The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel

There’s a reason the New York Times named it
One of the 10 Best Books of 2006.

It’s Hempel’s voice:
Pretty, in that way that only a woman’s voice can be.
Clear-eyed, without affectation of any kind.
Deeply insightful.
Compassionate.
A little sad.

If Emily Dickinson had been born 121 years later, she might have been Amy Hempel.

On the nicer side of not-a-nice street, between God Bless the Cheerful Giver and his dog, and There But for the Grace of God Go I and his dog, a wino engaged me in the following Q and A:

“Miss, am I bleeding?”
“Yes, yes you are.”
“Where?”
“From the nose.”
“And the mouth?”
“No.”
“Just the nose?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder how that happened.”

Under a streetlight, a man and woman are talking. The man says he feels sure that the woman is going to shoot him and he can’t help but wonder what caliber she has chosen. …

Women who live alone in fear of intruders call the local precinct for advice. “Keep your doorknobs highly polished,” an officer tells them. “When someone breaks in, we can get clear prints.” …

On the occasion of a star athlete’s accidental overdose, a TV reporter takes his questions to the street. “What do you learn from this?” he asks the truant boys in a vacant lot. “What does it tell you that a young athlete takes this drug and dies?” The boys fight for the microphone until one of them grabs it away. He says, “Man, you have got to build up to that dose.” …

A man stops into a bar and rests his shopping bag on a stool…