On "Pretenders" by Toshiki Kojo (1943 words) ***

Toshiki Kojo's "Pretenders" is about, as you might guess, the genuiness in our identities and our lives. It's about the roles we play. This piece has a kind of Far Eastern feel to it, for it draws, as I see it, from Buddhist traditions. The "real" us is what we are in the moment. We are not separate from our acts. Then there is the label that others put on us and that we put on ourselves. We can be a groper--or we can actually grope. Which is more real? The thing we do or the thing that we are perceived to be or the thing we perceive ourselves to be? In the end, we're all just breaths and bodies, little packets of energy (matter) along the continuum of the same. Read the story here at In Posse Review.

On "Snow, Falling" by Dan Moreau (2455 words) ***

A battle of wills is at the heart of the story, only the protagonist isn't yet aware of it. The premise is fairly simple--a man picking his son up from college after a disappointing year. The son has plans of his own. The man, by contrast, continues to think of his son as a kid, evidenced by small gestures such as patting the son's head. I can't say when my father last patted my head, but it certainly wasn't when I was in college. Read the story here at In Posse Review.

On "Beds" by Cheryl Diane Kidder (2217 words) *****

This short piece reminds me of Susan Minot's "Lust." Like that story, this one is built around a series of boyfriends and acquaintances with whom the narrator shares a bed. And like that story, the narrator manages to connect all the disparate times via an ending that packs a tremendous punch. How authors manage to do this, I'm never quite sure. These are stories that, for me, I stand mystified by. Read the story here at In Posse Review.

On "Send Me Work" by Katherine Karlin (5636 words) ****

A good story puts all the elements together--character, language, setting, plot. But plots--new ones at least--are hard to come by. Sometimes, a story might be an old one, but it becomes fresh because of its singularity in regard to the first three. And that's the case here. Harriet and Izzy, the subjects of this story, come across as people we know quite a bit about by the end--and as people we sort of like. We also get to hang around New York, and we get to listen in on great lines like "The sky was a slate-colored ribbon over the avenue" and "I am big. The pictures got small." There are more, I promise. Read the story here at In Posse Review.