Whenever I need a break from the news, with its parade of cruelties, I like to visit a quirky place called Limestone, a city tucked away among the forested hills of southern Indiana. It’s a place where odd things happen, often in the vicinity of a jack-of-all-trades named Gordon Mills. Centaurs and nymphs take shelter in a local cave, alligators lurk in the sewers, warm snow falls on the Fourth of July, cornstalks rise higher than chimneys, crows lay claim to the courthouse square, and the Northern Lights shine down on the municipal dump.

Gordon takes such events in stride, and deals with them as part of his work on the city maintenance crew, earning just enough to support a boisterous family. He lives with his wife, a formidable woman named Mabel, along with their four children, Mabel’s parents, and his widowed mother—nine souls packed into an old house that falls apart as fast as Gordon can fix it. You will not find their hometown on a map, but you may remember visiting the place in dreams—the rare, joyful kind, in which puzzles are solved, kids flourish, hard work pays off, and love endures.

You may also visit this offbeat place by reading Small Marvels (Indiana University Press, June 2022), a novel-in-stories I wrote to express my belief that we humans, despite our flaws, are far better than the showoffs, hatemongers, and crooks who so often grab the headlines. We are more likely to be kind than cruel, more prone to be peaceful than violent, more inclined to tell the truth than to lie.

So if the world seems blighted to you, and hope seems foolish, you might refresh your faith in humankind by taking a break from the news and paying a visit to Limestone, Indiana.