A late-midcareer retrospective, 30 stories spanning 35 years of work by a talented and celebrated writer.
New-and-selecteds tend to be miscellanies, and that can seem the case here: The stories vary widely by genre, tone, and length (and to some extent by quality). But “miscellany” implies a catch-as-catch-can looseness that’s absent. These stories show off a versatility that rarely feels like randomness, because no matter where they go, they’re tethered to Lethem’s familiar nexus of themes (failure of connection, rivalry, the threats and depredations of technology, for a few examples) and techniques (mashup, flights of surrealism, talking animals, metafiction, humor, wordplay). As always, Lethem is broadly curious, genre-promiscuous, and genuinely unpredictable; he ranges, so his stories do, too. Highlights include “The Dystopianist, Thinking of His Rival, Is Interrupted by a Knock at the Door,” in which the title character conceives of a new peril, the Sylvia Plath Sheep, a despair-haunted creature that appears to be dangerous only to itself but is contagious, gradually “unwrapping its bleak gift of global animal suicide”…and then he answers the door to find his ovine creation at the threshold; “Sleepy People,” in which we start with a narcoleptic spy affiliated with a bar (named “Quick’s Little Alaska” after its hyperactive AC) and proceed bewilderingly to a war involving marauding bands of talking dinosaurs…all within the frame of a what feels like a psychological portrait of post-marriage loneliness; and “Access Fantasy,” which starts with the Julio Cortazar premise of a permanent traffic jam and then keeps doubling down. The spectacular “Pending Vegan” tells the story of a father, trying to kick antidepressants, who’s negotiating the moral and physical terrors of parenthood as exemplified by a trip with his wife and his fearful young daughters to SeaWorld: flamingos, overpriced food, shark tanks, gift shops, hypocrisy, orcas, dispiritedness.
Inventive, unpredictable fun.