T.C. Boyle Stories

by T. Coraghessan Boyle

A collection of sixty-eight short stories written between 1972 and 1997 by the PEN/Faulkner Award-winning author of The Road to Wellville features three previously unpublished tales, including an American tourist's amorous adventures with a female boxer. Tour.

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, Literature, Collections, American, Literary Fiction, Contemporary

624 pages, Hardcover

First published December 1, 1993

About the author

T. Coraghessan Boyle (also known as T.C. Boyle, is a U.S. novelist and short story writer. Since the late 1970s, he has published eighteen novels and twleve collections of short stories. He won the PEN/Faulkner award in 1988 for his third novel, World's End, which recounts 300 years in upstate New York. He is married with three children. Boyle has been a
Professor of English at the University of Southern California since 1978, when he founded the school's undergraduate creative writing program.

He grew up in the small town on the Hudson Valley that he regularly fictionalizes as Peterskill (as in widely anthologized short story Greasy Lake). Boyle changed his middle name when he was 17 and exclusively used Coraghessan for much of his career, but now also goes by T.C. Boyle.

Reviews

[Glenn Russell]

Thank you, Penguin Books!

70 short stories collected here by literary hipster and natural born killer storyteller, USA born and bred T. Coraghessan Boyle. What blast-off verbal orgasms, what sublime hallucinogenic hits of imagination, what shadow theater and laser lights of Love, Death, And Everything in Between - the three categories under which the stories in the collection are grouped.

The question hovers: as a reviewer, how to do justice to these T. C. totally cockeyed boiling Boyle tales? A quick synopsis of a baker's dozen? NO! A more elaborate detailed account of three stories? Again, NO! NO! OK, I give up. What should I do? Wait a minute - let me channel Coraghessan for a clue.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Got it! Thanks for the tip, T.C!

I'll simply include one of these tales in its entirety - a piece of flash fiction that will take you no longer than five minutes to read. Nothing like allowing T. Coraghessan's unique voice to speak for itself.



Revel in the dark pulse of this T. C. Boyle bebop smacker where the author catches the cool dude vibe of death-dealing outsider rage sectioned off into slick mini chapters.

THE HIT MAN by T. Coraghessan Boyle

Early Years
The Hit Man's early years are complicated by the black bag that he wears over his head. Teachers correct his pronunciation, the coach criticizes his attitude, the principal dresses him down for branding preschoolers with a lit cigarette. He is a poor student. At lunch he sits alone, feeding bell peppers and salami into the dark slot of his mouth. In the hallways, wiry young athletes snatch at the black hood and slap the back of his head. When he is thirteen he is approached by the captain of the football team, who pins him down and attempts to remove the hood. The Hit Man wastes him. Five years, says the judge.

Back on the Street
The Hit Man is back on the street in two months.

First Date
The girl's name is Cynthia. The Hit Man pulls up in front of her apartment in his father's hearse. (The Hit Man's father, whom he loathes and abominates, is a mortician. At breakfast the Hit Man's father had slapped the cornflakes from his son's bowl. The son threatened to waste his father. He did not, restrained no doubt by considerations of filial loyalty and the deep-seated taboos against patricide that permeate the universal unconscious.)
Cynthia's father has silver sideburns and plays tennis. He responds to the Hit Man's knock, expresses surprise at the Hit Man's appearance. The Hit Man takes Cynthia by the elbow, presses a twenty into her father's palm, and disappears into the night.

Father's Death
At breakfast the Hit Man slaps the cornflakes from his father's bowl. Then wastes him.

Mother's Death
The Hit Man is in his early twenties. He shoots pool, lifts weights and drinks milk from the carton. His mother is in the hospital, dying of cancer or heart disease. The priest wears black. So does the Hit Man.

First Job
Porfirio Buñoz, a Cuban financier, invites the Hit Man to lunch. I hear you're looking for work,says Buñoz.
That's right, say the Hit Man.

Peas
The Hit Man does not like peas. They are too difficult to balance on his fork.

Talk Show
The Hit Man waits in the wings, the white slash of a cigarette scarring the midnight black of his head and upper torso. The makeup girl has done his mouth and eyes, brushed the nap of his hood. He has been briefed. The guest who precedes him is a pediatrician. A planetary glow washes the stage where the host and the pediatrician, separated by a potted palm, cross their legs and discuss the little disturbances of infants and toddlers.
After the station break the Hit Man finds himself squeezed into a director's chair, white lights in his eyes. The talk-show host is a baby-faced man in his early forties. He smiles like God and all His Angels. Well, he says. So you're a hit man? Tell me - I've always wanted to know - what does it feel like to hit someone?

