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Lily and the Octopus
Lily and the Octopus
Lily and the Octopus
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Lily and the Octopus

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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A national bestseller combining the emotional depth of The Art of Racing in the Rain with the magical spirit of The Life of Pi, “Lily and the Octopus is the dog book you must read this summer” (The Washington Post).

Ted—a gay, single, struggling writer is stuck: unable to open himself up to intimacy except through the steadfast companionship of Lily, his elderly dachshund. When Lily’s health is compromised, Ted vows to save her by any means necessary. By turns hilarious and poignant, an adventure with spins into magic realism and beautifully evoked truths of loss and longing, Lily and the Octopus reminds us how it feels to love fiercely, how difficult it can be to let go, and how the fight for those we love is the greatest fight of all.

Introducing a dazzling and completely original new voice in fiction and an unforgettable hound that will break your heart—and put it back together again. Remember the last book you told someone they had to read? Lily and the Octopus is the next one. “Startlingly imaginative...this love story is sure to assert its place in the canine lit pack...Be prepared for outright laughs and searing or silly moments of canine and human recognition. And grab a tissue: “THERE! WILL! BE! EYE! RAIN!” (New York Newsday).
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 7, 2016
ISBN9781501126246
Author

Steven Rowley

Steven Rowley (Portland, 1971) se graduó en el Emerson College de Boston, centro especializado en Comunicación y Arte. Columnista en diversos periódicos y guionista, en la actualidad reside en Los Ángeles. Lily y el pulpo, su primera novela pu­blicada, se ha traducido a dieciocho idiomas. Fotografía © Malina Saval.

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Rating: 3.844327177836411 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    While this is a very heartfelt story, it seemed a bit too melodramatic. I'm hesitant to write anything more detailed, as I don't want to give away too much of the plot.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This book was strange as in Life of Pi strange but it was fun to read the relationship between Lily and her owner. With some people, their pets are their children. With or dog Lily, she is a second child. Our Lily is 13 and the average lifespan of her breed is 14. We see how she is slowing down, how she can't hear as well as she used to or see as well as she used to. So this book was a little hard for me to read since the dog is named Lily. I know my dog listens to what I tell her, and understands. If you are a dog lover, you will probably enjoy this book.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Lily and the Octopus by Steven Rowley is a book the crushed me! I had my heart touched gently, soothed, then broken in multiple pieces! Listen with tissues handy! Lily is a little dog and loved by her human so much but she develops a tumor in her head...an "Octopus"! This is the story of Lily, her human, the octopus, and love! Beautifully written and narrated wonderfully by Michael Urie. He was just right for this book. A touching, clever, heartwarming and heartbreaking book of love and growth.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This was one of those stories that touched me deeply and had me weeping through parts. Although on the surface it's the story of a man and his aging dog, it's touches on so much of the universal experience of loss and saying goodbye. No spoilers here, so I won't divulge the plot, but just LOVED this story.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Why is it that every dog book that I read leaves me in tears? I am a huge dog lover so I am always drawn to this kind of book even though I know that I will be a mess before it is over. But the journey is usually worth it in the end and this book was no exception. So many things in this book reminded me of my own special dogs and I really enjoyed getting to know Lily and Ted. Lily is a dachshund and more importantly, Ted's best friend. They have been through so many things together during their 12 years together. They have a routine and enjoy their time together. This story takes you through so many of their milestones with each other including Lily's adoption, Ted's relationships, and health issues. I loved Lily and Ted's conversations with each other and could totally relate to them since I often converse with my own dog pack.I spent most of this book being reminded of all of the dogs that I have been lucky enough to have in my life. I grew up with my Tiger dog who turned out to be a wonderful dog that I still love immensely even though she has been gone for over 20 years. As an adult, Hershey blessed my life. I was able to have her for a best friend for 13 ½ amazing years. She was a very intelligent Golden Retriever Rottweiler mix and the perfect member of our family. She died in September 2015 and we still miss her so very much. We currently have 3 dogs in our family. Our Cookie is a Chow mix that is still going strong at 12 years of age. We added two puppies to the mix in late 2015 and our Stella and Molly are still keeping me on my toes.Michael Urie was a fantastic narrator for this story. He did such a great job with both Ted and Lily's voices. I have to say that they way he delivered Lily's lines were exactly how I would imagine my dogs would talk...you know, if they could talk. This was an emotional story and he really captured all of that emotion. I honestly don't know how he managed to deliver parts of this book without breaking down because I had tears streaming down my face just from listening to it.There were some parts that I didn't care for as much. Some of the parts involving the octopus just seemed to pull me out of the story. I was always able to jump back in when the book switched gears but it would lose me a bit during those scenes. That is really my only complaint regarding the book and it is really just that the book chose to go in a direction that I wouldn't have went. I would highly recommend this book to others. I do think that the audio is a fantastic way to experience this story and do recommend it. I did make the mistake of listening to this book at work. I quickly figured out that I had to stop and finish it at home or I would have been a blubbering mess at the office. So choose your listening or reading place well...and bring tissues. I would definitely read more from Steven Rowley in the future.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I should preface my review with my strongly held view that many pet owners coddle, indulge, spoil, anthropomorphize and ruin their pets (frequently as a substitute for human interaction). This novel is about such a pet owner, who discovers his Dachshund Lily is suffering from cancer. He refers to the cancer as an "octopus" due to the shape of the tumor (hence the title) and also anthropomorphizes the tumor. What follows is an account of the owner's fight against the tumor (Lily takes it mostly in stride) -- some of it semi-realistic and some of it an odd, gratuitous, and dreamlike account of a battle at sea among the three main characters (Lily, the narrator, and the octopus), which felt largely like filler material to make this story novel length (it originally started as a short story, according to an article about the author that prompted me to buy it).

