Publishers Weekly
03/04/2024
Williams follows up Ninety-Nine Stories of God with another resonant collection of 99 vignettes, this time centered on themes of environmental destruction and mortality. The entries—none longer than two pages and some as short as a single word—showcase Williams’s sly wit. In one, a woman’s entire life is traced through the trees she’s planted (an oak is “sheared and lopped to an unsurvivable degree” due to an “increase in broadband demand”). In another, a woman recalls how her husband proposed to her in skywriting, and how “the beginning was disappearing even before the end appeared.” Elsewhere, Williams delves into the strange death of monk Thomas Merton, who was found with a short-circuited fan lying on his body; and zooms in on Vladimir Nabokov on his deathbed, distraught that he’s no longer capable of stalking and extinguishing butterflies. Another entry depicts the day in 2021 when 1,400 dolphins were killed in the Faroe Islands. Interspersed throughout are brief episodes portraying the discomfort and fretfulness of Azrael, the angel of death, who is worried that “the mountains have been stripped of their holiness, the oceans of their mysteries.” As with the previous volume, these pieces riddle the reader’s mind with their exquisite enigmas. Williams continues to astonish. Agent: Amelia Atlas, CAA. (July)Correction: A previous version of this review incorrectly stated that the entries are untitled.
From the Publisher
She’s the story writer of our time, choosing to shine light on the wreckage and the difficult choices that lay ahead: all we have to do is listen.
The New York Times
"Joy Williams distills much learning — from philosophy, religion and history — into 99 stories about the guy who takes your soul.. . .[she] resembles Mark Twain in the wildcat nature of her literary scorn. . . . .[and] writes with more feeling about nature than any writer I know."
The Masters Review
"A strangely beautiful kaleidoscope, refracting the question of what it means to be human into ninety-nine bejeweled rays."
A Best Book of July Chicago Review of Books
"A singular collection of microfiction that distills the strange into a pure concentrate, showcasing the essence of her unique voice."
On the Seawall
"In the end, Williams wants her readers to laugh, but also to seriously consider what is happening to this one planet we share."
The Guardian (UK) Anne Enright
"I want to say that if you banged a [Marilynne] Robinson novel off one by Cormac McCarthy, the sparks that flew would be something like Williams, except that neither of those writers does funny and Williams is the kind of funny you can’t explain…. This is a book completed, after many other good books, by a master of the craft. Prepare to be moved."
A Most Anticipated Book of 2024 LitHub
"She’s the story writer of our time, choosing to shine light on the wreckage and the difficult choices that lay ahead: all we have to do is listen."
Brooklyn Rail
"Further irrefutable proof of Williams’s nonpareil genius."
Shelf Awareness
"Impressive. . . . beguiling. . . . fascinating. . . . This is a book to linger over, with more questions than answers, and it is sure to be lauded for its intellectual breadth and masterful control."
Washington Independent Review of Books
"Strikingly singular."
New York Journal of Books
"Among parables, protestations, and observations, Williams weaves a rousing mythology."
A Most Anticipated Book of 2024 The Guardian
"The American philosophical miniaturist conjures meditations on mortality through the figure of Azrael, angel of death."
Kirkus Reviews
★ 2024-04-19
The angel of death, Washoe the chimp, and T.S. Eliot share the stage in Williams’ enchanting collection of 99 short-short stories.
“The older dog’s death”: This is one complete entry in Williams’ lyrical set of 99 stories about death, its number nicely echoing Dante’s Divine Comedy. Dante turns up, to be sure. Williams’ tales, though, more often concern Azrael, the archangel who escorts souls to meet God, and the devil, with whom Azrael has some pointed exchanges: “Death and I are not the same,” Azrael insists, to which the devil replies, “A difference without distinction.” On occasion they agree—for instance, that crows and ravens “are marvelous,” belonging to the same genus just as, by the devil’s calculus, do spirit and soul. More often, the devil thwarts Azrael, an innocently guileless psychopomp who asks in all seriousness, remembering the song “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” whether the devil’s “stupendous and tireless herd were entirely red...and what did yippie i oh yippie i ay mean anyway?” Even when the two aren’t present in Williams’ glimmering stories, they’re close by as her characters maneuver toward death, one woman expressing the wish to be buried with her horse, and Vladimir Nabokov approaching the end with tears in his eyes in the knowledge that he’ll no longer be able to chase butterflies. The sensitive reader will likely come away from Williams’ little book having shed a few tears, too, sharing with the writer the sad realization that the world is coming to an end in careless human hands, their victims such blameless creatures as snakes, whose “existence underground kept the earth from falling apart,” and manatees. Happily, in Williams’ telling, the souls of animals go to greet God, too, thanks to Azrael’s devoted service.
Elegantly poetic—and often archly funny—meditations on death by a superb writer.