The collection opens with “And Her Name Was Ralph,” a story about a person whose name and life subvert gender roles: By the age of 10, the titular protagonist is helping her farming family by operating plows and harvest machines. At 18, she meets a city boy named Alford—known as Six—and during their first conversation over a motorcycle, she decides she will marry him. At 20, during World War I, she feels rage at a recruitment sign that reads, “BE A MAN AND DO IT. UNITED STATES NAVY RECRUITING STATION.” She wants to enlist and becomes a worker at a munitions factory. Soon after Ralph and Six return home from their wartime activities, they wed. The one thing she can’t seem to subvert is her inability to conceive. One day, to Six’s shock, she comes home with a baby from the Salvation Army’s home for unwed mothers, bringing the child, Faye, into their lives without discussion. Years later, during World War II, Six prepares to enlist, with Ralph’s support, only to discover a painful sore beneath his tongue. He has cancer; three months later, he’s dead. The story continues to explore Ralph’s life beyond grief, but rather than leading to a sharp twist or discovery, the work chronicles Ralph’s acceptance of a life well lived. Eventually, she lies down, “satisfied with her thoughts,” and passes away in her sleep. That same straightforward clarity shapes the collection’s darker looks at humanity. “The Hero” opens with the line, “I killed someone then lied about it to everyone.” The unnamed narrator, an investigator, hunts a 19-year-old criminal, Darrell “Skatch” Mangrum, who’s participated in a wave of robberies of Virginia tourist shops. After a confrontation, the narrator mistakes a hairbrush for a gun and shoots Darrell. The guilt costs him his career—he drinks himself out of a job—and his marriage. He attempts to take his life after his ex-wife calls to say she’s getting remarried, and he survives a hospital stay. A later twist reframes the killing within larger events, and while the story nods toward redemption and acceptance at the end, the narrator pays a karmic cost.
In other stories, a divorced father reconnects with a woman from his study abroad years in Italy, and a workaholic doctor is consumed by a mysterious, years-long chemistry project hidden in his basement lab. The subjects have no connection aside from the universal truth that the characters are all bound by life itself. This universality creates depth, but it’s the crunchy prose that creates the satisfying tension (“I prefer the company of dogs over humans. I’m not saying dogs are perfect, but let’s face it, we humans have a long way to go”). The various narrators throughout the collection personalize each story with varieties of dry wittiness: “She reasoned her version of the truth was like taffy—it could be stretched and pulled in either direction, but it was still taffy in the end.” That logic characterizes the collection as a whole; it’s elastic, engaging, and honestly reckons with humanity’s flaws, distortions, and charm.