Death of Mateo María Buñoz
The body of Mateo María Buñoz, the cousin and business associate of a prominent financier, is discovered down by the docks on a hot summer morning. Mist rises from the water like steam, there is the smell of fish. A large black bird perches on the dead man's forehead.

Marriage
Cynthia and the Hit Man stand at the altar, side by side. She is wearing a white satin gown and lace veil. The Hit Man has rented a tuxedo, extra-large, and a silk-lined black-velvet hood.
. . . Till death do you part, says the priest.

Moods
The Hit Man is moody, unpredictable. Once, in a luncheonette, the waitress brought him the meatloaf special but forgot to eliminate the peas. There was a pot of gravy on the Hit Man's hood, about where his chin should be. He looked up at the waitress, his eyes like pins behind the triangular slots, and wasted her.
Another time he went to the track with $25, came back with $1,800. He stopped at a cigar shop. As he stepped out of the shop a wino tugged at his sleeve and solicited a quarter. The Hit Man reached into his pocket, extracted the $1,800 and handed it to the wino. Then wasted him.

First Child
A boy. The Hit Man is delighted. He leans over the edge of the playpen and molds the tiny fingers around the grip of a nickel-plated derringer. The gun is loaded with blanks - the Hit Man wants the boy to get used to the noise. By the time he is four the boy has mastered the rudiments of Tae Kwon Do, can stick a knife in the wall from a distance of ten feet and shoot a moving target with either hand. The Hit Man rests his broad palm on the boy's head. You're going to make the Big Leagues, Tiger, he says.

Work
He flies to Cincinnati. To L.A. To Boston. To London. the stewardesses get to know him.

Half an Acre and a Garage
The Hit Man is raking leaves, amassing great brittle piles of them. He is wearing a black T-shirt, cut off at the shoulders, and a cotton work hood, also black. Cynthia is edging the flower bed, his son playing in the grass. The Hit Man waves to his neighbors as they drive by. The neighbors wave back.
When he has scoured the lawn to his satisfaction, the Hit Man draws the smaller leaf-hummocks together in a single mound the size of a pickup truck. Then he bends to ignite it with his lighter. Immediately, flames leap back from the leaves, cut channels through the pile, engulf it in a ball of fire. The Hit Man stands back, hands folded beneath the great meaty biceps. At his side is the three-headed dog. He bends to pat each of the heads, smoke and sparks raging against the sky.

Stalking the Streets of the City
He is stalking the streets of the city, collar up, brim down. It is late at night. He stalks past department stores,small businesses, parks, and gas stations. Past apartments, picket fences, picture windows. Dogs growl in the shadows, then slink away. He could hit any of us.

Retirement
A group of businessman-types - sixtyish, seventyish, portly, diamond rings, cigars, liver spots - throws him a party. Porfirio Buñoz, now in his eighties, makes a speech and presents the Hit Man with a gilded scythe. The Hit Man thanks him, then retires to the lake, where he can be seen in his, skating out over the blue, hood rippling in the breeze.

Death
He is stricken, shrunken, half his former self. He lies propped against the pillows at Mercy Hospital, a bank of gentians drooping round his bed. Tubes run into the hood at the nostril openings, his eyes are clouded and red, sunk deep behind the triangular slots. The priest wears black. So does the Hit Man.
On the other side of town the Hit Man's son is standing before the mirror of a shop that specializes in Hit Man attire. Trying on his first hood.

[Michael Shilling · Rating 5 out of 5]

Christ this guy is good. I think what I love most about Boyle is his ability to inspire hatred in MFA students/grads I know -- of which there are many -- who I am forced to conclude are afraid of risk in story and blood, sweat, and tears on the page. These stories either work perfectly and soar into the big fucking blue or go down in a blaze of glory, but either way they jump off the page and kick righteous narrative ass. He must be doing something right. No wait he's actually doing almost everything right.

