It’s pretty rare that a collection of short stories does anything for me beyond making me feel like I’m watching someone exercise. Rob Walsh, though, comes out of nowhere with Troublers, taking one insane premise after another and exploring them with sentences that catch you off guard at every turn. There’s a story where a guy builds a playpen for his baby daughters and leaves them in the playpen for 40 years, until he dies. There’s a woman who spends years digging a hole in her backyard for no specific reason. There’s a baby who keeps waking its parents up in the middle of the night, touching their bodies strangely. Among the book’s many tricks and traps and desperate people, it is the constantly stunning logic of Walsh's sentences that hold the ship together, at once both aurally resonant and bizarre, like, “By glancing between my own bites, I supervised my wife’s eating.” Overall, a good weapon kit of strange air for people who like Gordon Lish mashed against Matthew Derby and George Saunders after being locked in a closet for five years