    Make no mistake: the book has a lot of passion and some humor. The narrator, a gay man who has broken up with his partner; has Mommy issues, a bad therapist, and a dwindling career; and plays monopoly on Friday nights with Lily is occasionally funny in his angst in a hapless sort of way. Lily is excitable and occasionally amusing. But there wasn't a lot of narrative drive here and a great deal of feeling sorry for oneself. Moreover, it felt like a long session listening to an indulgent pet owner drone on about his four-legged friend.

    Perhaps it would be more of a hit with those who are indulgent pet owners. For someone seeking drama and human relationships, this will be no substitute.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A very touching tribute to the love and strength our pets provide. Tad is a middle-aged man with failed relationships with others, but not with Lily. His life with Lily is perfect, except for one thing -- the octopus, ie cancerous growth -- that sits atop Lily's head and will not go away.Calling the tumor an octopus enables Tad to embody the growth and make it a dramatic fight between the evil that vows to end Lily's life, and the sheer determination of Tad who refuses to let go of his beloved dog.Except for what I consider a weird bit before the end, I rank this is one of the best books of 2016. I sincerely hope it garners the National Book Award Finalist list.Any one who had to say goodbye to a wonderful soul mate, knows the angst profound poignancy.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    On Thursdays, Ted and his dog, Lily, talk about boys they think are cute. They also have movie night and pizza night and play Monopoly together. Ted talks to Lily, and in her own way, Lily talks back.

    The first third of Lily and the Octopus details this relationship, and it's quirky, funny, and touching. Unfortunately Lily is 12 and an Octopus is taking over her head.

    What follows is a dream-like series of events reminiscent of Life of Pi, and I really lost interest at this point, finding it tedious and too far outside of reality for me personally. If you enjoyed the story of Pi and the tiger you would likely enjoy this as well though.

    When the narrative is focused on past and present "real" events, I found it compelling and often forgot that this is a work of fiction, despite the talking dog. I think many of us with dogs are guilty of humanizing them, so this simply doesn't seem so farfetched. I really loved large sections of this book! As a whole, I enjoyed it but struggled at times to maintain the detachment necessary to value it as a work of magical fiction.

    I received this title courtesy of Netgalley and the publisher. I was *very* excited to read it and thank them for making it available!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Such a wonderful book. The writing is amazing.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I knew at the outset that this book would make me cry. Of course.

    Steven Rowley beautifully leads the reader through the layers of grief. Of knowing the loss of a loved one is approaching, and the maze one can run through to avoid, deny, fight, and eventually accept.

    This story has things you'd expect, like how Ted and Lily met, her puppyhood, and their lives together. But there is a surprising amount of imagination and whimsy.

    A really great read!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Before I cracked the cover, I really wasn’t all the way on board with this. Another dog book? Another book with that annoying “all the feels” phrase attached to it on Goodreads reviews? I’m not a sucker. I don’t fall in for maudlin claptrap.

    But something about that title. There’s an octopus in there. I thought, I may have to investigate this after all.

    And I’m so glad I did. I LOVED IT.

    This book actually made me laugh out loud, and then, later, much to my embarrassment, cry out loud. I want to hug Steven Rowley and let the hug linger just a little bit too long. I hated that my life was getting in the way of my reading this book. “I can’t go to work today! I need to know how Lily’s doing! How can I possibly leave the house when that damn octopus is still there?!”

    It’s part semi-memoir and part magical realism, or, more accurately, part denial and part unconscious acceptance, which is something we can all relate to. This is a step-by-step to letting go. And Lily’s voice just made me smile the entire time. There are many fantastical elements: Lily converses, the octopus glares and growls, and there’s even a glorious battle at sea.

    Just a warning: don’t read this book in public. At one point, I looked up (just so I could get a grip and breathe) and people are staring at me with concerned looks on their faces, wondering if they should intervene or at least offer me a Kleenex. I just smiled sheepishly. “Allergies. They get me every spring! What can you do, ya know?” I blew my nose and pretended nonchalance, while inside me my heart was being wrenched into Lily-sized pieces.

    Rowley’s writing is original. This story doesn’t ride the crest of accepted tropes. There’s an adventure here, one that you’ll want to take. I fell in love with Lily and you will too, even if you go into this thinking you won’t. You’ll love this. Guaranteed. Go home, read it, and scritch your dog behind the ears. You know she loves that.