[Christy · Rating 4 out of 5]

When approaching Boyle, start with stories. They're stronger than the novels, and the variety is wonderful.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

There are few writers as prolific, and as consistently good, as T. C. Boyle. And while he's a satirist at heart, his stories almost always point to something universal that we can all relate to. Whether it's a desire for fame, suburban guilt, sexual timidity, conspicuous consumption, pop culture, technology run amok, etc., his unrelentingly fertile imagination and storytelling prowess connects with us and never ceases to delight. No one writes quite like Boyle does, and while too much of a good thing (68 stories here) can indeed sometimes feel like too much because we're getting the same voice over and over again, he is unrivaled in his ability to spin truly fantastical yarns that demand attention. One of my favorite living writers.

[morgan · Rating 5 out of 5]

this fucker drops similes and metaphors where i have to close the book, close my eyes, and ask myself, "did he really just say that?" Sorry Fugu and The Human Fly are two of my favorite stories ever

[Lisa A · Rating 5 out of 5]

Best/funniest/most humorous short story writer on the planet. My friend Mark and I became obsessed with him last summer and read tons of T.C. Boyle stories aloud to each other all summer long. Excellent for silent reading too. :) My personal faves in this collection include: "56-0" and the first story of the collection (name which I can't recall), which is about a body condom. Hmph. Some reviewer I am!

[Wile · Rating 5 out of 5]

Quite simply the best collection of short fiction in one volume that I have ever read.

[Kirstie · Rating 4 out of 5]

This 700 page volume is quite extensive but it's major flaw is also in some ways it's best asset and that is just that Boyle is sort of all over the place. He ventures into the heads of people all over the US and beyond, traveling into the head of a Russian, and a Norseman in Ireland. He takes you to Spain and to Mexico. At the same time, though the variety is nice and makes for a more interesting read overall, one can't help wondering why Boyle didn't stick with what he knew best.

In any case, some of these stories are quite well written and definitively worthwhile reading whereas others are a mere shrug. Boyle can be quite poetic and even prophetic but then at other times, he's just making observations about everyday life and seemingly normal or average characters. He touches on activism, finding species and studying them like the blue whale and frogs as well as vegetarianism but he's even realistic about these stories and characters too right down to their fatal flaws. A man can become positively turned inside out by a Women's Restaurant. A woman in California can't live without her previous babies, which are really squirrels she's taken in. A man struggling to make ends meet makes a deal with The Devil. A rain that is really blood, an arctic mission, and a hoarder who hires someone to clean up his house and put his wife into a special rehab. These are not often profound but the metaphors and imagery can still be quite striking.



Favorite quotes:

Pg. 139 "The sun here is mellow as an orange. One day, it will flare up and turn the solar system to cinders. Then it will fall into itself, suck in the ribbons of flame like a pale ember. gather its last breath and explode, driving particles eternally through the universe, cosmic wind."


pg. 172 "Outside, it was snowing. Big, warm, healing flakes. It was the kind of snow my father used to hold his hands out to, murmuring God must be up there plucking chickens."


pg. 264 "A single second, big as a zeppelin, floated by."

pg. 385 "The mime makes his George-Washington-crossing-the-Deleware face."

pg. 529 "The bird (raven) mounted high, winging to the southeast until it became a black rune carved into the horizon. We followed it into a night of full moon, the stars like milk splatter in the cauldron of the sky."

pg. 530 "We were shadows, fears, fragments of a bad dream."

pg. 602 "They (birds) come like apocalypse, like all ten plagues rolled in one, beating across the sky with an insidious drone, their voices harsh and metallic, cursing the land. Ten million strong, a flock that blots out the huge pale sinking sun, they descend into the trees with a protracted explosion of wings, black underfeathers swirling down like a corrupt snow."

pg. 605 "Outside, in the trees, the doomed birds whisper among themselves, and the sound is like thunder in her ears."

pg. 623 "But indomitable, he presses on, a navy fight tune frozen in his cerebrum. Ard! he bellows (he had meant to yell "On your Bastards!" but the wind had driven the words back at him, right down his throat and into his shocked lungs). Son his fingers will become brittle, and the fluid in his eyes will turn to slush"

pg. 685 "Things are what we're disburdening you of, Mr. Laxner. Things are crushing you, stealing your space, pulluting your soul."

pg. 691 "Julian doesn't know how long he standes there, in the middle of that barren room in the silence of that big empty house, holding Marsha, holding hss wife, but when he shuts his eyes he sees only the sterile deeps of space, the remotest regions beyond even the reach of light. And he knows this: it is cold out there, inhospitable, alien. There's nothing there, nothing contained in nothing. Nothing at all.

