First of all, just in case you weren’t paying attention in your History of Economics course in college, the “Veblen” in the title of Elizabeth McKenzie’s THE PORTABLE VEBLEN is Thorstein Veblen, the late 19th-century economist who coined the term “conspicuous consumption” and whose most famous book is the 1899 work THE THEORY OF THE LEISURE CLASS. He eschewed convention and authority, getting fired from numerous academic positions and living for a time in a converted chicken coop outside Palo Alto (perhaps he was an early proponent of the Tiny House movement?). Veblen is having something of a resurgence these days, thanks to his critiques of capitalism and the Gilded Age that have since been revisited favorably by contemporary economists such as Robert Reich.

"THE PORTABLE VEBLEN is quirky, to be sure, but it’s also absolutely unlike anything else you’ll read this year --- and its surface whimsy is accompanied by genuine warmth and depth."

What, you might ask, does all of this have to do with McKenzie’s whimsical and witty new novel, other than the title, of course (an homage to a 20th-century compilation of Veblen’s works by the same title)? It’s true that you don’t need to know much, if anything, about Veblen to thoroughly enjoy this book, which can be read on different levels as a love story, a familial melodrama, a meditation on the relationship between people and nature, or a critique of the military-pharmaceutical complex. But, like a lot about THE PORTABLE VEBLEN, knowing a little more about McKenzie’s sources will only deepen your enjoyment and understanding of a novel that’s far more complex than it first appears.

The book opens as Veblen Amundsen-Hovda becomes engaged to her boyfriend, Paul. Veblen is a peculiar young woman, happy to spend her days temping at the local hospital and her free time translating Norwegian writings (including those of her namesake). She lives in a ramshackle but charming bungalow in Palo Alto, untroubled (unlike Paul) by the squirrel that appears to have taken up residence in her attic. In fact, Veblen eventually reveals that she has had a lifelong affinity for squirrels, an imaginary kinship that seems to have come to fruition with her furry new upstairs neighbor. Paul is charmed by Veblen, but perhaps less so as their nuptials approach. He is troubled by her lack of ambition, for one thing, and by her willful eschewing of the trappings of material success (“conspicuous consumption,” anybody?).

As for Paul, he’s a successful neurologist, whose recent medical device invention --- the Pneumatic Turbo Skull Punch --- is on the verge of making it big by virtue of a potential Department of Defense contract. But both Veblen and Paul come with a lot of baggage, in the form of their families of origin, and both must decide if the opportunity to create their own new family is worth the trouble of accepting into some pretty wacky in-laws, who include nudists, pot growers and a hypochondriac.

If this story sounds bizarre, that’s because it is, and delightfully so. It’s even illustrated with occasional black-and-white photographs, as well as a whole series of very satisfying appendices. It’s also quite thoughtful, prompting questions and considerations about philosophical and political concerns as well as about the tradeoffs between marriage and independence, especially for women. THE PORTABLE VEBLEN is quirky, to be sure, but it’s also absolutely unlike anything else you’ll read this year --- and its surface whimsy is accompanied by genuine warmth and depth.