Having launched the Kindle-iPhone-iPod Touch version of my new novel Trixie weeks ago, I was anxious to see if the title came up, with all its fingers and toes, at the top of a book search on Amazon.com. To my disappointment, I found that Trixie ranks low in the listings. It is preceded by several books written by Trixie Koontz, who, it turns out, is Dean Koontz's golden retriever.
Trixie the dog writes self-help books, apparently, and she seems to be almost as prolific as her pop novelist owner. Trixie the novel, on the other hand, is an amusing Nabokovian tale about a strip club. Although it's not self-help per se, it is literary fiction so it can't hurt you and it just might help. Trixie the novel can tell you nothing about how to mark your territory, how to get your ears massaged or how to find the best spot in the sun on a winter's day, but it will be able to elaborate on Trixie the dog's pheromonal view of mating rituals, and it has probably some of the best tail wagging in literature.