The Animal Room

by Lauren Acampora

From the award-winning author of The Wonder Garden comes a set of linked stories spotlighting human-animal relations—and revealing the tensions that threaten to fracture a suburban New England community

Tensions simmer in small-town Connecticut. A city transplant is haunted by the deer carcass hanging in her neighbor’s garage. A psychiatric patient believes she’s becoming a bird. A disgraced oil executive invites his granddaughter’s kindergarten class to tour his home menagerie—what could go wrong? Rumors spread and fires burn in this second short story collection from award-winning author Lauren Acampora.

As in Acampora’s debut The Wonder Garden, The Animal Room delves deep into the town of Old Cranbury and its eclectic mix of residents. Incisive and moving, these stories chart the interconnected lives of neighbors, relatives, coworkers, enemies, lovers, and the animals around them, turning an unflinching eye to the natural world to shed light on human nature. Through its riveting ensemble, The Animal Room paints a kaleidoscopic portrait of contemporary American life that is strikingly unique.

Genres: Short Stories

384 pages, Hardcover

Expected publication June 9, 2026

About the author

Lauren Acampora is the author of two novels, The Paper Wasp and The Hundred Waters, and two collections of linked stories, The Wonder Garden and The Animal Room (June 2026), all published by Grove Atlantic. The Animal Room features the story “Dominion,” which was selected for The Best American Short Stories 2025.

The Hundred Waters was named one of Vogue’s best books of the year, a LitHub best book of the summer, and one of The Millions’ most-anticipated books of 2022.

Lauren’s first novel, The Paper Wasp was named a Best Summer Read by The New York Times Book Review, USA Today, Oprah Magazine, ELLE, Town & Country, BBC.com, Daily Mail (UK), Tatler, Thrillist, and Publishers Weekly, as well as a Best Indie Novel of 2019 by Chicago Review of Books. It was also longlisted for The Center for Fiction’s First Novel Prize and nominated for the Kirkus Prize.

The Wonder Garden, a debut collection of linked stories, was named a Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers selection and an Indie Next selection, and was chosen as one of the best books of 2015 by Amazon and NPR. It won the GLCA New Writers Award and was a finalist for the New England Book Award. It was on the longlist for The Story Prize and nominated for the Kirkus Prize.

Lauren’s short fiction and other writing has appeared or is forthcoming in publications such as The Paris Review, One Story, New England Review, Story Magazine, Guernica, Missouri Review, The Common, Prairie Schooner, Antioch Review, The New York Times, LitHub, and The Best American Short Stories 2025.

She graduated from Brown University, earned an MFA at Brooklyn College, and has received fellowships from MacDowell, Ucross, Ragdale Foundation, Art OMI, Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. Lauren lives in Westchester County, New York with her husband, daughter, and rescue dog.

Reviews

[Bonnie Brody · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's not often that I read a book so brilliant that it knocks my socks off. Lauren Acampora has accomplished this in a book that defies genres. It is a collection of interwoven short stories, each a living organism in its own right but clearly connected to the other stories included in the collection. Each story can be read and appreciated on its own, but, like Russian stacking dolls, they are not complete without the others, each related to the one it fits inside of or contains.

Animals are at the heart of this book - how we nurture them, how they fit into our lives, how they manifest themselves in the core of our being, and how they help us to preserve, or steal our sanity. They are tender and fierce, at once friends and foes. While we may think they are tamed, they are at one with their place in nature, sometimes at odds with human desires.

It is impossible to choose my favorite story. Each is wonderful in its own right. The connections are sometimes subtle, at other times obvious, but they are clearly apparent. Interestingly, there is no observable hierarchy or order to the stories, but they are linked together in fascinating ways.

They all appear to take place in an upper middle class suburban haven in Connecticut. They take place in homes, senior living facilities, schools, and even personal zoos. The protagonists vary socioeconomically, educationally, and by age and gender. All are seeking personal peace and well-being in their own way, many outside the cultural norms. What fascinated me was the cringy aspect of many of the characters. They were fighting wars that were outer manifestations of inner turmoil.

The stories are populated by varied characters. There is a teenager who thinks she is becoming a bird and the stories delve not only into her mental instability, but into the lives of her caregivers and family. Mental illness and struggles for survival are prevalent but judgment is reserved. I loved that the stories were intergenerational and that the ages and cultural milieus of characters differed widely. Many characters are searching for love while they're also dealing with the pain of misunderstandings and loss.