    Many thanks to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for this advance copy.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Much like the pets we love, this book burrows into your being and becomes a part of you.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Entertaining. Charming. Easy read.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Probably cause I am too stupid for this book, but it was confusing in the beginning. It took me a while to figure out the Octopus is a tumor. And I was confused with the main character's gender, so he is a homosexual male. After I straightened out those 2 facts, the book was quite enjoyable. The talking to the animals was weird, but then I talk to my dog too. The ending...ummm.
    2.5 out of 5 stars
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    “Dogs are always good and full of selfless love. They are undiluted vessels of joy who never, ever deserve anything bad that happens to them.” Steven Rowley, Lily and the Octopus

    OMG! THIS! BOOK! WAS! AMAZING! First of all, I have never read a book like Lily and the Octopus. I absolutely loved the story and yes, I want the entire world to read it! (I'm not kidding). The book was funny, quirky and heartfelt. It made me laugh out loud, and cry out loud (the boohooing ugly kind of sobbing). The story is about Ted, his dachshund, Lily, and their unconditional love for one another. Lily and Ted touched my heart and their story will stay with me forever. I have recommended this book to several people and so far everyone has enjoyed it. I especially recommend Lily and the Octopus to dog lovers. Rowley is an unconventional and original writer, and I look forward to more wonderful work from him. Now go get yourself a copy -- and keep the tissues nearby!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Love comes in all sizes and shapes, colors and coverings, sex and genetic make-up. Lily is a dachshund. Ed is not. After over a decade of sharing their lives with each other, Lily succumbs to the 7-1 ratio and begins to wane. This devastates Ed, who is in therapy, but for other reasons. This is a story about the bonding between a man and his dog, a quirky relationship of movie nights, chicken with rice, zany conversations, an octopus and a red ball. How we do all that we can, find our strengths, our weaknesses, and ourselves but can never do it all. One can't help loving Lily and one can not help crying when the inevitable happens. It was a good fight, but someone always has to lose. We lose Lily, but her memory remains in victory.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    OMG, I loved, loved, loved, this book. Ted is a quirky introverted single who has difficulty opening himself up to people except very close friends. He's in therapy and doesn't really like his therapist. He does, however, love Lily with all his heart. His relationship with Lily goes beyond man and dog. He plays Monopoly with Lily, they have conversations about movie stars and movies. Yes, the conversation is mostly in Ted's mind, but you get the picture. Lily is everything to him. And then he sees the octopus. When the octopus is introduced at the end of the first chapter, the reader is left in no doubt as to what the octopus is. This story of fighting against reality and a cold enemy, of denial, of resignation, of acceptance and most of all, of love is one of the best I've read in a while. You can't but be with Ted on each step of his journey, from the early days when he is first introduced to Lily the puppy, to present day when he's finally ready to talk about the octopus with his therapist and the shocking realization that the octopus had been present in their lives for longer than he'd noticed. It's a beautiful and at times magical book. And it does have a happy ending. :-)
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Part Moby Dick, part Racing in the Rain (but only a small part) and part ... is there a genre for the gay equivalent to a Bridget Jones-esque character? The poor schmuck in this book is so smitten with his dog that he goes off the deep end when he discovers it has an inoperable tumour in its brain. You know those books about an old couple where one cares for the dying partner and the book is about their past life together? Like The Notebook but with cancer, not dementia. That is this book, but the healthy partner is Captain Ahab chasing an octopus and the sick partner is a dog. Oh, and the guy has relationship issues. It gets very long in the tooth pretty quickly - maybe the author was waxing over his own dog? Then the whale chasing, I mean octopus chasing, takes the book on a ridiculous twist. Does it end there? No. The book can't end til this guy gets over his devastation and find a new love. So American. Why did people like this book?! If you are not in love with your dog, do not read this one.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I received an ARC from The Reading Room in exchange for my honest review. Thank you.I loved this novel. There are not enough positive adjectives in the English language for me to describe how I feel about this book. You certainly don't have to be an animal lover to enjoy it even though it's about a 12-year-old dachshund named Lily and her owner, Ted. It concerns their relationship and how much they mean to each other. Ted discusses all aspects of his life with Lily and, of course, Lily "answers" sometimes as a close friend and sometimes like the dog she is.We read how Ted got Lily and their past adventures which are hilarious at times. Mostly we learn about a serious problem that Lily has suddenly acquired and Ted's issues in dealing with it.With excellent pacing, be prepared for an emotional ride that is delightful, funny but sad, and absolutely heartfelt. I would give it more than 5 Stars if I could.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Lily is a much-loved 12 year old dachshund; Teddy is her lonely, middle-aged owner. One day he looks at her and sees an octopus on her head. This is his word for the growth, probably cancerous, that will take her life. This is a touching story about grief, love, and dog ownership. It made me laugh and cry.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    If you have ever loved and lost a dear pet then this book is for you. Lily, a dachshund gets an octopus. By octopus I mean cancer. As her human deals with this situation through magical thinking we realize how deeply we care about our furry family.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    One of the saddest and sweetest books I've ever experienced. Ted has a close relationship with his dog Lily and reacts poorly when he notices a tumor has grown on her head, which he promptly names "the Octopus." So begins Ted's mission to defeat the so-called Octopus, an equally tragic and humorous tale. Unfortunately, despite Ted's characterization of the Octopus as a living creature with its own motivations, most readers will likely recognize the relentless march of cancer as Lily slowly dies and Ted faces a difficult choice. Compassionately told, this is a story for those who love their pets.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Just plain delightful---but it also brought me to tears in a few places with Rowley's ability to completely describe his feelings, Ted's feelings, for Lily --- this four-footed "person" in his life. I kept wondering how much of this was really a memoir. The imagination Rowley produces around this octopus in/on Lily is confusing at first until you become Lily's reader/owner, too, and realize how much you hate this octopus consuming her! And yes, it was definitely a giant leap in a different direction but as I read the boating experience I was amazed with how Rowley can write---yes, totally fictional, but it provided an extremely frightening and vivid picture!!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I would have loved this book so much more if the main character (Ted) had not referred to his dog's (Lily) tumor as an octopus and proceeded to talk to the octopus the whole time!!! I understand that it was symbolism or magical realism or something but it really ruined the book for me. Ted went so far as to take a boat out in the ocean to hunt down and kill an octopus. Serisously!! That being said, the book did have some really great parts and the author is a very talented writer. It was a heart-warming and heartbreaking story about a man and his love for his dog. Having a dog that I adore myself, I could really relate to what Ted was going through. I laughed and cried.What I loved most about the book is what it had to say about dogs and our relationships with them. Here are few excerpts:“I think of how dogs are witnesses. How they are present for our most private moments, how they are there when we think of ourselves as alone. They witness our quarrels, our tears, our struggles, our fears, and all of our secret behaviors that we have to hide from our fellow humans. They witness without judgment.”