It’s almost like a book on philosophy disguised as a speculative story collection.

If you wanted this to be bloody, consider yourself sated.

If you’re wondering like me why it seems there are road blocks to progress everywhere but it’s unclear where they are or where to start, read this.

The simple review is that technically, it worked.

Here’s my attempt at reviewing what nearly became the unreviewable.

David Sedaris tells you about days in his life as if they were always meant to connect in some deeply humorous way.

Everyone should be reading short fiction. It’s good and good for you. Case closed.

I was there in the humid Mississippi of the eighties, a place as backward and scary as I imagined it would be.

A head-swimmy dive into a dream.

Here I am, reading another book about the meaning of life.

I’ll say it: narratives can be over-rated.

In lesser hands it would’ve been a drag, possibly unreadable.

A welcome addition to the time travel catalogue of love (and insanely attractive book covers).

Math has a funny of generally being right, and in this case, comforting.

This book came out of nowhere for me from an author I’d never heard of, but I’m paying attention now.

Mayle sold us all a downright cozy dream.

“God, how we get our fingers in each other’s clay.”

Grief is a go-to emotion for a reason.

There’s something about reading “the best” of something that just feels exciting and as I dabble in my own writing, influential.