I can't say enough about this book. I have read other books of linked stories and have especially enjoyed those of Julia Phillips, Elizabeth Strout, Shannon Bowring, and Tommy Orange. If you love literary fiction and enjoy books that have components of trompe l'oeil, magical realism, and surrealism, then this book is for you. Actually, I think it has something for everyone and I give it my highest recommendation.

Thank you to NetGalley and Grove Atlantic for providing me with an early review copy of this book. It is scheduled for publication in June 2026.

[Marcus (Lit_Laugh_Luv)]

interconnected stories about our relationship to the natural world? a beautiful cover? oh you best believe this is hitting that most anticipated shelf

[Rezzi Belle Beanz · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a seriously impressive collection of stories. If there is one thing I love in an anthology, it’s when the characters and events are connected in each one. Acampora accomplished this beautifully. They explored so many different motivations for what is behind the actions that people take every day and how they can affect others’ lives. Every story is depicting fully fleshed out characters and they are all woven together so intricately.

Every character had their own wildly unique voice and experience and I was surprised every time someone from a previous story was mentioned in a following story. I think the name “The Animal Room” is fitting, as animals and animal rights and how people feel about animals are at the core of every story. I love that there are still some mysteries, none that are necessarily frustrating to wonder about though, I felt like the last few stories tied up nicely enough that it was a satisfying ending.

Acampora writes in an intelligent way, using big words and an expansive vocabulary without coming across as pretentious, which is something I genuinely appreciate. I hate when an author comes across as thinking they are better than everyone else. Once I got into the swing of their writing style, I felt comfortable and natural to me. I love when I learn and grow my vocabulary through an author’s writing.

It isn’t often I feel the need to own a physical copy of a book but I desperately want a physical copy eventually so I can annotate in it and more easily go back and study how all the stories tie together.
Thank you NetGalley so much for allowing me to have access to an e-ARC copy of this book.

[Demetri Papadimitropoulos · Rating 4 out of 5]

There’s a moment late in “The Animal Room” when a familiar American sound cracks the air at a summer music festival and the world instantly changes shape. It is, strictly speaking, not even a gunshot – it’s a homemade rocket that merely mimics one – but in the age of mass shootings, the distinction barely matters. Panic moves faster than information. A retired police officer, Daryl Metzger, releases his newly certified German Shepherd, Ajax, into the crowd, and the dog does what he has been trained to do: he finds the nearest version of danger and clamps down.

Lauren Acampora’s linked-story collection is built around that kind of hinge – the moment when a private obsession becomes a public event, when a safety ritual becomes an accelerant, when “being prepared” turns into permission. Set in the suburban Connecticut town of Old Cranbury, the book watches its characters the way a naturalist watches a terrarium: with bright attention to motion, scent, enclosure and instinct. In these stories, animals aren’t mere symbols. They are forces that draw out human impulses – and, in a culture already on edge, amplify them.

Old Cranbury is a place of manicured lawns and civic earnestness, but its atmosphere is restless. A memory-care facility rebrands itself into a “vivarium,” importing animals and greenhouse light as if dementia could be soothed by a curated ecosystem. A pregnant newcomer from Brooklyn, Leigh Duvall, is so alert to threat that fox screams, ticks and neighboring bowhunters feel like personal harassment. On the other side of a fence line, Daryl – ex-police, ex-husband, ex-empire of authority – tries to rebuild a sense of purpose by turning a rescue dog into a weapon he can love.

Acampora writes with a contemporary exactness that never feels like mere compression. She likes the tactile particulars that reveal a worldview: the cheap polyester that traps sweat, the clatter stick that makes “rattlesnake sounds” during bite training, the chain-link fence that promises order but mostly advertises vulnerability. Fear is not abstract in this book; it arrives as a plug in the chest, a queasy tug in the gut, a body that registers what the mind won’t yet admit.

“Pack,” the section centered on Daryl and Ajax, is the collection’s most propulsive narrative and its sharpest satire of our safety culture. Daryl discovers Ajax through dumb luck – a surrendered, “too energetic” German Shepherd with one brown eye and one blue that hits him “like a Taser.” He is the rare man who can’t quite stop himself from narrating his own life as a training manual. Through classical and operant conditioning, he believes, any animal with drive can be turned into a “heat-seeking device,” and he speaks that belief with the fervor of a convert.