[MB · Rating 5 out of 5]

An excellent and exhaustive collection- I broke this up into thirds, reading other books in between the main sections: Love/Death/Everything Else. Boyle is an excellent writer of short fiction- although he sometimes ventures into George Saunders territory of oddness, he tends to fall on the more conventional side. I genuinely enjoyed every story in this book , which is saying a lot (given the sheer number of stories).

[Donald · Rating 5 out of 5]

This one comes in at nearly 700 pages. That's a lot of short stories. Boyle tosses out similes and metaphors with a flair unparalleled, juicing up his descriptions and his general story telling with cinematic zeal.
It amazes me, sometimes, that the whole feel of a good story can be whittled down so fine that it takes up so little space for the telling while keeping its subtlest essence.

[Zack Bean · Rating 4 out of 5]

Maybe this should get 5 stars -- it's really several collections compiled together in a cheap edition. A great addition to the bookshelves of any Boyle fan.

[Urspeter · Rating 3 out of 5]

Some of the stories are really special and full of humor and allways ironic.Very often overloaded with unecessary information and words.The stories are from an other time but can still stick today.

[Steve Petkus · Rating 4 out of 5]

T.C. Boyle amazes because he is not only a prolific short story writer--one of astounding range and fearlessness--but ALSO a prolific novelist. Pick just one of those genres and he has enough works to match the output of most other authors; then you realize he has that in TWO genres, and you just kind of fall silent for a bit. This nearly 700-page volume (1998) contains the first four short story collections plus some new stories. I have to say, it contains enough truly excellent stories to make the equivalent of multiple 5-star volumes on this site. Boyle's palate is that broad, and there is no topic, it seems, whether interpersonal or historical, traditionally or experimentally styled, that he seems to shy from. I want to emphasize that: Boyle's a writer of just enormous range, and though I have known that since reading my first full Boyle story collection (2010's stellar Wild Child), it was excellent to find that range in his earliest short fiction as well.

Boyle recently released Stories II (2013), which contains his three most recent short story collections followed by a fourth volume of new ones; they are organized chronologically and so present the books in order, as they were published, with the newest material closing out the book. The release of Stories II was in fact what prompted me to get hold of Stories and read it. However, the structure of Stories was a bit of a surprise: it is not organized chronologically at all but is in three sections, "Love," "Death," and "And Everything in Between." Within those sections, Boyle and his editors have mixed the stories chronologically, so that you might be reading a story from 1993 followed by one from 1972, then 1984, and so on. Though I appreciate in theory the idea behind structuring the book this way, it disappointed in some big ways.

For one, as I got into the "Death" section, I felt denied the pleasure of surprise: when you know up front that the story's theme is "death," you pretty much know where it's headed. It was a kind of spoiler: I knew that at least one of these characters I was meeting was going to bite it, and that ruined something for me, deflated the suspense. Whereas, when a death-themed story appears in its natural environment--within the arrangement of a single volume of stories, for example--then the death has its full impact and retains the elements of surprise and suspense.

For another, the book's structure sometimes resulted in an uneven read. Boyle's style changed a lot in 25 years, and the earliest stories become easy to spot. Sometimes, they just seem underdone; there is at times a straining for irony, a cheekiness, an obvious trick or two. I don't want to make too much of that criticism, though, but just to note it here and move on. In fact, that complaint pertains to a minority of the early stories.

For yet another, I admit that my love of short stories has something to do with a book's structure. Much like a book of poems, the order of the stories is something I like to believe has meaning. I suppose authors of short fiction might vary in how seriously they take that aspect, but I want to believe it matters significantly in all cases. So, I would have liked to experience Boyle's earliest stories in that way too. Yes, I know I can buy the books--I'm actually not sure if any of them are still in print--and I should not have assumed that Stories would be organized in book order the way Stories II is.

For a final and admittedly least important point, the book's structure seems to do all it can to de-emphasize the newest stories, those that appeared for the first time in book form in Stories. These are simply mixed in with the rest, and though there are dates at the end of all the stories, and by that, you could infer, "OK, the one I just finished reading was one of the new ones, I got it," that's unsatisfying. I would have liked some more up-front way of indicating these newest ones.

