We have a signed copy of this at work that I’ve ogled from time to time, not for the signature, but for the cover. I’d never opened it, never even read any Kiernan before I found this copy at the library. But, after pouring over “The Dinosaur Tourist” for weeks, woolgathering over every single story, some of them sitting uncomfortable in my belly like bricks, I’m rethinking that purchase again. Maybe I can trick myself into thinking she signed it for me and didn’t know it yet. I’d tell her I would have kept the jade idol, no matter how much it hurt, because all I am are my things, at the end of it all. I think she would call me hungry, sign my name, and reach for the next book in line.

These are deep, dredging stories. Mastering atmosphere, intentional confusion, misdirection, relativity and primal fear, Kiernan creates such winding imagery, often connected, and distinctly satisfying throughout the collection. I wouldn’t kick a single one out of bed.

5/5 Maybe I’ll keep a piece of her forever, like she’s kept something of me.