A Postcard from the Adirondacks begins with a mysterious postcard bearing one word, “Come,” and sends its narrator, Edward Storie, into a strange Adirondack adventure where journalism, folklore, philosophy, and canine loyalty collide. Ed, a cub reporter and aspiring fiction writer, is drawn into the orbit of Dr. Zorba Kildeere, a pseudo-scientific visionary whose plans for chemically pacifying humanity come with one monstrous condition: a future without dogs. When Melony Noon escapes Kildeere’s Rookery, Ed and his talking dog, Skipper, enter a wilderness populated by cryptids, phantoms, tricksters, and old mountain magic in a rescue mission that becomes far larger than one missing woman.

What I enjoyed most about this book is its refusal to behave. It’s part tall tale, part backwoods quest, part satire of scientific hubris, and part love letter to the Adirondacks. Pontacoloni writes the forest as if it has a pulse, a private vocabulary, and a sly sense of humor. The narrative wanders, but often in the way a wooded trail wanders: taking detours toward local lore, odd taxonomy, old literary ghosts, and the metaphysics of dogs. Skipper is the book’s great engine of charm. He’s funny, learned, prickly, brave, and exactly the kind of dog who could make a reader accept the impossible before breakfast.

Readers who want a clean and swift plot may find themselves occasionally caught in the underbrush of digression. Yet I came to appreciate that abundance as part of the book’s peculiar spell. Pontacoloni isn’t merely telling a rescue story; he’s building a private Adirondack cosmology where Sasquatch, tarot phantoms, oxytocin, Emily Dickinson, James Fenimore Cooper, and a French Brittany can all share narrative oxygen. The prose can be playful and philosophical, but beneath the whimsy is a sincere moral center: a world that loses its dogs has already misplaced its soul.

This book will best suit readers who enjoy fantasy adventure, cryptid fiction, magical realism, satirical science fiction, talking-animal stories, and folklore-infused literary quests. It reminded me at times of Douglas Adams filtered through James Fenimore Cooper, with a dash of Christopher Moore’s comic irreverence and a muddy pawprint all its own. A Postcard from the Adirondacks is a strange and spirited romp through myth and mountain shadow, carried by the kind of loyalty only a good dog can teach.

Pages: 229