I'm not sure how this collection of Lucia Berlin short stories made it on to my list, but it made for fine bedtime reading. Berlin's craft is both accomplished and understated; she really knows how to pack a lot into an allusive short story without making it seem dense or difficult reading. Nevertheless, I found myself feeling only lukewarm towards these stories. Perhaps I've been spoiled by the "big ideas" of sci-fi, but these sober little realist vignettes apparently drawn mostly from Berlin's own life seem kinda ... dull. And a bit repetitive. Given her many geographics, husbands, and bottles of bourbon, Berlin seems to have been a pretty hard liver who never really changed so much as just got older. Despite the selection of stories spanning the whole sweep of her life, they all sound pretty similar not only in the tone of the writing but in the tone of the main autobiographical character. Who knows though? Maybe this is how we all are, trapped in brain freeze in our mid twenties, thawed only by the universal warmth of impending death.
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