Hue and cry Book

McPherson is a writer whose name you see here and there - in a story stuffed in the middle of one anthology or another, or in a foreword, or in a grateful dedication from an ex-student. This was his first book. McPherson writes excellent prose: you could tap every word in each sentence with a tuning fork and enjoy the noise. He has a low-key, convincing way with dialogue, especially with working-class characters, black and white.

The stories themselves are a mixed bag. The opener, about a child raised by a religious fundamentalist, starts strong but fizzles out after eight pages. The same is true most of the others. They are islands of incident linked by the thinnest of causeways, leading nowhere, and with a lot of pondering along the way. You rather see what Breece Pancake meant when he said that McPherson could sit for hours pondering the meaning of McDonalds in human existence.

The best stories are 'A Solo Song for Doc' and 'Gold Coast.' The former conquers the ear as well as the mind - it's a story that actually sounds like it's being spoken directly to you. Although overlong and meandering, it's intimate, involving. 'Gold Coast', tucked in the middle of the book, was McPherson's first publication in a national magazine; one he would later join as a contributing editor. Read it and see why.