Daryl’s worldview could have been rendered as a caricature: the aggrieved ex-cop, the online “wolves and betas” rhetoric, the nostalgia for a country he insists has been stolen by “sanctimonious shitbirds.” But Acampora gives him something more interesting than sympathy: internal coherence. His beliefs are not a costume. They are a survival strategy for a man diagnosed with atrial fibrillation, carrying PTSD, grieving a dead partner dog, and watching his authority drain away into policy debates and neighborly glances that no longer automatically defer.

The Aether Festival sequence is a master class in letting the contemporary seep in without turning the fiction into a lecture. The festival’s theme is “Nurturing Nature: Fighting Habitat Loss for Justice, Peace, and the Future of Our Planet.” There are reusable bottles and a water refilling station; there is a sculpture of a spotted lanternfly described as a “guest species,” complete with an elementary-school placard that frames it as a lesson in inclusivity. There is also a poster for sale of teen pop star Avis Envy cuddling a rabbit, a kind of commodified innocence that the town wants to believe in. Daryl reads all of it as sanctimony, and he is the sort of man for whom sanctimony feels like an accusation.

Daryl’s job is gatekeeping in the most literal sense. He and Ajax stand at the entrance, alone in full sun, scanning waves of costumed teens and families. He notices the children first, because children always notice the dog. There is a brief, startling moment of possible human thaw when Leigh – the neighbor who has judged him, feared him, fought him – shows up with her daughters. Daryl waves. For a split second, Leigh’s face softens, and the girls wave back with “trust and goodness and hope.” It is one of the collection’s most painful gestures, because it suggests a version of this story that could have gone differently.

When the sound like a gunshot hits, Acampora captures the blankness of crisis with eerie accuracy. Daryl’s mind goes “clean as the inside of a bell.” In that blankness, training replaces thought. He runs. He releases Ajax against protocol. In the woods, under a bizarre installation of fake owls with glowing bulbs for eyes, the dog pins a bleeding teenager named Jordan – a boy with acne, an insulin pump, and a pocketful of letters to the singer. Jordan’s weapon is not a gun but the fantasy that attention might fix him.

The most haunting detail is the simplest: Ajax won’t release. It is his first real bite; blood has meaning now. Daryl tries commands, then an e-collar, then panics into a choice that is less choice than revelation. He can’t shoot his own dog. The gun sinks under gravity. He fires into empty space and screams for the release anyway. The dog finally lets go, and Daryl reads pride in the blue eye, warmth in the brown – a creature both loyal and newly awakened to its own power. In this moment, Acampora turns the familiar question of accountability on its head. If an animal behaves according to its training, where does blame live?

If “Pack” is the book’s adrenaline, Leigh’s stories provide its slow-burn terror. In the opening section, she arrives from the city pregnant, already primed for catastrophe, and discovers that “nature” is not pastoral but loud, violent, and indifferent. Bowhunting near her property line, a neighbor’s deer carcass display, the sudden intimacy of ticks – the world feels porous. Leigh’s response is both recognizably contemporary and grimly old-fashioned: research the law, make a plan, buy a gun. Acampora is careful to show how quickly a reasonable desire for safety can slide into something that resembles hunger.

In “Vivarium,” a worker at Meadow’s Rest watches management import animals and greenhouse aesthetics into memory care, turning residents into participants in an experiment they can’t fully understand. The story is careful about blame. The staff members are stretched thin; a single spilled insulin vial can become a catastrophe. Administrative language – “enrichment,” “intergenerational enhancement,” “models” – becomes a way to sand down moral friction. Yet the book never allows the reader to stay comfortably cynical. Even an ill-conceived program contains genuine longing: a desire to brighten someone’s day, to make a person feel less alone, to keep a fading mind tethered to something living.

In “Husbandry,” the animal world is not a metaphor for freedom but a structure of obligation. A technician in a research facility watches mice endure protocols that are, on paper, ethically justified. The difference between an air puff and a foot shock becomes a moral weather report. Acampora understands that most ethical lives are made of compromises we rationalize because the alternative is to admit we can’t bear the world’s suffering without outsourcing some of it. Naming a mouse is a small rebellion; it is also an admission of intimacy.

All of this feeds into the book’s quietest, and perhaps most telling, late scene: “Correction,” in which Leigh and Daryl stand in a backyard on a brutally hot August afternoon while their two dogs – German and Australian shepherd – circle and sniff each other, descendants of canis lupus. The humans talk about fences, wildfires and smoke, old age and loss. Leigh needles Daryl about “alpha” talk; he offers a miniature lecture about dog social dynamics. A yelp, a pause, a return to play. “That, right there, was a correction,” he says, meaning: a boundary set without malice.

