National Network for Equitable Library Service

A place: the Traymore Rooms, downtown Montreal, an old walk-up. Those who live there and drink at the nearby caf' form the heart of Traymorean society. Their number includes: Eggy, red-faced, West Virginian, a veteran of Korea; Eleanor R (not Eleanor Roosevelt); Dubois, French Canadian, optimist; Moonface, waitress-cum-Latin-scholar and sexpot inexpert; and, most recently, our hero Calhoun. A draft dodger and poetical type. For a time all is life-as-usual: Calhoun argues with Eggy and Dubois, eats Eleanor's cobblers, gossips of Moonface, muses on Virgil and the current President.

In the Foreword to his The Collected Short Fiction Bruce Jay Friedman wrote: "In her late years, my mother confessed to me that she had dropped me on my head when I was two. As I've grown older, I've come to believe that her presumably innocent mistake resulted in the 'tilted' quality I've been accused of having in my work." We can now add to the stories in The Collected Short Fiction the splendidly tilted fictions in Three Balconies, vintage Friedman all.

Meet the Perfect Man - no, no, he's not the hero of Thought You Were Dead. That would be Chellis Beith, literary researcher, slacker, reluctant detective, and a man bedeviled by every woman in his life. There's his lost love, Elaine Champion, a now happily married inventor who uses him for market research, his best friend's dotty ex-wife, Moe, his two vanished mothers, and his menacing boss, Athena Havlock, a celebrated writer who herself becomes embroiled in the dark side of fiction. The humour is wild, the language a thrill, the mystery within marvelously deft and daft.

When a woman discovers a fortune in the attic, she begins a pilgrimage that takes her to the knife-edge between blessing and curse. Two fatherless children think Mrs. Crisander is nothing more than the creepy next-door neighbour'until they nearly kill her pot-bellied pig and learn the secrets of her past. A young girl talks about grade six, stealing cigarettes, and her sister's no-food diet while being photographed by an Internet pornographer.

At the hospital in Blantyre, Malawi, Bryce is learning to predict the worst. Racing heart: infection, probably malaria. He'll send Iris for saline. Shortness of breath? TB. Another patient rolled to the ward. And the round swellings, the rashes with dimpled centres, the small rough patches on a boy's foot? HIV. Iris will make him comfortable. They'll move on. Then there will be sleeplessness, rationed energy, a censuring of hope: the doctor's disease. Iris sees that one all the time.

In Something About the Animal, Cathy Stonehouse's first collection of short fiction, the world keeps coming apart at the seams: these are stories of imminent and often destructive crisis, which in their form and structure capture the hysterical edge of hallucinatory madness in a way few writers have ever managed. These are stories about the search for meaning, of fragile, haunted understanding, real life horror stories, stories bleakly, blackly humorous, but also imbued with real hope, generosity and beauty; stories simply not reducible to cover copy.

Birdsong, wind: here by the ocean every noise was surrounded by silence that reached all the way to the stars. Monica studied the white shingled building above the slope of green lawn, deep bays rising two storeys on each side of the front door and the windowed porch. You felt the big rambling construction must have a memory, old thoughts. Listen, I am the voice of what once was. I am as real as the beating of your hungry heart. A flash of sun blinded her, a pirouette of the dazzling god. So begins David Helwig's Saltsea.

Traumatized by his past as a Bolivian soldier who, in a sudden coup d'etat, was forced to participate in atrocities, Alfredo flees to Montreal, haunted by the dead. He rides the Montreal metro and pours his guilt and shame into his writing, until he falls for a woman without a nation - a Kurdish freedom-fighter trying to blast an independent Kurdistan into existence. As the net of intrigue closes in on his lover, Alfredo is forced to face more fully his own violent past.

Women. Young women, old women. The hair-obsessed, the politically driven, the sure-footed, the bonybutted, the awkward and compulsive and alone. Sleep-deprived and testy. Exhausted and accepting. Among the innumerable wives, husbands, sisters, and in-laws vexed by short temper and insecurity throughout the collection, Cynthia Flood's protagonists stand out as masters of a reality that the rest of the world will only partially understand.

In the world of The Reasonable Ogre, magic is nothing if not paradoxical. Ogres can indeed be reasonable, prisons may prove porous, gifts often come disguised as curses, and springs gone dry are only waiting to resurface. At once comic and moving, troubling and restorative, Mike Barnes's original stories are here to remind us that fairy tales aren't about the happily-ever-after: they're about the strange detours we take trying to get there. With seventy drawings from the striking brush of Segbingway.