Oddly enough, story seems to be a secondary concern for short-story writers, many of whom are more intent on meaning than a good plot. And even Homes can be overbearing: in some of these pieces, significance comes over the loudspeaker. In “Remedy,” an ad exec who’s working on a slogan for a new “pill for all your problems,” needs more love and attention from her parents than they’re willing to give; when Homes writes, “What does she want? What does she need?” it’s as if she’s yelling when the room has gone quiet. In “Raft in Water, Floating,” a girl in another loveless family walks through the kitchen where the TV is on but no one is watching; the announcer’s voice is saying, “People often have the feeling there is something wrong, that they are not where they should be… " Crash boom bang. But a few sentences before that, Homes delivers this enchanting scenelette: “At twilight an odd electrical surge causes the doorbells all up and down the block to ring. An intercom chorus of faceless voices sings a round of ‘Hi, hello. Can I help you? Is anybody out there?’ " In “Rockets Round the Moon,” a boy and his friend wait while his mom cooks burgers. “Tiny grease balls exploded into miniature blue-and-orange fireballs of fat, cheap summer sparklers.” Seconds later, when the phone rings and the boy’s mom finds out about her husband’s accident, the boys experience the tragedy through their lost meal. “The burgers landed with one great searing hiss, immediately sank, and neither Henry nor I could figure a rescue plan fast enough.” After such passages, Homes is back in your good graces. Even the portentous single-word sentences (such as “Searching.” Or “Floating.”) barely distract you from the force of Homes’s storytelling–they’re that entertaining. There’s one thing you should know.
