Ron Hotz distinguishes his first novel, The Animal Sciences, from other Canadian stories of dysfunctional characters and difficult loves by presenting it as a kind of scientific case study rather than as a deeply felt fiction. The careful and correct prose is stripped of any sentimentality or unnecessary description. Physical settings and actions are described perfunctorily, without evoking mood. Explanations of decisions or experiences are delivered as if from university textbooks, and the individual elements of the plot are arranged like an increasingly complicated set of laboratory experiments, one building on another until the lesson is demonstrated.

Hotz draws extensively on his experience as a doctor. Hospitals and universities figure largely, and the plot is driven by the search for the disappeared Robin, a disgraced medical student and suspected thief of an antiquarian medical relic. His friends Duffer, Autumn, and Igor are not after him or the return of the relic, however. Their desire is to keep him from re-uniting with Kookla, everyone’s crazy girlfriend, who’s slipping further from mental health all the time.

Hotz handles all these elements gracefully. Each is introduced in proper time and as the individual anecdotes begin to build toward a recognizable plot, motivations and complications are revealed at the moment of greatest impact. But The Animal Sciences fails precisely where a novel needs to shine: in the characters. Despite their offbeat names, they’re not especially quirky or original. The fault lies primarily in the narrative voice. Only one character, Igor, is recognizably different from the others, and only because he speaks in broken English. Every other character has the same voice as the narrator. This is glaringly obvious when they relate stories to each other, using the exact vocabulary, tone, and straightforward speech.

Although it’s fascinating to watch Hotz’s deft control over his complex structure, the by-now familiar genre of desperate, neurotic characters flailing about and failing at life, coupled with the cold and, yes, clinical style, don’t add up to a satisfying read.