Amy Bloom has crafted a collection of short fictional stories that are exquisite. The language is breathtakingly gorgeous, though the subject matter is not always pretty. The only common theme is unflinching witness to people’s passion. And that is sometimes dark and ugly and confusing. Most of the stories ponder desire between people who are not meant to be together: an older woman and her adult step-son, couple friends whose partners are secretly having an affair, a married man who longs for the owner of the local coffee shop, or the killer who always aims for the heart.

One scene I thought expressed grief in a lovely, strange, poignant way was after Clare lost her husband William. “When Clare gets off the phone, there’s a raccoon in her kitchen, on the counter…He is eating a slice of bacon bread. He’s holding it in his small, nimble, and very human black hands. He looks at her over the edge of the bread, like a man peering over his glasses. A fat, bold, imperturbable man with a twinkle in his dark eyes. Even though she knows better…Clare says, softly, “William.”

This book is not for the easily offended, nor those seeking gentleness or happy endings. But for anyone who desires a genius turn of phrase and language that will bounce around inside you for a few hours or days, it is a gift. I dream of writing like Ms. Bloom. (Not necessarily the subject matter, but the art.)

Bloom, Amy. Where the God of Love Hangs Out, Random House, 2010.