There's enough weird originality here to warrant four stars, but I am in two minds. I cannot say I was always rivetted to the page or invested in the paper thin characters. I constantly got the feeling something was missing, a real nastiness or convincing cohesion. There is an airiness to the ideas involved that doesn't seem to be thought through completely. The imagination is clear, the intelligence admirable, but a bit more rigour would benefit everything. In addition, St. Clair's own strange 'puritanism' sometimes pokes through in an unsettling way (see 'An Egg a Month from All Over'). It makes for a varied read.
Having said that a story like 'Prott' has an almost Beckettian quality, while 'Brenda' is a real gem (although similar to St. Clair's similarly effective, 'Personal Monster', that doesn't appear here). 'Horrer Howce', while containing echoes of Lovecraft and Sturgeon, is ultimately sui generis; I don't know what to make of it, though the Voom are bizarrely effective. And 'Wryneck, Draw Me'! If that doesn't anticipate this new world of backward looking AI, I don't know what does.
St. Clair was a fine, interesting writer, a strange bridge between Shirley Jackson and Philip K. Dick. In my view she is more literate than many of her male contemporaries, such as Bloch or Leiber, and more adventurous. Obviously she deserves far more attention than she gets, but I don't think it is purely a patriarchal rewriting of history that has led to her neglect. Her stories often seem so light that it is easy to dismiss them as pulp for pulp's sake. However, this is to overlook the wit and originality that underlies them. She also wrote very well and incorporated her extensive learning unobtrusively. On balance, her strengths are clearer now than they probably were in her own time. I think a modern reader would find here much to surprise them.