Immigrant City

Can I just say that I got a perverse joy every time David Bezmozgis talked of his home in Latvia thinking it as Latveria the home of Doctor Doom. Vaguely European vassals under the sway of an iron plated monarch with a penchant for villainous monologuing. Right - not helpful. God, I suck at reviewing short stories.

Listen the first, and titular, story just hooked me. It's just a tight, beautifully constructed, evocative piece about a man and his daughter buying a car door from a Somali in Toronto. And then it's followed by a couple of shaggy pieces that just don't quite gel for me and I'm off balance. But maybe I'm just not paying close enough attention. Bezmozgis has a way of laying out elements of a story that snap into sharp focus at the end. Victor returning to his homeland to settle a gravestone at the expense of his vacation resolves into dealing with his counterpart Ilya and how far removed he's become from the life that might have been his in Riga. The final story, The Russian Riviera ambles at a fine pace in a clear voice that I'd have been happy to get a full story from.

So like every short story review ever. Some hits, some misses but overall a solid piece of writing.