[Bill · Rating 4 out of 5]

With his dry wit and vivid imagination, T.C. Boyle is among my favorite short story writers. But be forewarned. Boyle’s work is not for everyone as it’s filled with dark humor and scathing irreverence. A good example is the shocking story “Drowning” which Boyle himself referred to as “offensive on many levels.” Boyle once described a workshop led by John Cheever where Cheever defended “Drowning” against “an onslaught of classmate rancor.” So if you decide to take this ride, strap yourself in tight.

Boyle has been writing and publishing stories for 40 years so there is a lot of material here. This 70 story volume is divided into three broad categories: Love, Death, and Everything In-Between. It covers everything prior to its publication in 1999. And while I'll admit to a preference for his more recent fiction (Tooth and Claw from 2005 for example) there is some real gold here.

Some of my favorites:

“The 100 faces of death volume IV.” A haunting story showing the lasting impact of graphic violence when the death of a close friend reminds the narrator of having viewed this film together when they were both coming of age.

“The Human Fly.” An aging daredevil performs increasingly dangerous stunts in a desperate grasp for fame and glory.

“Greasy Lake.” Inspired by the Bruce Springsteen song “Spirit in the Night” it follows innocent adolescents rebelling against Suburbia and trying to act tough before ultimately getting in way over their heads.

"Top of The Food Chain." The science and technology of pest control are locked in an unwinnable arms race against Nature.

At over 700 pages, there's plenty of material here to keep you entertained. Keep your eyes on the road and enjoy Boyle's wild ride.

[Aaron · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reprinting Boyle's first four volumes of short stories into one big book (as well as seven additonal stories, two of which had never been printed before), this collection runs the gamut from hilarious to heartbreakingly real. This collection not only proves that T. C. Boyle is a master novelist but a modern master of the short story as well.

My only problem with this book has othing to do with Boyle's abilities or the content of the stories therein. It's a sequencing issue. The book is divided into three sections (titled "Love", "Death", and "Everything Else") and the stories are divided as closely into those categories as they can possibly be. The end result of this maneuver is that sitting down and reading a few stories chronologically can lead one who doesn't know any better to believe that Boyle is a one-trick pony, only writing about a select handful of topics. This is decidely not the case. The book itself would have served to disprove this misnomer better if it had in fact simply reprinted the previous volumes. New readers to Boyle will probably enjoy this collection more if they "pick and choose" stories and read them out of order.

With that said, Boyle is without question one of our greatest contemporary writers and this volume proves it faster than his novels would.

[C · Rating 5 out of 5]

Desert island book alert! This might be the book I have the most heart invested in.
I've officially read all of the stories in this collection at least once. Sigh. I loved every word. The only complaint I would have on just a few of these stories would be that they aren't long enough. I'm just amazed how fully detailed that Mr. Boyle can make the world of each story. And some of those stories I'd just like even more details. But as a reader, you can just dive into a full world and it's all there in ten or so pages. Even one of his earlier stories here, 'The Arctic Explorer' is full of so much. I loved picking up this collection especially when I was having trouble picking between the hundreds of other books I wanted to read at that moment. These stories never disappoint. I think T.C. Boyle might be my favorite living writer at the moment. Definitely top five. His writing always inspires me to read more and more.
For some reason, these stories were included in this massive collection but missing from the four smaller collections included in the book. I'm not sure why they weren't in other collections, because most of these are some of my favorites: Little Fur People, Mexico, I Dated Jane Austen, Rapture of the Deep, Juliana Cloth, The Arctic Explorer

[Mark Wenz · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book containing 68 short stories written by Boyle by 1992 are divided into three sections: “Love,” “Death,” “And Everything in Between.” Boyle is a gifted and wildly imaginative artist who writes in a variety of styles, genres, settings, and points of view. Most of his stories chronicle the wild side of life or, if you will, life on the fringes, but other than that the stories differ markedly. I enjoyed the majority of stories immensely, but there were a few that were a bit over-the-top. All in all this was a great read, and I flew through the stories quickly (in less than three weeks), averaging over three stories per day despite having a busy life!

