Giggy Andrewes is the eccentric matriarch of the Winter Garden, an estate where she boards her nephew Jem, his friend Cora, Jem’s lover Rob, and a dog named Chappy. Along with an odd cast of hangers-on, they represent a group of those exceptional human beings who don’t work, have affairs with each other, and dominate the gossip of their town – in this case, the fictional Lake Wachannabee, Ontario. The story begins with the mystery of how Rob came to have most of his skin peeled from his body, and ends with a trial in which Giggy must answer for the laissez-faire morality of her entire clan.

Throughout the novel, Denisoff uses imagery and metaphor like a daredevil trapeze artist. This is how he describes Jem in the opening scene: “He hung lazy across the coffee table from his aunt, his slender candle-wax fingers furtively plucking the harp of soft threads worn through near the crotch of his cut-offs. The gesture belied his willingness to respond to his aunt’s unconscious overtures for attention.” These poetic and packed sentences are found on every page, but they never become excessive.

This is not to say that the Toronto author, poet, and scholar’s second novel is a lyrical pleasure only – The Winter Gardeners stimulates the intellect as well. Giggy’s thoughts often wander philosophically into the nature of art, speculating that the artist, despite being so revered, actually creates nothing, and is simply a conduit. Her grand ideas are couched in humorous, often absurd, dialogue. When Giggy encourages Jem to paint with something that doesn’t leave a mark, Jem replies, “I guess I might paint with Canada Dry.”

The Winter Gardeners is hard to pin down. It’s a surreal soap opera, a sexual satire, an Impressionist painting. And it should not be missed.