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Schrodinger's Dachshund: A Novel of Espionage, Astounding Science, and Wiener Dogs
Spy by night, blogger by day, Zelda Alpizar becomes infected by a contagion known to civilians as guilt, forcing her to choose between following orders or intervening to save two watchmen. Their trance-like lethargy makes them the ideal storage drives for a detonation code. Decrypting it could have lethal side-effects. Though the most important thing Zelda will ever find, the boundary between good and evil is of little value in a place where the only legend reads Here There Be Monsters.
Security guards, harbingers of dawn, are they not warriors? Beneath the polyester Travis and Alex consist of flesh and blood. A predator stalks them, more implacable than skateboarders. Putting your tax dollars to work, the NSA discovers that human storage devices offer greater security than digital ones. Dead drives tell no tales. Like all their secrets it’s soon available to the highest bidder. When Zelda infiltrates a secret society lending this service to terrorists, she sees how the private sector can be almost as wicked and incompetent as the government.
They should have chosen a more secure password. “Mary Weatherworth” is also an adult actress beloved by security guards, and an urban legend reputed to appear in mirrors when summoned thrice. Busy lady. This ambiguity entwines discrepant parties in strange ways. Connected to them all by one degree of separation, the sausage link in a karmic chain, Maestoso the Dachshund waddles across this remorseless battlefield, observing the chaos, perhaps resolving it. Avoid eye contact. You don't want him inside your head.
Security guards, harbingers of dawn, are they not warriors? Beneath the polyester Travis and Alex consist of flesh and blood. A predator stalks them, more implacable than skateboarders. Putting your tax dollars to work, the NSA discovers that human storage devices offer greater security than digital ones. Dead drives tell no tales. Like all their secrets it’s soon available to the highest bidder. When Zelda infiltrates a secret society lending this service to terrorists, she sees how the private sector can be almost as wicked and incompetent as the government.
They should have chosen a more secure password. “Mary Weatherworth” is also an adult actress beloved by security guards, and an urban legend reputed to appear in mirrors when summoned thrice. Busy lady. This ambiguity entwines discrepant parties in strange ways. Connected to them all by one degree of separation, the sausage link in a karmic chain, Maestoso the Dachshund waddles across this remorseless battlefield, observing the chaos, perhaps resolving it. Avoid eye contact. You don't want him inside your head.
- GenresUnfinished
386 pages, Paperback
First published May 5, 2014
6 people are currently reading
807 people want to read
About the author
Petronius Jablonski
7 books17 followersPreserving thoughts for the enjoyment and edification of strangers, renouncing revelry, friendship, and love for the unlikely esteem of men unknown, is this not madness incarnate, or the closest one can come to rule over day and night, divide them, and see that it is good?
Petronius Jablonski studied Philosophy, Psychology, Mathematics, Philology, Classics, and Physics at UW Parkside. Some Call It Trypophobia is a collection of published stories and an existential analysis of the phobia. Schrödinger's Dachshund is his first novel. Mount Silenus began as therapy for Post-Traumatic Mountaineering Disorder and never looked back. Jablonski writes extensively about music, though there is only one song he reviews.
See his magnum opus and masterpiece, The Annals of Petronius Jablonski, for a thoroughgoing critique of Western Civilization [sic]. Included are the paradigm-shattering contributions of Petronius’ Shovel©, Petronius’ Blender©, Schadenfreude Before-the-Fact©, Quietude©, and Petronius’ Garage©, each equal in momentousness to Occam's overrated Razor and Plato's much-ballyhooed Cave.
He grew up in Cudahy, Wisconsin, where he began chronicling versions of the Mary Weatherworth meme. This urban legend about a blind, mirror-infesting apparition endures and mutates like some Campbellian myth. Bizarre and horrifying accounts uncoil across Schrodinger's Dachshund, winding toward their origin. Jablonski went undercover with the Sentinels of the Chandelier to study the mysterious connection between their Gnostic teachings and the Weatherworth meme. Lawsuits pend. Less abstract threats loom.
