4.5/5

Holy f*ck. This book should come with a trigger warning. Each and every one of these stories made me hold my breath and squirm uncomfortably. You know that feeling when you're walking down a dark street and you have that *sense* that something is off? You're not sure if someone is behind you or if your imagination is playing tricks but with each step the dread feels thicker and and more imminent. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, your hands instinctively curl into fists, you set your jaw still unsure of what you're meant to be frightened of.

Each of these stories gave me that feeling of nebulous disquietude. They are fractured snapshots of damaged people's lives.They inhabit the dark places within humanity, they frolic in the shadows of our minds and make us look where we'd rather not. Whether written from the perspective of the predator or the prey, the building expectancy was unrelenting.

This should be 4.5. The only reason I've not given it 5 is because I don't think I could bring myself to read it ever again. ( )

Joyce Carol Oates is never bad, but when an author is as prolific as she is, they can't all be gems. I look forward to her gothic work with real relish, so I might have set my expectations a little high for this one. Unfortunately, it doesn't compare to her excellent Collector of Hearts or Haunted. These stories are more like novellas, and while they are dramatic and interesting in their own right, I would call them mostly drama of one kind or another--not mystery and suspense. It simply didn't hold my interest--possibly because these stories weren't what I was looking for or expecting. ( )

I've been trying to figure out the best way to break into Joyce Carol Oates – that is, what would be the best novel, what would be the best writing, what would be the best experience to determine if I would enjoy what she has to offer. When I came across this collection of stories, I figured it represented as good an approach as any.

And so after reading, I can strongly say that I am, well, I am still searching. That is, the collection was good. All well written with some images that have stuck with me. For Example, the story "Strip Poker" was uncomfortable and one I didn't necessarily enjoy, but the images and the power of the story still sit with me. Similarly, the story "Smother" – more enjoyable – and concepts and images that still, vaguely, haunt. (I have given no synopses to these stories. By the nature of the collection ["tales of mystery and suspense], these are stories that a synopsis will either spoil or do absolutely no justice.)

On the one hand, these were stories that were interesting enough for me to want to explore more of Oates' work. But not blindingly impacting me to the point where I am begging more.

But that all comes off much more downbeat than this collection deserves. It is good. As I've indicated there are images and concepts and writing that, when I look through the collection, come back to me with fullness. It is a collection worth reading. I just wonder if I expected more (such a long search to try and determine what to read) and that build up led to this minor let down.

And, to be honest, I feel I am going to have to come back to this collection again – reread because I think there is much more here than I have given credit for. ( )

(One of a number of books I found for dirt cheap in the Borders meltdown. Depressingly, there were a number of copies still available. But it was heartening to see large quantities of books by Bill O'Reilly, Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin massively discounted and unsold.)

For several reasons, I enjoyed this book less as I worked my way through it. For one thing, I started it while on vacation by the lake and finished it on a crowded El train. But I also read Andrea Thompson’s “meh” review and, while I don’t think of myself as being easily swayed by reading reviews, who knows--maybe I am. My favorite stories are the opening titular one (in the form of a nasty, vaguely threatening, angry letter) and the fourth one, “Strip Poker.” (I walked my wife briefly through the plot of “Strip Poker” and told her it had really inspired me. “You mean as a writer?” she said. “No,” I said, “as a father who’s going to beat the ass of anyone who messes with my little girl.”) But there is a sameness to some of the others: the internal workings of a killer’s mind, repeated phrases, italics, confusion. And though Thompson was wrong about the two stories I mentioned, this bit from her review did stick out to me, “[T]here’s little doubt that Oates is a well-practiced storyteller. Too well practiced, perhaps: the impact…tends to be more mechanical than visceral.” Though often extremely hard to read, I did start to wonder how many of these stories were “necessary.” ( )

A strange and dark set of stories. Some better than others, all somewhat ambiguous. ( )