It was Sunday and Anushka was getting ready to go for the book fair.just then her dog Rover ,began barking wildly.
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Bark” is the first collection of stories in 16 years by Lorrie Moore, and I’ll admit that when I first saw its modest size and table of contents — eight stories? one every two years? — I felt let down. I would have traded her moving but relatively conventional 2009 novel, “A Gate at the Stairs,” for a horse-choking stack of 15 long, dense stories, each with the specific gravity (and the desperate levity) of “People Like That Are the Only People Here,” the astonishing centerpiece of her previous collection, “Birds of America.” But I was wrong! (Moore is one of the all-time great deployers of the exclamation point, that cheap and skinny punctuational powerhouse — she’s also a great deployer of the epithet — so I thought I’d try one and see how it felt. Felt transgressive!)
The uncrowded format of “Bark” allows each story the chance it deserves for leisurely examination and appreciation, like the kind of museum retrospective you never get to see anymore. It’s just enough: No admirer of Moore’s will go away either overloaded or unsatisfied, and it lets us contemplate and savor just what makes her work unique.
Let’s start with that title. The three epigraphs (from the poets Louise Glück, Caroline Squire and Amy Gerstler) point toward both the canine and arboreal senses of the word — a monitory utterance, a protective shell — and those senses keep bobbing up from story to story. KC, the protagonist of “Wings,” refers to marijuana as “sparky bark” and tells an old man her dog’s bark is worse than his bite (to which the man replies, sensibly, “A bite is always worse”). The narrator of another story tells her daughter about a PBS show “that said only the outer bark of the brain — and it does look like bark — is gray. Apparently the other half of the brain has a lot of white