The KGB Bar Reader

At first glimpse, the only thing that the authors represented in The KGB Bar Reader share is that they have all appeared at this East Village bastion of cooler-than-cool since its reading series began in late 1994. Below the surface, however, lurks a common theme, or so posits its organizer, Ken Foster: "There may be just one universal story: Someone loses something." And in this 28-piece collection, memory, innocence, love, and life all prove themselves slippery entities. Occasionally something equally valuable is found in the wake of such loss, and sometimes not--which is pretty much par for the course in this pu-pu platter of entries.

On the visceral side, Elissa Schappell, A.M. Homes, and Diane Lefer make unapologetic stabs for a gut reaction with their contributions on abortion, incest, and self-mutilation. Of course, if you're not in the mood for societal horror, then settle back with Kathryn Harrison's nine-page lesson in tick bursting. Yes, you read correctly: tick bursting. A few authors do weigh in with more nuanced gems. Rick Moody's "Demonology" is a haunting meditation on photography as an alternative to memory's imperfect hold on the past. And Meghan Daum's "Variations on Grief," the tale of a woman's maddeningly calm reaction to a close friend's death, is a compelling emotional shell game.

The KGB Bar Reader ends with an interesting compromise between these two tactics. Luc Sante's "His Confession"--a close cousin to Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried--is a catalog of ways to die in contemporary society. The only thing more horrifying (and yet stunning) than the subject matter is the pokerfaced manner in which the tale is presented.

In the end, the primary reason for this collection's success is also the source of its greatest weakness. Given the varieties of approach and execution, you're sure to be less than enamored with a good chunk of it, and yet at the same time you're likely to find at least one piece that absolutely detonates in your consciousness. --Bob Michaels