a novel less concerned with answers than with questions about the limits of autonomy and personal responsibility when faced with a sudden absence of certainty.

Griefdogg centres on Jeffrey Watson-Johnson, a pedantic, community-minded, go-getting hydrologist who inherits a modest fortune after the death of a relatively unknown aunt. Suddenly freed from the economic pressures determining his life as a husband and father, Jeffrey tells his family that he wishes to live as if he were the household pet; that is, without obligation or control. What seems superficially an absurd request is the novel’s philosophical engine, attempting to question the limits of choice: Is opting out of the world possible, or merely another configuration of participation? Jeffrey feels enmeshed in the world around him; in a life that has happened to him, rather than one of any ecstatic choice, and is now hardened into obligation. He is all too aware that to withdraw will inevitably hurt the people he loves. In his new pet form, facetiously named Hubert by his wife, Jeffrey-Hubert develops a sixth sense: the ability to discern grief in others.

Griefdogg is a mediation on grief, universal and immediate, but also attachment and detachment. Jeffrey dreams of becoming someone who cares about nothing. His quest is founded on a desire perhaps unachievable to the common man, or common dog.

Winkler writes with a casual intellect, reminding me of a parent giving succinct, seemingly obvious advice that nags at your edges until you suddenly find the heart of their counsel already seated within you. The issue is not fixed but quietened; human simplicity can exist within the most complex issues and the comfort of a non-answer can, momentarily, be enough – because it’s all we have.