In Old Cranbury, everyone wants correction: of children’s behavior, of neighbors’ politics, of nature’s mess, of institutions’ failures. But the book suggests that human correction has become distorted by grievance and spectacle. We correct each other through posts, policies, purchases, and performative virtue. We build fences and call them care. We buy guns and call them protection. We outsource our vigilance to dogs, cameras, algorithms, and then act shocked when the tools behave like tools.

What makes “The Animal Room” feel relevant now is not a grab bag of references but a shared atmosphere: over-information, under-trust, and the constant temptation to turn fear into identity. Daryl doom-scrolls into forums that confirm his resentment; Leigh searches laws and statistics until the world looks like an incoming attack. Institutions, from festivals to nursing homes, respond to risk with optics as often as with actual mitigation. And hovering behind everything is the contemporary American fact that we have trained ourselves – culturally, politically, emotionally – to interpret ambiguity as threat.

One of the pleasures of the collection is the way it stages the same national argument in different keys. Leigh and Daryl both crave control, but they pursue it through different liturgies. Leigh’s is the secular sermon of the educated striver: research, boundaries, “good parenting,” intentions that behave like talismans. Daryl’s is the older sacrament of force: training, weapons, hierarchy, the confidence that the world can be corrected if the right people are in charge. Acampora is too shrewd to treat either posture as pure. She shows how each can harden into self-righteousness, and how each can also be a desperate attempt to stay upright in a reality that keeps lurching.

Acampora is especially deft with the way “nature” becomes an alibi for human aggression. Daryl talks about wolves and betas as if biology were destiny; Leigh invokes “mama bear” instinct as if it were a permission slip. Meanwhile actual nature arrives as nuisance and omen: mosquitoes, lanternflies, ticks; foxes screaming in the night; the orange sun and hazy sky of wildfire season. The book understands that climate anxiety rarely looks like a policy debate in daily life. It looks like smoke on a child’s shirt, like a sky that feels wrong, like a season that no longer behaves.

The stories also keep returning to care – not as a warm abstraction but as a material crisis. In Meadow’s Rest, care is an economy: staffing ratios, medication schedules, a single worker choosing between a resident and her own child’s medical emergency. The book’s attention to insulin, to the logistics of keeping a body alive, lands with particular force. So does its attention to old age. Daryl’s father lasts ninety-eight years; his dog makes it to twelve. The arithmetic of grief is blunt, and the burdens of caretaking fall where they always do: on the people with the least margin.

Acampora’s sentences often turn on a small, precise pivot, the way a dog shifts from play to attention. She is fond of lists that feel like inventories of threat – “man, car, fire” – and of images that make the suburban landscape briefly uncanny. A “basketball sun,” a deer head “gift,” a bowl of water where saliva mingles: these are ordinary details rendered with the pressure of omen.

For all its menace, “The Animal Room” has an underrun of mordant humor. Acampora knows how people talk when they’re trying to sound reasonable while panicking: the chirpy wellness language of administrators, the stiff politeness of neighbors, the righteous cadence of online tirades. The comedy isn’t a release valve so much as another form of dread. You can hear, in these voices, a society that has forgotten how to disagree without turning disagreement into threat.

A lesser writer might have turned this book into a morality play with easy villains: the reactionary cop, the overanxious mother, the cynical administrator, the deranged teen. Acampora refuses that comfort. She is willing to make Daryl appalling and still recognizably human; willing to show Leigh’s fear as both rational and contagious; willing to make even Jordan’s obsessive romance feel, in its structure, like a distorted version of longing the culture sells to everyone. The book’s moral imagination is capacious enough to hold multiple kinds of terror at once – and to show how they feed each other.

If there is a flaw, it is the one that sometimes attends ambitious linked collections: the motifs can begin to show their seams. Snakes, wolves, enclosures, fire, the language of packs and predators – these echoes are often thrilling, but occasionally the reader can sense the author tightening the web. Yet even this feels thematically apt. These stories are about pattern-seeking, about the human tendency to connect dots until the world looks like a conspiracy or a lesson. The book is sharp enough to implicate that tendency even as it harnesses it.

In the lineage of recent American fiction that anatomizes suburban dread and civic fracture – “Leave the World Behind,” “The Push,” even the eco-satirical paranoia of “Birnam Wood” – Acampora’s distinctive move is to keep returning to the animal as a measure of honesty. Dogs self-handicap, submit, correct, bite, release. Their clarity makes human confusion look like negligence. And yet the book never suggests we can become animals to save ourselves. It suggests something more unsettling: that we already are, and that the question is what we choose to train.