He is working on a book titled The Sweetness of Honey: A Novel of Vengeance, Honor, and Bobbleheads. If he abandons this project he would be a man without dreams, and he doesn’t want to live like that. He’ll live his life or he’ll end his life with this project. (Herzog)
Of all the books in the Library of Babel he could read, the one where Proust dumps Albertine and adopts a Basset Hound is his top pick.
Petronius Jablonski studied Philosophy, Psychology, Mathematics, Philology, Classics, and Physics at UW Parkside. Some Call It Trypophobia is a collection of published stories and an existential analysis of the phobia. Schrödinger's Dachshund is his first novel. Mount Silenus began as therapy for Post-Traumatic Mountaineering Disorder and never looked back. Jablonski writes extensively about music, though there is only one song he reviews.
See his magnum opus and masterpiece, The Annals of Petronius Jablonski, for a thoroughgoing critique of Western Civilization [sic]. Included are the paradigm-shattering contributions of Petronius’ Shovel©, Petronius’ Blender©, Schadenfreude Before-the-Fact©, Quietude©, and Petronius’ Garage©, each equal in momentousness to Occam's overrated Razor and Plato's much-ballyhooed Cave.
He grew up in Cudahy, Wisconsin, where he began chronicling versions of the Mary Weatherworth meme. This urban legend about a blind, mirror-infesting apparition endures and mutates like some Campbellian myth. Bizarre and horrifying accounts uncoil across Schrodinger's Dachshund, winding toward their origin. Jablonski went undercover with the Sentinels of the Chandelier to study the mysterious connection between their Gnostic teachings and the Weatherworth meme. Lawsuits pend. Less abstract threats loom.
He is working on a book titled The Sweetness of Honey: A Novel of Vengeance, Honor, and Bobbleheads. If he abandons this project he would be a man without dreams, and he doesn’t want to live like that. He’ll live his life or he’ll end his life with this project. (Herzog)
Of all the books in the Library of Babel he could read, the one where Proust dumps Albertine and adopts a Basset Hound is his top pick.
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
February 5, 2016
Or the Infinite Jest of security guards. This is more like a collection of mysteriously connected stories than a conventional novel. Jablonski's lyrical prose turns creepy during the second-person POV parts. What's it about? You find yourself in the Bosch-like parallel universe of Cudahy, Wisconsin. Good luck. Jablonski doesn't hold your hand. It's like he's sharing as much as he can, hoping you'll figure it out because he can't. This has a way of making these characters come alive, though some are way over-the-top.
Security guard Travis treats his coworkers at Lodestar with the insolence of a mad emperor courtesy of a stock-baron cousin. This simple pleasure isn’t only threatened by the impending arrival of a daughter; a secret agency in Milwaukee is using watchmen as storage mediums. The encryption key, Mary Weatherworth come forth, is highly equivocal.
In a hidden chasm beneath a trailer park, the Kangaroo, dismissed from the CIA for isolationism, instructs terrible twins Remus and Romulus to profile more guards. A new client needs two containers. They share misgivings about the new agent, Zelda, whose “cussing could take the paint off a wall.” Excitement is in the eye of the beholder. She regards her missions as drudgery compared to her battle in the cause of anorexia, which she promotes as a positive lifestyle on an Ana blog.
Disgruntled former agent, William Werzinski, fired for injudicious use of LSD, wanders Cudahy like a mad prophet, preaching about the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics. Consistent with it is the possibility that his Dachshund, Maestoso, created the universe. This thread has an otherworldly quality, my favorite chapters, like Vollmann writing about street people.
In lieu of work, office temp Delores blogs about an urban legend named Mary Weatherworth, a mirror-infesting entity blinded by knives. Recurring nightmares imply the fascination is not academic. Her latest discovery is a similar meme on Zelda’s site. She ascribes Travis’ secret admirer emails to another guard, timid chess savant Alex. His observation that she has no bathroom mirror is met with silence.
