When you look at the cover of this book, you know that there will be darkness inside. The colors are like a gorgeous sunset, and the statue has its head thrown back gazing at the sky, but the clutching hands and crumbling stone foretell a battle ahead. The first story in this collection contains, to me, some of the greatest domestic anguish imaginable. Rebecca’s bravery in starting with such an intense piece is a kind of sink or swim moment for the reader; you have to give in, let yourself be carried by the waves, and trust that she is leading you somewhere worthy. This whole collection is like an experiment in empathy. One of my favorite writers, AM Homes, is gifted at this, like Rebecca. They both have the ability to translate the interior experience of people who others would reduce to stereotypes of violence and immorality, allowing the reader to instead see them as human. That, to me, is one of Rebecca’s true gifts. The way she inhabits and presents these characters’ minds and lives so that the reader understands their logic, their transgressions, their need for connection and love, and how so often humans fail at expressing and fulfilling those needs in healthy ways. I think it would be easy to say that each of these stories has a seedy underbelly, but what’s most surprising about them is that it doesn’t stop there—beyond the seedy underbelly is a kind of hope, a striving, a sense of shared humanity. Ultimately, that is what this story collection is about, what we humans do for the sake of or in the absence of meaningful human connection.