“The very best thing about dogs is how they just know when you need them most, and they’ll drop everything that they’re doing to sit with you awhile."“Most of all, I am thankful for Lily, who, since she entered my life, has taught me everything I know about patience and kindness and meeting adversity with quiet dignity and grace. No one makes me laugh harder, or want to hug them tighter.”Dog lovers may enjoy this book, but you definitely need to have an open mind and a big imagination! I am actually kind of glad that the octopus story line ruined the book for me because I would probably have sobbed if I had been more engrossed in the story.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Lily and the Octopus will resonate with everyone who has loved - and lost - a pet. Lily has been Ted's best friend and confidant since "she chose him" as a puppy. Ted is a damaged soul in several ways, and Lily is his anchor and his safe place. From the onset of the book, we know what is coming; however, the reality is difficult because it brings all of us back to the time and place when we said our final good-bye to a deeply-loved pet. For me, the only moments that were discordant were the dialogues with the octopus.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Emotional in all the best ways, particularly for dog lovers. I was laughing and reading so many passages out loud that my husband finally picked it up and read the whole thing before I read it to him. This was the first book to have me not only in tears, but crying so hard I almost couldn't make it through the end, even though I knew it was coming all along. We have two fur-babies of our own, so this really hit home for me. By far the best book I've read, though when I revisit in a few years, I don't think I could make it through the tough parts again. Definitely recommend.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Steven Rowley's debut novel is funny, heartfelt, and tragic. Lily is Ted Flask's best friend, roommate, and closest confidant. Lily also happens to be a dachshund. "Love for someone, loved by someone. I was limited. And then on the very last night of my twenties, when I held my new puppy in my arms, I broke down in tears. Because I had fallen in love. Not somewhat in love. Not partly in love. Not in a limited amount. I fell fully in love with a creature I had known for all of nine hours." Ted has suffered disappoint in his writing career, struggles with a relationship with his mother, and has ended a long-term romantic relationship. Through it all Lily has been by his side. In fact, she is all he really has. Now as Lily is aging, she is also experiencing a terminal illness, and Ted is trying to come to terms with the loss of his best friend. I was so touched by this story, as the moments they have shared, and the memories they have created are recounted. I found it endearing as Ted ran commentary of Lily's barks. However, in the same vein, I found it an oddity how he also talked to Lily's tumor, and it answered back. At certain intervals I was asking myself, is he mad? Insane? Mentally ill? Perhaps fear and grief do make us mentally ill. In which case, this was an insightful portrayal. Perhaps the saying is true; it is better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all. "But most of all, I am thankful for Lily, who, since she entered my life, has taught me everything I know about patience and kindness and meeting adversity with quiet dignity and grace. No one makes me laugh harder, or want to hug them tighter. You have truly lived up to the promise of man's best friend." A superb read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    FEATURED BOOK FOR JUNE ON MY BLOGLove In It's Highest FormUnconditional And UnendingWhat an emotional heart wrenching roller coaster story of love, grief, acceptance, and letting go! I have read several books I felt I was not skilled enough in prose to do justice; this is one of those books. I hope this review will inspire you to run and buy this book.STORY LINE:Ted is gay, quirky, lonely, has issues and is in therapy with a therapist that just doesn't get him. Lily, a dachshund, is Ted's faithful companion, his friend, his rock, his sounding board, his greatest love. Ted raised Lily from twelve weeks of age and they have a bond that only someone who has a beloved pet could understand. Ted discovers an octopus on Lily's head. The crisis of his life is about to begin as he and Lily must come to terms with mortality and what living really means.Come along with Ted and Lily as they journey through life.CHARACTERS, PLOTTING, AND DEVELOPMENT:This story is about grief, unconditional love, unconditional companionship, and the unconditional emotional support that runs between Ted and Lily and how Ted deals with his and Lily's problems. Mr. Rowley's uses the octopus as an analogy of the crisis in Ted and Lily's life. Lily's crisis is medical, Ted's is emotional. Mr. Rowley skillfully created a story which expertly shows that we can run from the piper but the piper must be paid and we as humans must grieve, pick ourselves up, carry on, and live life to the fullest.I found myself crying tears of sadness and heartache; I also laughed out loud as the conversations between Lily and Ted were hilarious. I ran the gauntlet of emotions reading this story. This novel is an emotional roller coaster ride from start to finish; Author Steven Rowley grabs you deep in your heart and does not let go. Mr Rowley's talent is clear as he weaves this wonderful tale of life and love; he brings your emotions to the surface.This story has many levels and depths. Mr. Rowley sets the hook in the first pages and then reels you into the story. It is a "not to be missed" book of grief, living life to the fullest, acceptance, and love; all expertly crafted by Mr. Rowley.RECOMMENDATION: 5+ STARSThis is one of the best books I have read this year; few books have affected me as this one. I highly recommend this book by a talented author. This book is suitable for readers that like a solid well-developed and paced story. I look forward to Mr. Rowley's next book.I received this book from Netgalley.com in return for an honest book review. Book reviews of any novel are dependent on the book review author’s opinion; book reviews on line under my name are my opinion.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is a touching story of a man and his dog. Lily and Ted are a bonded pair that have enjoyed a lifetime of friendship. Sadly it's Lily the Dachshund's lifetime, not Ted's. Still, twelve and a half years of sharing lives makes saying goodbye especially hard.The idea of the octopus is genius and gives a fanciful, yet personalized status to a disease that we all hate-Cancer. This story is a tear-jerker, but with a punch of humor that helps it go down a little easier.I highly recommended "Lily and the Octopus" for any dog lover. It is somewhat reminiscent of "The Art of Racing in the Rain", but also a great modern and metaphoric twist on "Moby Dick".My thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the opportunity to read and review this very special book.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Anthropomorphism reigns supreme in this novel, which initially read like a memoir. Perhaps that's because it is apparently semi-autobiographical. Well, parts of it, anyway.Anyone who has loved an animal can understand battling for that animal's life, whether the threat is in the form of a tumor or an octopus.However, the whole octopus thing got old long before it got completely out of control. The protagonist waxes poetic about the octopus when I want to know what the vet said, what Ted is going to DO about that octopus. Instead, I got silliness and angst.I liked the voice of Lily. Ted was not so likable. Too much about his failed relationships, too much ineffective navel-gazing. For someone who fears addiction, he is more than willing to pop whatever stray pill presents itself – Vicodin or Valium – either will do, washed down with alcohol.For me, this book needed less fantasy, less going off the deep end (quite literally), less Moby-Dick wannabe, and more Lily. And it certainly didn't need self-absorbed Ted, musing over the octopus and talking about Lily, to think, “She failed to protect us.That is when the octopus came.She is the one at fault.She is the one to blame.”I know my opinion is in the minority about this book, so if it appeals, read it. For me, it was a no-go.I was given an advance reader's e-copy of this book for review. The quote may have changed in the published edition.