[Dennis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Astonishing. The breadth of topics and themes is something to experience. How Boyle has acquired such widespread knowledge is beyond me. His prose is exquisite. There’s hardly a dull line or phrase within these 692 pages! And his vocabulary rivals the best including marvelous stylists such as John Banville. He had me turning to the dictionary repeatedly; callipygian anyone? This huge volume was a delightful challenge, completely rewarding and making me feeling as if I wanted to begin again at page one.

[Pachyderm Bookworm · Rating 5 out of 5]

The most ridiculous and absurdly funny book of short fiction I've read in over thirty years.
I almost wish I'd read this book in junior high (it's called "middle school" now.) if not high school itself.

Favorite stories from Volume 1:

"Modern Love" - gives new credence to phrases like "infectious laughter," "symbiotic relationship,"
or "It's catchy." (published 1987)

[Jessica · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wish I had dated Jane Austen.

[Bob Peru · Rating 5 out of 5]

masterful.

[Katja · Rating 5 out of 5]

My absolute favorite!

[Diane Rosenberger · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not a feel good book. I read Sinking House, Carnal Knowledge, skimmed King Bee.

Could give you nightmares.

[Shaundra · Rating 5 out of 5]

Genius!

“Deny a Frenchman his bread and he is angry, deny him his foie gras and his truffles and he is savage, but deny him his wine and he is nothing short of homicidal.”

Thanks T!!!!

[Danilo DiPietro · Rating 5 out of 5]

Proxy for ‘Princess’ - New Yorker short story.

[Arabella · Rating 3 out of 5]

Sinking House was my favorite

[Frederic · Rating 2 out of 5]

I came to this book in a roundabout way. I was reading a book on writing satire by "The Onion" founding editor, Scott Dikkers. It was not much help for standup comedy writing, but Dikkers strongly recommended a satirical, humourous short story collection called "Ant Farm" by wunderkind Simon Rich, which I really enjoyed.

I read "Ant Farm" in about an hour, laughed hard and researched Rich, who said he loved the stories of T.C. Boyle.

I chose this work because it's a collection of unrelated stories written at different times, so I thought it would represent a good cross section of Boyle's oeuvre. The writing is excellent, which should have been enough to sustain me, but I didn't finish the book. My explanation is related to pop-star singers Céline Dion and Whitney Houston.

Both Dion and Houston have great voices, but I don't buy their music because I intensely dislike their choice of material: pop schlock ballads. I can't stand them.

For me, these T.C. Boyle stories were like that. He's incredibly imaginative, doing riffs on everything from Lassie to Jane Goodall, for example. His command of the language is strong. He can be funny and poignant. I just didn't like most of the stories.

There were some I enjoyed, like one about a guy whose wife has left him, meeting the young spouse of an Elvis impersonator. There's another about a chef, trying to win over an infamously tough restaurant critic. That was great.

My local library provided the book electronically. It seemed dauntingly long and I felt I wouldn't finish by the due date, which was no reason to panic. I kept reading a few paragraphs of a story and then skipping to the next one, hoping to like it better. I did that enough to realize that I didn't like enough of them, enough to continue. Two stars instead of one, because the writing is good. I reserve one star for some truly terrible books I have read about standup and investing, where both the content and the writing were awful. This was much better than those.

Lest I be accused of having a short attention span, it's not that. I read Tolstoy's "War and Peace" and Knausgaard's "My Struggle" and loved both.

Nor am I allergic to short stories. I read "Dubliners" by Joyce and "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" by Didion, which were fantastic. I didn't love every story in those books, but liked so few of these that I gave up, despite Boyle's good writing.

On Goodreads, I feel as if I need to apologize for not finishing a book, but there it is. Your mileage may vary, as they say.

[Caspero444 · Rating 2 out of 5]

It seems like each story is pitching you overly hard on a hot take or eccentric premise at the expense of actually engaging the reader. The first sentence is almost always a hook. Perhaps the 1990s are partially to blame. Compare to Dorothy Parker just as one example. Her work seems more organic even though tied to a specific time and place

[Thomas Griesedieck · Rating 4 out of 5]

T.C. Boyle may be my favorite living short-story author. This is a superb collection of his earlier writing focused on love, death, and everything else. "Greasy Lake" is one of my favorite stories of all-time, but there were only a handful of the seventy that I didn't love.

[Alyson Harju Hilken · Rating 3 out of 5]

Good up until the very end where the main character is so passive that you want to hit her. What a waste of time. For once I can say that the movie was better than the book