Fic­tion

The Hitch

  • Review
By – November 9, 2026

In The Hitch, Sara Levine deliv­ers a quick-paced, spir­it­ed nov­el that explores lone­li­ness, frayed fam­i­ly rela­tion­ships, and the assump­tions peo­ple make about one anoth­er. Through­out the nov­el, Levine’s pro­tag­o­nist finds her­self in increas­ing­ly strange predica­ments that under­score the ten­sion between her rigid need for con­trol and the chaos she unwit­ting­ly helps create.

The nov­el cen­ters on Rose Cut­ler, a relat­able but deeply flawed pro­tag­o­nist who runs The Cul­tured Cow, an arti­sanal yogurt com­pa­ny. When the nov­el begins, Rose firm­ly believes she can par­ent Nathan, her pre­co­cious six-year-old nephew, bet­ter than her broth­er and his wife. Rose’s week-long ven­ture into babysit­ting spins wild­ly out of con­trol and leaves her scram­bling to bring order back into her life. Levine quick­ly estab­lish­es the stakes for Rose and devel­ops her as a quirky char­ac­ter with com­pli­cat­ed bag­gage and buried trauma.

Ear­ly in the nov­el, Rose’s New­found­land attacks and kills a cor­gi in front of Nathan. Not long after, Nathan announces that the dead dog’s soul has jumped into his body, where it remains. Nathan unex­pect­ed­ly starts quot­ing Shake­speare and shar­ing com­ments from the talk­a­tive dead dog he says is inside him. While deal­ing, or fail­ing to deal with, a poten­tial con­t­a­m­i­na­tion at her yogurt com­pa­ny, Rose races to exor­cise the cor­gi inhab­it­ing Nathan. Levine excels at cre­at­ing com­pelling scenes in which her character’s choic­es are ridicu­lous, but some­how also com­plete­ly believ­able. Levine’s dia­logue is also par­tic­u­lar­ly sharp. What oth­er author could land knock-knock jokes spo­ken by a boy but orig­i­nat­ing from a canine soul? While Levine leans heav­i­ly on her absur­dist world-build­ing, she also deft­ly cre­ates com­plex sit­u­a­tions in which there are no easy answers or sin­gle per­spec­tive. She specif­i­cal­ly leaves some ele­ments ambigu­ous. Is there a cor­gi pos­sess­ing Nathan or is this a cop­ing mech­a­nism for a lone­ly boy? The sto­ry is told through Rose’s first-per­son per­spec­tive, and it’s clear from the start that she’s an unre­li­able narrator.

Anoth­er ques­tion left unan­swered is whether Rose is too self-absorbed to be capa­ble of self-reflec­tion. Ulti­mate­ly, read­ers must sift through Rose’s opin­ions, mis­cal­cu­la­tions, and lim­i­ta­tions to get a clear­er per­spec­tive on what’s actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing in con­trast to what Rose thinks is hap­pen­ing. Through that process, read­ers can reflect on how their own bias­es and pre­con­cep­tions affect their abil­i­ty to relate to others.

Anna Stol­ley Per­sky, a jour­nal­ist and lawyer by back­ground, writes fic­tion and cre­ative non­fic­tion. She’s been pub­lished in The Wash­ing­ton Post, Mys­tery Tri­bune, Ellery Queen, and Pit­head Chapel.

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