THIS ONE'S FOR LOVE

"I Thought You Were Dead," a sweet little novel by former Minnesotan Pete Nelson, is about relationships -- those between lovers, ex-spouses, siblings, fathers and sons, drinking buddies, and perhaps most enduring, between dogs and those who love them.

Thank heaven, the book doesn't actually use the word "relationship." It's just a story about love.

Narrator Paul Gustavson is recently divorced, holed up in his Northampton, Mass., apartment, drinking too much, shakily employed as a writer for the series "[Subject] for Morons" and distancing himself from everyone, including his family back in Minneapolis.

He feels like a failure as a husband, lover, brother, son, friend, writer. The only creature he can talk to honestly is his old dog, Stella. And Stella talks back.

Now, a talking dog is a goofy gimmick, but Stella has a wry voice that might, just might, also be the voice of Paul's inner better angel. And if dogs could talk, they probably would talk like Stella -- kindly, sensibly, usually about food.

"I Thought You Were Dead" has an even better quirk -- alternately hilarious and heart-breaking instant-message chats between Paul and his father, who has had a stroke and is only able to hit YES and NO keys. As their exchanges progress, Paul becomes more adept at reading his father's meaning, and his heart.

Paul's relationship with his girlfriend, Tamsen, is also complicated. He adores her; she's constantly described as sexy, beautiful, wise, perfect.

Stella the dog should warn Paul about Tamsen. But Tamsen is always slipping Stella choice cuts of meat, so Stella, too, is unable to view her with detachment.

In fact, "I Thought You Were Dead" is an anti-detachment story. It comes down in favor of romantic risks and unconditional love. It's sweet that way.

Nelson, who now lives in New York, is a graceful writer. Here's one of many passages you'll slow down to admire:

"The sounds of trains appealed directly to the heart -- the distant rumble of approach, then the thundering crescendo as they passed, and then the attenuated decline, like the memory of love when love is gone. The ta-tack-teh-teh rhythm ... soothed him."

As if all that weren't enough to recommend the book, the Minnesota references are multiple, authentic and fun.

Pamela Miller is a Star Tribune night metro editor.