Expert, professional weird tales and horror stories from late-career Bloch, mostly showing mastery of point of view and narration, and relying far too often on shock endings that you can mostly see coming. The introduction makes a number of interesting points, none of which, unfortunately, are borne out by the actual stories inside: that Bloch's Jewishness registered in his conversion from Lovecraft pastiches (but which, it must be said from the two earlier collections of his I've read, did not do much in the way of giving him scruples about deploying outrageously racist imagery, especially of African and Asian people and settings) to more real-world stories, with Nazism showing him that the true horror did not require any sort of supernatural entities.
First, I'm still looking to see if there's any strong Jewish weird tradition in this period; the dominant writers (besides HPL, Bradbury, Matheson, Beaumont, Jackson; later, King, Straub, Cook, Koontz) presented normative WASP protagonists, often in mid-American small-town settings. I suppose Singer counts, though literally nobody classifies him as a "weird-fiction" author despite the demons and ghosts all over his short stories and longer fiction; what is Enemies: A Love Story but a tale of haunting? There's a bit in a few of the EC stories, and maybe the point is that, more broadly, memoirs and Holocaust histories provided all the experience anyone Jewish needed of evil forces. (Rght? This is the dominant realist era--Roth and Bellow and my beloved Grace Paley, of course, and most of Malamud. I suppose Cynthia Ozick counts as more in the fantastic realm.) And nothing in any of these stories sounds the least bit even coded as Jewish, aside from some minor psychiatrist characters.
Second, pretty much every one of these stories has a supernatural twist to it, with the only one not featuring a standard horror element perhaps the world's only Mafia/SF crossover, though I guess we have to give pride of place to Star Trek doing "A Piece of the Action" in 1968. So I would love for the intro to describe the book we're actually reading, but alas, it does not. Taken one at a time, these are often delightful in, as I note above (a phrase I've just dropped some variant of into, I dunno, 30+ student progress reports, because I am great at writing) an expert-craftsman way: sharp lines, witty descriptions, crazy situations we just amble right into before we know what we're in for.
It's just that, reading all of them, you note the endless male anxiety about women at their core (how do I feel about the one where the postapocalypse guy, in a world where everything has been automated and optimized for environmental efficiency, pays for a defrosted hippie chick from 1972 and is sorely disappointed? is it parody or the thing itself? When I finished it, I felt the more charitable reading, but now I'm not sure) and the lack of deep emotional content. The point really is to set you up for the final line to whack you, which tends to make you suspicious of every story really early once you twig to the trick. These are professional, excellently professional, proficiently professional...but not really anything beyond. It's a book I probably would have liked a lot more, if not loved, if I'd read a story a week.