Lodestar guards have rich inner lives. Robert and Dave toil on a clandestine project in the parking structure: a model of the Trans-Siberian railway. In the way an apple inspired Newton, Gus’ forty-seventh failed attempt at starting his lawnmower could change man’s understanding of time. He calculates that a month-long segment of his life has been wasted thus. Other estimations follow, a Segmentarian Treatise: shaving, tossing in bed, waiting in line, watching movies of the other Mary Weatherworth (a popular adult actress). One activity remains conspicuously absent.
Several executives form a Travis Support Group to share experiences involving air horn blasts, sprays from fire extinguishers, kidnapped bobbleheads, and worse. One claims to have discovered the identity of Travis’ legendary relation and announces a desperate plan: they’ll send an emissary to ask him to move Travis elsewhere.
When not antagonizing her mentors, Zelda attends to her internet gallery of extraterrestrial-thin celebrities, ignoring Delores’ emails about the perils of anorexia and requests for information. Meanwhile, Delores blogs about the ancient belief that mirrors open a passageway to an inverse dimension, the wicked denizens of which insist they are the ones who are real. To destroy a reflection you have to blind yourself. She wonders what it means that all the stories about these apparitions portray them as blind. What does that mean for us?
In the course of his meandering, William speaks of the porthole connecting universes (mirrors) and the fearful gatekeeper (Mary Weatherworth). Unclear is whether this knowledge is caused by his madness or vice versa. As often as he raises these subjects, Maestoso the Dachshund censors him with growls, the Cerberus of a forbidden realm.
Incarnations of the ineptitude of evil, Remus and Romulus use “Quit Smoking Now” hypnosis to implant a detonation code on Alex. Watching the oafs accidentally upload the kangaroo’s lunch order of gyros, Zelda is infected by a contagion known as guilt. A spy’s conscience is like an astronaut’s appendix: both must be removed to avoid jeopardizing the mission.
The bewildered recipient of a letter composed by members of the Travis Support Group can’t believe his cousin (Alex) could make anyone’s life intolerable. He agrees to speak to the right people, ensuring a promotion to a different department. Though they scarcely know one another and are polar opposites, Alex and Travis receive each other’s karmic mail. If there is no cosmic mailman, perhaps this is the norm.
With hopes of sabotaging the agency, Zelda finagles the encryption key from Remus. Unfortunately, her recollection of it is ambiguous between “Mrs. Butterworth go north,” and “Hairy armpits shaved first.”
These are just some of the spinning plates. One constant is the absurd and tragic degrees of separation between Mary Weatherworth memes, and a secret society called The Sentinels of the Chandelier. To find enlightenment they have to engage in a particular felony, a joke that unfolds over the course of the book. A spoiler would be criminal.
Highly recommended, but this taste is acquired. Not to be mistaken for genre espionage or sci-fi (or anything). This is plain weird! Magic anti-realism? Backhanded compliment time. It's a showcase for Jablonski's freaky powers of description. Is it postmodern, or plot = one damn thing after another? Maybe neither.
*I received copies of the paperback and an "official Schrodinger's Dachshund coffee mug" in return for a "brutally honest" review. This was honest. I don't know about brutal. It's a dark, funny, bizarre book with disarmingly vivid prose.
Security guard Travis treats his coworkers at Lodestar with the insolence of a mad emperor courtesy of a stock-baron cousin. This simple pleasure isn’t only threatened by the impending arrival of a daughter; a secret agency in Milwaukee is using watchmen as storage mediums. The encryption key, Mary Weatherworth come forth, is highly equivocal.
In a hidden chasm beneath a trailer park, the Kangaroo, dismissed from the CIA for isolationism, instructs terrible twins Remus and Romulus to profile more guards. A new client needs two containers. They share misgivings about the new agent, Zelda, whose “cussing could take the paint off a wall.” Excitement is in the eye of the beholder. She regards her missions as drudgery compared to her battle in the cause of anorexia, which she promotes as a positive lifestyle on an Ana blog.
Disgruntled former agent, William Werzinski, fired for injudicious use of LSD, wanders Cudahy like a mad prophet, preaching about the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics. Consistent with it is the possibility that his Dachshund, Maestoso, created the universe. This thread has an otherworldly quality, my favorite chapters, like Vollmann writing about street people.