Book preview

Lily and the Octopus - Steven Rowley

The Octopus

It’s Thursday the first time I see it. I know that it’s Thursday because Thursday nights are the nights my dog, Lily, and I set aside to talk about boys we think are cute. She’s twelve in actual years, which is eighty-four in dog years. I’m forty-two, which is two hundred and ninety-four in dog years—but like a really young two hundred and ninety-four, because I’m in pretty good shape and a lot of people tell me I could pass for two hundred and thirty-eight, which is actually thirty-four. I say this about our ages because we’re both a little immature and tend to like younger guys. We get into long debates over the Ryans. I’m a Gosling man, whereas she’s a Reynolds gal, even though she can’t name a single movie of his that she would ever watch twice. (We dropped Phillipe years ago over a disagreement as to how to pronounce his name. FILL-a-pea? Fill-AH-pay? Also because he doesn’t work that much anymore.) Then there’s the Matts and the Toms. We go back and forth between Bomer and Damon and Brady and Hardy depending on what kind of week it has been. And finally the Bradleys, Cooper and Milton, the latter of whom is technically way older and long dead and I’m not sure why my dog keeps bringing him up other than she loves board games, which we usually play on Fridays.

Anyhow, this particular Thursday we are discussing the Chrises: Hemsworth and Evans and Pine. It’s when Lily suggests offhandedly we also include Chris Pratt that I notice the octopus. It’s not often you see an octopus up close, let alone in your living room, let alone perched on your dog’s head like a birthday party hat, so I’m immediately taken aback. I have a good view of it, as Lily and I are sitting on opposite sides of the couch, each with a pillow, me sitting Indian style, her perched more like the MGM lion.

Lily!

We don’t have to include Chris Pratt, it was just a suggestion, she says.

No—what’s that on your head? I ask. Two of the octopus’s arms hang down her face like chin straps.

Where?

What do you mean, where? There. Over your temple on the right side.

Lily pauses. She looks at me for a moment, our eyes locked on each other. She breaks my gaze only to glance upward at the octopus. "Oh. That."

