I'm not sure I'll have time to write a proper review for this.
I'm still finding the navigation on Goodreads a little idiosyncratic, and don't know whether, by writing this review, I am also wiping out the running commentary I was making on this book or not. If not, then that commentary will have to stand for the main body of the review.
I wasn't sure how to rate this - again, I hate star or number ratings, and the only reason I pander to them is because I don't want to give the impression I refuse to give stars because I dislike a book - largely because there seems to be a marked difference in quality between the first story and the second story here, and there are only two stories. I suppose I would give three stars to the first story, and four to the second. But two for the first story might be more accurate... It's hard to say.
Ligotti writes stories that evoke (this is just one way to describe them) a particular kind of psychedelic experience - the feeling of a creeping, sinister emptiness - and he does this exceedingly well. There's a psychedelic experience of everything being colourful, alive and eternally present, and there is one of everything being warped, stained, soggy, and eternally in decline. And the latter is the kind, of course, that we're talking about. Ligotti uses the word "crummy" as shorthand for this general sense of the world: he describes a crummy universe. A bargain bucket universe, you might say. (There was a YouTube channel called Everything Is Terrible, or something like that, which I used to watch, which, if it were more overtly macabre, might be a good reference point for such a universe. I can't find that channel now, so maybe I am misremembering the title, or maybe it was all a dream, etc.)
The second story in this volume, 'The Small People', is a particularly brilliant iteration of this general mode of expression, turning the whole uncanny valley effect, as it were, up to eleven.
There are one or two philosophical touches that I would consider dubious, but these are not as blatant as in the previous story, perhaps simply because they are more well-integrated. Therefore, I won't examine these here, as I've already made comments on the philosophy of 'Metaphysica Morum' (if those comments are extant).
Early on in reading this book, attempting in my own mind to describe the feeling Ligotti evokes, I hit upon the formula that in the Ligottian world it is as if what should have been avoidable has turned out to be inevitably unavoidable. I thought this was perhaps too vague and inexact a formula, but was then intrigued to find the line, near the end of 'The Small People', "And it didn't have to be that way." Contrast is needed - so some reference to a way things should or might have been - this is one of the laws of uncanny valley.
The ending of this second tale is very finely done. The protagonist is really - it seems to me - desperately in search of reason (he invokes "the real" near the end in the way that some might invoke God). It is - I think - the contrast implicit in the uncanny that makes him see a gleam of reason to reach for. The tale ends with a sense of that reason dissolving in his grasp, as, at best, he cannot get beyond relative truth or reason.