In lieu of work, office temp Delores blogs about an urban legend named Mary Weatherworth, a mirror-infesting entity blinded by knives. Recurring nightmares imply the fascination is not academic. Her latest discovery is a similar meme on Zelda’s site. She ascribes Travis’ secret admirer emails to another guard, timid chess savant Alex. His observation that she has no bathroom mirror is met with silence.
Lodestar guards have rich inner lives. Robert and Dave toil on a clandestine project in the parking structure: a model of the Trans-Siberian railway. In the way an apple inspired Newton, Gus’ forty-seventh failed attempt at starting his lawnmower could change man’s understanding of time. He calculates that a month-long segment of his life has been wasted thus. Other estimations follow, a Segmentarian Treatise: shaving, tossing in bed, waiting in line, watching movies of the other Mary Weatherworth (a popular adult actress). One activity remains conspicuously absent.
Several executives form a Travis Support Group to share experiences involving air horn blasts, sprays from fire extinguishers, kidnapped bobbleheads, and worse. One claims to have discovered the identity of Travis’ legendary relation and announces a desperate plan: they’ll send an emissary to ask him to move Travis elsewhere.
When not antagonizing her mentors, Zelda attends to her internet gallery of extraterrestrial-thin celebrities, ignoring Delores’ emails about the perils of anorexia and requests for information. Meanwhile, Delores blogs about the ancient belief that mirrors open a passageway to an inverse dimension, the wicked denizens of which insist they are the ones who are real. To destroy a reflection you have to blind yourself. She wonders what it means that all the stories about these apparitions portray them as blind. What does that mean for us?
In the course of his meandering, William speaks of the porthole connecting universes (mirrors) and the fearful gatekeeper (Mary Weatherworth). Unclear is whether this knowledge is caused by his madness or vice versa. As often as he raises these subjects, Maestoso the Dachshund censors him with growls, the Cerberus of a forbidden realm.
Incarnations of the ineptitude of evil, Remus and Romulus use “Quit Smoking Now” hypnosis to implant a detonation code on Alex. Watching the oafs accidentally upload the kangaroo’s lunch order of gyros, Zelda is infected by a contagion known as guilt. A spy’s conscience is like an astronaut’s appendix: both must be removed to avoid jeopardizing the mission.
The bewildered recipient of a letter composed by members of the Travis Support Group can’t believe his cousin (Alex) could make anyone’s life intolerable. He agrees to speak to the right people, ensuring a promotion to a different department. Though they scarcely know one another and are polar opposites, Alex and Travis receive each other’s karmic mail. If there is no cosmic mailman, perhaps this is the norm.
With hopes of sabotaging the agency, Zelda finagles the encryption key from Remus. Unfortunately, her recollection of it is ambiguous between “Mrs. Butterworth go north,” and “Hairy armpits shaved first.”
These are just some of the spinning plates. One constant is the absurd and tragic degrees of separation between Mary Weatherworth memes, and a secret society called The Sentinels of the Chandelier. To find enlightenment they have to engage in a particular felony, a joke that unfolds over the course of the book. A spoiler would be criminal.
Highly recommended, but this taste is acquired. Not to be mistaken for genre espionage or sci-fi (or anything). This is plain weird! Magic anti-realism? Backhanded compliment time. It's a showcase for Jablonski's freaky powers of description. Is it postmodern, or plot = one damn thing after another? Maybe neither.
*I received copies of the paperback and an "official Schrodinger's Dachshund coffee mug" in return for a "brutally honest" review. This was honest. I don't know about brutal. It's a dark, funny, bizarre book with disarmingly vivid prose.
December 15, 2025
This was an unusual book. It was like someone took Tom Robbins and HST and spun them all way way out into a less cogently revelatory experience of substances. It got mired down, at times, but overall I enjoyed the gist of it.
October 12, 2019
#GoodreadsGiveaway
June 2, 2015
I tried 3 different times to get through this book. It was impossible.
July 28, 2016
Ugh. Between the psychedelic writing and the foul mouth of Zelda, the protagonist (?), I just couldn't continue. To compare this writing to Douglass Adams is an insult.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews