In this, Berlin's second to last collection while she was alive, she tells tales from all over. Most of the best ones ended up in A Manual for Cleaning Women. But I decided I'd read the rest of the works that appear here so as to get a sense of her other ouevre.
"Luna Nueva" involves a pool in Mexico, where people go to the beach to sunbathe and to feel the water on their skin. There's a kind of miraculous feel to this water, reviving people.
"Sombra" is one of Berlin's better stories and one of the best in this collection (certainly the best of those not collected elsewhere). It brings together descriptions of a bull fight with a fraught moment involving the spectators. What's so profound here is the way that that fraught moment is presented so nonchalant. As Berlin makes clear, people are more interested in the fight than in what's going on in the stands. It's like the people are bulls themselves--little concern for the deaths that are occurring.
"Our Lighthouse" is a description of a little lighthouse and the people who once lived there, while "Daughters" focuses on the people at a dialysis clinic. "Daughters" focuses on a day in a doctor's office among eastern European immigrant families.
"Our Brother's Keeper" is about a woman who was killed by her boyfriend. Or more, it's about her friend, who comes to clean up her house and who, day to day, pretends to be a sleuth, finding others who might have done it.
"Fire" returns to Berlin's recurring characters of sisters Sally and Carlotta. In this story Carlotta goes to the airport to meet Sally, but there's a fire at the airport. The description is droll, as chracteristic of Berlin's writing, which makes the tale work all the more.
"Dust to Dust" focuses on a young race car driver and the families that loved him. Really, it focuses on two young boys who seem both attached and detached from the driver after he crashes and dies. Vaguely, they are aware of a change: his absence. But funerals and the like are also exciting in a way. The story recaptures a kind of child-like innocence.