Apparently the word linked has become profane to much of the story-writing community—and sadly thus to the story-reading community as well. It became so, however, only after the word began to be used in a new way. It had been used as an adjective full of nuance representing, roughly, the resonance that made a collection a book, and not just some stories someone wrote. The problem is that publishers and writers seem to have redefined linked in a way that smacks of a rigid formula—of a pigeon’s hole. It now specifically embodies the following qualities: recurring characters, localized events, parallel conflicts, and/or a universal theme or situation. Take a look at the bookstore. Most new collections of short fiction will have at least one of these qualities, sometimes more. You won’t have to look long; they will be proudly advertised in book-jacket copy and in catchy blurbs. That’s marketing, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing if it means more books are sold and read. What is problematic is when a book reads as if written with a jacket-flap hook in mind.

When I picked up Angela Pneuman’s Home Remedies, I had the sinking feeling that hers was this kind of book. Her hook, it seemed, was to shine a light into the darker corners of Kentucky, places peopled by conservative Christians. I mentally checked localized events and universal themes off my list. As it turned out, I was pleasantly surprised. Four of these eight stories feel like they are part of a truly vibrant collection. The characters are bigger than the pages they inhabit, not because the stories themselves are small, but because the characters register a humor and terror that are so large.

—Thom Blaylock