"Yes, that."

I immediately lean in and grab her snout, the way I used to when she was a pup and would bark too much, so excited by the very existence of each new thing encountered that she had to sing her enthusiasm with sharp, staccato notes: LOOK! AT! THIS! IT! IS! THE! MOST! AMAZING! THING! I’VE! EVER! SEEN! IT’S! A! GREAT! TIME! TO! BE! ALIVE! Once, when we first lived together, in the time it took me to shower she managed to relocate all of my size-thirteen shoes to the top of the staircase three rooms away. When I asked her why, her reply was pure conviction: THESE! THINGS! YOU! PUT! ON! FEET! SHOULD! BE! CLOSER! TO! THE! STAIRS! So full of ebullience and ideas.

I pull her closer to me and turn her head to the side so I can get a good, long look. She gives me the most side-eye she can muster in annoyance, disgusted with both the molestation and unwanted attention, and my gaucheness as a big, stupid human man.

The octopus has a good grip and clings tightly over her eye. It takes me a minute, but I gather my nerve and poke it. It’s harder than I would have imagined. Less like a water balloon, more like . . . bone. It feels subcutaneous, yet there it is, out in the open for all to see. I count its arms, turning Lily’s head around to the back, and sure enough, there are eight. The octopus looks angry as much as out of place. Aggressive perhaps is a better word. Like it is announcing itself and would like the room. I’m not going to lie. It’s as frightening as it is confounding. I saw a video somewhere, sometime, of an octopus that camouflaged itself so perfectly along the ocean floor that it was completely undetectable until some unfortunate whelk or crab or snail came along and it emerged, striking with deadly precision. I remember going back and watching the video again and again, trying to locate the octopus in hiding. After countless viewings I could acknowledge its presence, sense its energy, its lurking, its intent to pounce, even if I couldn’t entirely make it out in form. Once you had seen it, you couldn’t really unsee it—even as you remained impressed with its ability to hide so perfectly in plain sight.

This is like that.

Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it, and the octopus transforms Lily’s entire face. A face that has always been so handsome to me, a noble and classic dog profile, betrayed only slightly by a dachshund’s ridiculous body. Still, that face! Perfect in its symmetry. When you pulled her ears back it was like a small bowling pin covered in the softest mahogany fur. But now she looks less like a bowling pin in shape and more like a worn-down bowling pin in occupation; her head sports a lump as if it had actually been the number-one pin in a ten-pin formation.

Lily snorts at me twice with flared nostrils and I realize I’m still holding her snout. I let go of her, knowing she is seething at the indignity of it all.

I don’t want to talk about it, she says, tucking her head to gnaw at an itch on her stomach.

"Well, I do want to talk about it."

Mostly I want to talk about how it could be possible that I’ve never seen it before. How I could be responsible for every aspect of her daily life and well-being—food, water, exercise, toys, chews, inside, outside, medication, elimination, entertainment, snuggling, affection, love—and not notice that one side of her head sports an octopus, alarmingly increasing it in size. The octopus is a master of disguise, I remind myself; its intent is to stay hidden. But even as I say this silently in my head I wonder why I’m letting myself so easily off the hook.

Does it hurt?

There’s a sigh. An exhale. When Lily was younger, in her sleep she would make a similar noise, usually right before her legs would start racing, the preamble to a beautiful dream about chasing squirrels or birds or pounding the warm sand on an endless golden beach. I don’t know why, but I think of Ethan Hawke answering the standard questionnaire inspired by Bernard Pivot that ended every episode of Inside the Actors Studio:

What sound or noise do you love?

Puppies sighing, Ethan had said.

Yes! Such a wonderful juxtaposition, sighing puppies. As if warm, sleeping puppies felt anything lamentable or had weariness or exasperations to sigh over. And yet they sighed all the time! Exhalations of sweet, innocent breath. But this sigh is different. Subtly. To the untrained ear it might not be noticeable, but I know Lily about as well as I think it’s possible to know another living thing, so I notice it. There’s a heaviness to it. A creakiness. There are cares in her world; there is weight on her shoulders.

I ask her again. Does it hurt?

Her answer comes slowly, after great pause and consideration. Sometimes.

The very best thing about dogs is how they just know when you need them most, and they’ll drop everything that they’re doing to sit with you awhile. I don’t need to press Lily further. I can do what she has done for me countless times, through heartbreak and illness and depression and days of general uneasiness and malaise. I can sit with her quietly, our bodies touching just enough to generate warmth, to share the vibrating energy of all living things, until our breathing slows and falls into the parallel rhythm it always does when we have our quietest sits.

I pinch the skin on the back of her neck as I imagine her mother once did to carry her when she was a pup.

There’s a wind coming, I tell her. Staring down the octopus as much as I dare, I fear there’s more truth to that statement than I’d like. Mostly I am setting Lily up to deliver her favorite line from Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Neither of us has actually seen the film, but they played this exchange endlessly in the commercials back when it was in theaters and we both would collapse in fits of laughter at the sound of Cate Blanchett bellowing and carrying on as the Virgin Queen. My dog does the best Cate Blanchett impression.

Lily perks up just a bit and delivers her response on cue: "I, too, can command the wind, sir! I have a hurricane in me that will strip Spain bare if you dare to try me! Let them come with the armies of hell; they will not pass!"

