Gerry Wilson is a seventh-generation Mississippian, and she says of That Pinson Girl, “In this novel I return to the myths of my childhood and the rural landscape of north Mississippi. I was born in Pontotoc, a little town nestled in the red clay hills of north Mississippi, thirty miles from William Faulkner’s Oxford and far from just about everywhere else.” Wilson’s prose style is straightforward, but the questions and complexities that run throughout That Pinson Girl will be familiar to those who have read Faulkner. It is appropriate that an early draft of the novel was a finalist in the Faulkner-Wisdom Writing Competition. 

As we approach middle age, it’s not uncommon for us to take stock of our lives and feel disappointment–with the choices we’ve made (or haven’t been able to make) or with where we find ourselves in terms of our relationships, our careers, or our mental, physical, spiritual, or material well-being.

In this reflective, thought-provoking novel, the main character, Polly Wainwright, finds herself in just such a place. Yet in a refreshing turn, her dissatisfaction with her life becomes a sort of engine, driving her to discover new possibilities for herself. In the process, she ends up unraveling a mystery: about a man and a place she’d encountered, and been deeply affected by, years before. All of these elements make for an engaging, richly rewarding read.

How do we find our way in life when so many things seem to be conspiring against us or limiting our choices? This insightful, sometimes heartbreaking, and often hilarious novel takes up this question from multiple characters’ perspectives. Each of their stories offers a nuanced exploration of a particular existential struggle and where it might lead, for good and for ill.

What if I just stop writing?

Hounded by self-doubt, many writers (including me) carry this question with them like a dark secret, something impossible to dispense with entirely, as much as they might want to. Now and then it surfaces, accompanied by deep anxiety or by a burgeoning sense of relief–perhaps both–depending on the circumstances.

In her equally harrowing and illuminating book–a hybrid of fiction, poetry, and literary criticism–Rebecca van Laer explores why one young woman turned a What if? to a fait accompli, ceasing to write poetry because, in her words, it could “help me no longer.” The result is a fascinating read, one that confronts an uncomfortable reality: although personal traumas can drive, and sometimes become inseparable from, creative work, this relationship isn’t necessarily healthy or sustainable, however productive it might be.

This gracefully written, heartfelt novel examines the risks and rewards of facing doubts and desires concerning the direction of one’s life, and of trying to act according to these feelings. It also considers the power of close friendships, and how these relationships can sustain us in ways that familial, or marital, bonds might not be able to.

In the acknowledgments section of this beautifully crafted, revelatory collection, Tara Lynn Masih mentions her realization, while putting the book together, that many of the stories are connected by the theme of disappearance. Indeed, the collection explores literal and metaphorical disappearances, and how these lead characters to transformative discoveries about themselves and, in some cases, about the spiritual world.