WHY I DON'T WRITE AND OTHER STORIES

This doesn't seem to apply to Minot herself, who has written six books since 1986, but it does suggest the psychic toll of being a writer in an age of Twitter-size attention spans and yawning cynicism. "What do you do all day?" someone asks the narrator. The answer, both to this question and the one posed by the title, comes in the form of a disorienting collage of allusions to private heartaches, post-2016 political scandals, national tragedies, domestic chores, and pointed observations. ("Women writers without children: many. Women writers with children: few.") The nine stories that follow are a mixed bag. The most successful show why sustained engagement matters, especially for a writer like Minot whose gift is for illuminating revelatory moments in characters' lives rather than experimental fiction. Sometimes these moments are tragic, as in "Boston Common at Twilight," which explores a teenager's ill-fated decision to follow a stranger, a woman, into the city to buy pot from her and, later, the heartbreaking consequence of his failure to stop blaming himself. Elsewhere, the stories turn on happy, though somewhat old-fashioned, epiphanies. In "Polepole," a woman's brief encounter with the maid of a married man with whom she's just had a one-night stand in Kenya makes her determined to take better care of herself. Throughout, Minot is keenly aware of how men hurt women—as well as how women sabotage themselves. In "The Language of Cats and Dogs," another standout, the protagonist recalls the moment her writing professor propositioned her. Rather than tell him off, she sits frozen in his disgusting car, embarrassed by his cheesy pickup line and ashamed as though she's somehow to blame.

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