It’s a good effort, one she makes for me. But if I’m being honest, it isn’t her best. Instinctually she probably already knows what is fast becoming clear to me: she is the whelk; she is the crab; she is the snail.

The octopus is hungry.

And it is going to have her.

Camouflage

Friday Afternoon

My therapist’s office is painted the color of unsalted butter. Sitting in that office on the couch with the one broken spring that made it just maddeningly shy of comfortable, I have often thought of shoving the whole room into a mixing bowl with brown sugar and flour and vanilla and chocolate chips. I crave cookies when I’m annoyed, when I feel I know better than those around me. Crisp on the outside, chewy on the inside, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies warm from the oven, with the chocolate soft but not melted. I don’t know the derivation of this comfort craving, but there’s a quote from Cookie Monster that’s always inhabited my head: Today me will live in the moment, unless it’s unpleasant, in which case me will eat a cookie. While I don’t take all of my mantras from goggle-eyed blue monsters with questionable grammar, this one has taken root. Lately I’ve been craving cookies a lot.

My therapist’s name is Jenny, which is not a name you should accept for a therapist. Ever. A gymnast, perhaps. Forrest Gump’s wife, sure. A worker at one of those frozen yogurt places where you pump your own yogurt and all they have to do is weigh it and they still think their job is rough. But not a therapist. I just don’t think people take Jennys seriously. Case in point: My name is Edward Flask, but people call me Ted—something I insisted upon after the unfortunate nickname Special Ed followed me through grade school because I was so shy. I can see my name scrawled in Jenny’s handwriting across the top of a legal pad on her lap, but the T in Ted is bolder— clearly an addition she made after remembering no one calls me Ed. And I’ve been seeing her for months! Still, Jenny takes my insurance and has an office that is adjacent to my neighborhood (at least by Los Angeles standards). The conclusions she draws are always the wrong ones, but I’ve gotten good at taking her dimwitted advice and filtering it through the mind of an imaginary and much smarter therapist to get the insight into my life that I need. That by itself sounds dysfunctional, but it happens to work for me.

I entered therapy after I ended my last relationship eighteen months ago, six years in and maybe two years after I should have. It started out strong. We met at the New Beverly Cinema after a screening of Billy Wilder’s The Apartment and we argued about its merits. Jeffrey was smart—scary smart—and passionate. When I blanched at The Apartment’s themes of infidelity and adultery, Jeffrey pressed me on my professed love for another of Wilder’s films, The Seven Year Itch.

At first, his charisma made it addictive to be around him. But over time, I recognized it was also a façade; there was a wounded boy inside of him. He had grown up without a dad, so it made sense to me that he sought constant validation. I found it endearing. Humanizing. Until he started to indulge that little boy. There were tantrums. There was acting out. There was his need to control things that he had no business controlling. But he was still that boy, and I loved him, so I stayed, thinking it would get better. And then one morning I woke up to one of life’s clarion calls: I deserved better than this. That night I said I was leaving.

After more than a year off from dating, I’m finally putting myself out there again. Dipping my toes in old waters from which I thought I had long since sailed downstream. Jenny asks me about this.

How is that going?

That?

Yes.

Dating?

Uh-huh.

It’s the last thing I want to talk about. The octopus has almost as tight a grip on my head as it does on Lily’s. And yet I can’t bring myself to tell Jenny about our unwanted visitor. At least not yet. I can’t show my hand, expose the fear that the octopus brings and have her say all the wrong things, as she’s all but guaranteed to do. Jenny. I can’t do her work for her—not on this. I would rather do her work without her, which means, for now, holding this one close to my chest.

I shouldn’t even have come, shouldn’t have left Lily alone with the octopus, but the sunlight was streaming through the kitchen windows in the exact way that she likes, and the long beams of late afternoon would provide her ample warmth for a long nap. I couldn’t get an appointment with the veterinarian until Monday, and something in me thinks the sun could be healing. That it might irradiate our visitor, desiccate our fish out of water.

Are octopuses fish? I ask it out loud without meaning to.

Are octopuses what?

Fish. Are they considered fish.

No. I think they’re cephalopods.

Figures Jenny would know that. She was probably one of those girls who wanted to grow up to be a marine biologist before she went off to college and fell for a psych major with big, masculine hands and a name like Chad. I wish I was curled up on the floor in the sun beside Lily. I wish I could lay my hand on her like I did when she was a pup, to let her know that all that worried her would be okay so long as I was there. It’s where I belong instead of here.

What about dating, though? Jenny snaps me back to attention.

Dating. I don’t know. It’s fine. Uneventful. Soporific.

Juvenile? she asks.

Not sophomoric. God, I want cookies. Soporific. You know, tedious. Tiresome.

Why is it tiresome?

Because it is. Cookies.

It’s always interesting to meet new people, isn’t it? Couldn’t you look at it that way?

