“There should always be some small surprise,” the narrator of Ann Patchett’s “Whistler” tells us. She’s talking about enlivening trips to a cancer clinic, but she could easily mean Patchett’s wise, deeply funny novels.

Daphne is a Manhattan teacher who, in the novel’s first scene, runs into Eddie, the former stepfather she hasn’t seen in 44 years (Patchett’s novels usually start with a bang). They were inseparable, united by a near-tragic auto accident, and they become close again — which is why Daphne takes Eddie to his chemo appointments, bringing a surprise bag of cherries to distract and delight him.

The characters in “Whistler” often surprise each other and us: Although Daphne always loved Eddie, she was 9 when he and her mother divorced, so there’s plenty she never knew about him — including what happened in his marriage to her mother. Her husband, Jonathan, finds unexpected treasures while clearing out his late mother’s house. Daphne is close to younger sister Leda but, somehow, has never told her the details of the accident.

Things people don’t say to each other loom large in “Whistler,” as they do in Elizabeth Strout’s latest. Daphne’s mom begs her to keep quiet about the accident details, for instance. But Patchett is going for something more complicated than “If we talk about things, it helps.”

There are times when it might be a good idea for these characters to open up to each other, sure. But, during the accident, Eddie and Daphne survive, in part, because they refuse to talk about the possibility of death. And, when Jonathan pretends to know about an illness Eddie has not disclosed, Daphne wonders why whenever people discuss death, they sugarcoat it.

Death, and how we talk about it (or don’t) is a preoccupation of “Whistler.” A story Eddie tells Daphne gives the novel its title and cover, which is somewhat confusing — there’s a painting of a horse named Whistler on it, but this is not a novel about a horse or even about anyone who cares about horses. Daphne loses both a father and a stepfather (like Patchett, whose essay “My Three Fathers” is about her father and two stepfathers), while Jonathan loses his mother. The subject of dying is ever-present.

So is storytelling. Not only is Patchett a storyteller but so are her characters, who sometimes tell stories within stories. Juggling multiple narratives, a skill Patchett demonstrated in “Tom Lake,” allows her to explore the varied follies of all of her characters. What, for instance, does it mean that Daphne doesn’t tell her husband about her meetings with Eddie, almost as if she’s embarking on an affair rather than reconnecting with the man she calls her dad?

Virtually all of the characters are smart, kind and, it must be said, annoyingly well-off. They tell each other stories to entertain or illuminate and, occasionally, they withhold facts for the same reasons. I was particularly drawn to the way they build on each other’s remarks, quietly riffing in the way real people make each other laugh.

The first time Leda, her husband, Steve, and son Henry connect with Eddie, Henry says the situation is ridiculous.

“You think it’s ridiculous because you’ve never known the fleeting pleasure of having a decent stepfather,” Leda said to her son.

“There are a lot of cultural experiences you miss out on when your parents stay married,” Steve said.

Patchett’s characters feel like people we know who behave in ways we recognize as they try to solve problems that ring true. They care for each other and, if you’re a Patchett fan, this will come as no surprise: You’ll care about them, too.

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Whistler

By: Ann Patchett.

Publisher: Harper, 305 pages.

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