The comedy cult classic that George RR Martin and JRR Tolkein did not write. At all.

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The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple, by Sean Gibson

The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple is a very particular kind of novel.

Specifically, it’s the kind of novel that looks perfectly innocent and adorable sitting there on the shelf, staring up at you with those huge, adoring eyes, until you actually bring it home—at which time it begins eating objects you would have thought entirely incapable of being eaten (not just inedible, mind you, but literally incapable of being eaten), fetching things like boots or garden hoses that you’re reasonably certain have never belonged to you, and engaging in other, similar antics that you really shouldn’t laugh at but you just can’t help yourself because where the hell did it find an unopened gallon of peanut butter and how did it even manage to pick the thing up, let alone carry it back home?

Oh, wait. No, that’s our dog. We got confused for a minute because they’re both so funny, but we’ve got it straightened back out now. (While there are certain aspects of the two, meaning the book and the dog, that might cause you, at least at first blush, to mistake the one for the other, there is a simple yet definitive way to distinguish them, which is that we would never give our dog a 5-star review.)

Don’t judge. You don’t live with him.

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