I could. I say it in a stubborn way to make it clear that I don’t and I won’t. I don’t know if it’s me—maybe I’m not ready to date. I don’t know if it’s them—maybe the good ones are already taken. I don’t know if it’s my age. Los Angeles is a Neverland of Lost Boys who preen and crow far too often and demonstrate substance far too seldom. I started dating with enthusiasm and put my best foot forward in the task. But soon I found myself on a string of first dates where I couldn’t remember if the story I was telling was one I had already told, or if it was a story I had told a previous date a night or two earlier. In an effort not to be boring, I had concocted a string of my best anecdotes, a highlight reel of witticisms, and in employing them over and over again, I ended up boring myself.

All of this I should be saying out loud, if only because my insurance company is paying for this time and I am paying for my insurance (as a freelance writer it’s no small expense), but instead I offer an anemic I just . . . I don’t know.

Tell me, Jenny implores.

No.

"Come on. Tumor me."

The octopus swooshes its powerful arms in front of me, and in a chaotic flash exposes its hungry beak as it leaps for my face.

I flinch, swatting my hands in front of my nose. What did you just say? It comes across as accusatory.

Jenny looks at me, concerned. She has to see the sweat forming just along my brow line. I look frantically around the room for the octopus, but as quickly as it appeared, it is gone.

I said, ‘Humor me.’ Her concern melts into a smile.

Did she?

My butter prison is closing in; the walls seem closer than they did five minutes ago. This is usually a sign of an oncoming panic attack. They used to be rare, but lately I’ve had several. The best way to stave off a full-blown meltdown is to do the one thing I don’t want to do—talk about dating. To remember life continuing. To not give in to that which causes the panic. So I relent. There’s this one guy. Handsome. Smart. Funny. Handsome. I said that twice, didn’t I? Well, his looks merit it. I just can’t tell if he’s that interested.

In you.

In the art of puppeteering. I cross my arms protectively. "Of course in me. We went out a second time. And it was good. This is stupid. I should be talking about the octopus, but I can’t think about the octopus. I can’t feed the panic. But still, I didn’t know. If he was interested. In me. So, I thought when we say good night the second time, if he tries to kiss me, that’ll be some indication. And if he tries to hug me, I won’t break the hug first." Pleased with that plan, I point to my head—like it’s more than just a hat rack. Then I realize perhaps the octopus is hiding on my head, heads being a place he seems to be fond of, and I give myself a top-to-bottom pat down. Jenny looks at me like I’m experiencing some sort of debilitating seizure, but forges ahead.

Smart. Then you could see if the hug was a friendly hug or a romantic hug. So, what happened?

I broke the hug first.

Jenny looks at me, disappointed.

Defensively: Well, he didn’t break the hug, either, so we were just standing there like two stroke victims propping each other up! The walls are now so dangerously close that I wonder if they will crush me or if I will be pressed into their buttery softness, creating a perfect mold of my form after I suffocate in clotted cream.

That in itself should have told you something. Jenny makes a doodle on her notepad, darkening the ed in my name to match the bolded T. She’s being paid to listen to me, and even she finds me boring. But it’s not her fault. Less than twenty-four hours since the arrival of our . . . cephalopod houseguest, I already recognize a trait we share: I, too, am hiding in plain sight. I am walking through life invisible, skulking like a failure, hoping few people notice me. I’ve been doing that since things went south with Jeffrey.

I think you need to allow for the fact that some people have difficulty expressing themselves, Jenny muses.

Jenny always employs the phrase some people when she’s talking about me. But once again, this is the wrong conclusion. This guy did not have problems expressing himself. I do not have problems expressing myself. This guy just didn’t know if he liked me, and that made me anxious. Even if it was my fault he didn’t know. Even if I was not letting myself be seen.

C is for cookie, that’s good enough for meeee. Cookie cookie cookie starts with C.

I filter her analysis through the voice of my preferred, imaginary therapist and he comes up with sharper advice: It has only been two dates. Why do I need to know how this guy feels about me? Why does everything have to be settled? Do I even know if I like him? I mean, beyond his looks? I have to be better about living in the not knowing.

And suddenly it’s not about dating, it’s about the octopus. I have to be better about living in the not knowing.

Friday Evening

June in Los Angeles is the opposite of June everywhere else. Here, it means only one thing: gloom. The sun disappears behind clouds and fog and smog and haze and doesn’t reappear for weeks. Normally, I like it. Normally, I’m fine with it being the price we pay to have sunshine the rest of the year. But tonight there’s no sunset, and it bothers me.

Trent calls and proposes dinner and I say no, but Trent doesn’t take no for an answer, so I say yes to save us from going twelve rounds. I feel bad about leaving Lily for even another hour, but I also know I need to talk to someone, and if it’s not going to be Jenny it might as well be Trent. He knows how to get through to me and always has, ever since we met on our first day of college in Boston. He was a loud Texan and I was a quiet Mainer and I was immediately captivated by his southern charm, much as he was fascinated with my northern chill. It was a friendship that worked from the moment he knocked on the door of my dorm room and asked if I wanted to walk to 7-Eleven for cigarettes; he was the Ferris Bueller to my Cameron Frye.

From the time we were twenty-two, Trent would tell me not to worry. He said it was all going to happen for us when we were twenty-nine. Bad breakup? Who cares. Dead-end job? It wasn’t a waste of time. Any other stress? Why waste even a moment caring—it was all going to happen when we were twenty-nine. I questioned him at first. Why twenty-nine? Why not

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