Let me preface this review by saying that I’m not a great fan of short stories. That’s a result, I think, of teaching too many sophomore survey English courses where short fiction dom­i­nated every textbook every year. And too often they were the same stories—penned by Hawthorne and Hem­ingway and a handful of others—over and over again. I can’t recall the last time I vol­un­tarily picked up a col­lection of short stories by choice. So I am grateful to “Bookin’ with Sunny” for putting date of dis­ap­pearance in my hands. That’s not a typo, by the way. A title without cap­i­tal­ization, just as there’s no need for excla­mation marks in any of these subtle, sen­sitive tales of ordinary people caught in cli­mactic moments of their everyday lives. Not only are their sit­u­a­tions emi­nently readable, but they’re unfor­get­table. I find myself still musing about Cunningham’s char­acters long after their stories have concluded.

His range is remarkable. Cun­ningham cap­tures the elderly, the very young, men and women, the heroes, the nerds, suc­cesses and middle-​​aged failures. One char­acter explains the dilemma faced by each and every one of them. She’s “learned this much: you meet a thousand potential cat­a­strophes a day. Your han­dling of one small event deter­mines the impact of the next. In theory you should be able to maintain control, to govern your responses, con­struct optimum results. But the fact remains that every event is a mon­u­mental event dis­guised. It may seem insignif­icant, for­get­table, nothing to fear—no, it’s nitro­glyc­erine.” That nitro moment can be explosive, or it can be a slow fizzle that’s more destructive in the long run. Not tragic, nec­es­sarily, but sig­nif­i­cantly mon­u­mental (Cunningham’s italics, not mine).

Although a the­matic con­stancy echoes throughout the col­lection, the stories are not at all alike. One takes place in a can­tan­kerous nursing home, another in the bedroom of an evan­gelical preacher, a third in a love-​​sick adolescent’s mind, a fourth in a clut­tered antique store, a fifth in a taxidermist’s cre­ative imag­i­nation. There are ten in all, each set in Cal­i­fornia. But every incident occurs in a sep­arate land­scape and explores a dif­ferent emo­tional terrain. As the taxi­dermist does with his animals, Cun­ningham arranges his char­acters on dra­matic display, fixing their bodies at the moment of a demise of one kind or another. That demise varies from tale to tale, some­times physical and some­times emo­tional, but there’s always one con­stant. Cun­ningham and his readers get inside the skins of everyone who pop­u­lates his stories.

The “Bookin’ with Sunny” copy of date of dis­ap­pearance comes with a bonus. A limited edition signed by the author, it also includes ink-​​and-​​charcoal illus­tra­tions by Nathan Shields. These artistic impres­sions echo the stories visually and capture a sadness that fits the overall tenor of the book. A lonely moon-​​lit mountain scene, a dropped tele­phone, an empty plate with an empty wine­glass left alongside. Adversity and mis­fortune woven together, time and again, stringing ten lit­erary gems together. And pre­cious gems they are, these mon­u­mental short stories that have made me revisit my long-​​standing reluc­tance to read the genre.                                 –A.R.

Date of Dis­ap­pearance can be pur­chased imme­di­ately from Powell’s Books at http://www.powells.com/biblio/7–9780615589312-0.  It can be pur­chased through Atelier26 at https://​www​.wepay​.com/​s​t​o​r​e​s​/atelier26 after August 1st. I will be listing other Indie stores that will be car­rying it as soon as pos­sible.  –s.s.

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