By the time the last page closes, what lingers is not simply a plot point but a sensation – the feeling of standing at a fence line, listening to the woods, trying to decide whether the sound you heard is danger or imagination. “The Animal Room” is the rare contemporary book that does not mistake relevance for commentary. It offers something harder and more lasting: recognition. As a work of linked fiction, it earns an 88 out of 100 – not because it flatters its readers, but because it watches them closely enough to make the watching feel like a kind of correction.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

Good stuff!! I liked how all the stories were connected and that we got to enjoy several points of view of the same happening. We meet some annoying kids, some ignorant rich white couples, some dumb men and some sweet and inspiring characters who will steal your heart. I enjoyed this a lot! Thank you to Grove Atlantic and Netgalley for providing me with an ARC 🫶

[Daria · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

I found The Animal Room to be beautifully written. The author's style is vivid, and she is attentive (maybe too much) to the details. Thanks to this, I can easily see why the book's rating is so high.

However, the stories themselves weren’t completely to my taste, and I didn’t manage to finish the book. It had this creepy yet emotional vibe that reminded me of Black Mirror. I am not a fan, but I see that there is a huge audience for it.
The second short story was my favorite. I can't fully catch why exactly, but for me it was less obscure - and maybe that's the only reason I need.

Overall, the book left a strong impression, especially due to the writing style - I would try other books by Lauren, even if the themes didn’t fully resonate with me.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC — I appreciated the opportunity.

[Mary Lins · Rating 5 out of 5]

“The Animal Room” by Lauren Acampora, consists of thirteen thought-provoking interconnected stories skillfully written with an unflinching and unsentimental view of American life and culture.
Acampora achieves this through the fascinating and varied characters of a small Connecticut town, and the animal world that surrounds them.

Daryl must have dominion over the animals he owns, and we eventually find out why.

Jeanne is an animal hoarder.

Wealthy ex-CEO Roy Fox has accumulated a wide variety of wild animals including some rescued big cats which he houses on his large estate. He’d like to share his love of wild animals with his granddaughter’s kindergarten class. What could go wrong?

Deanna works in a senior citizen care facility where animal therapy is being introduced. Here Acampora illustrates the juxtaposition, and often the clash, of wealthy “American hero’s” of the “Greatest Generation” being taken care of by hard working immigrants striving for the very American ideals that generation fought for.

Lesbian Animal rights advocates Lanny and Haven have been working to protect animals for decades. Will the resort to violence to further their cause?

A wealthy couple goes on an African Safari which includes a tour of the slums of Cape Town where the poor are on exhibit like animals.

Jeanne’s sister Allison’s six-year-olds son, Chance, is disruptive at best, violent at worst; wild animal-like. Allison becomes obsessed by the Betta fish she bought to soothe him.

Roy’s estranged daughter Shannon has adopted a six-year-old from South Africa who loves a particular insect that the community has decreed an invasive species and is intent on its eradication.

We learn about Zoanthropy! A rare mental health condition.

Acampora has an admirable gift for insightful character development within the short story form.
As the various connections among the characters are revealed we begin to see them interacting with each other and note how often they misunderstand and misinterpret each other.

Acampora masterly reveals that our relationships with the animal world, and often with each other, are complicated, layered, and often fraught. Through the close examination of each character, we confront the lies we tell ourselves; recognizing the small and large justifications for our bad actions, especially when they have negative consequences for others.

Many thanks to Grove Press for an ARC of these compelling stories.

[Jill · Rating 5 out of 5]

OMG! As a voracious reader…as a passionate animal-lover…as an empathic human…I am damn near speechless after savoring this extraordinary book. I cannot find the words to capture my reading experience. All I can say is if you read one book this year, make sure this is the one! It is spellbinding!

The Animal Room is, at its heart, a book about how we relate and connect with our animal selves, our families, our communities, and the equally essential other species that inhabit the planet we share. Each story could easily stand by herself but progressively, the reader encounters familiar beings with each successive story. And through this process, the reader gains a fuller understanding about who the characters are and why they reacted in the manner they did earlier on.

Gradually, the characters’ outward masquerades are peeled away, sometimes harshly, sometimes gently, until they are vulnerable and denuded and left for us to peer at without their preening and defenses. We encounter a macho deer hunter who mentally terrorizes his pregnant next door neighbor …an affluent couple who return from an African safari without a clue that their privilege has made them see African through a distorted lens…an out-of-control and animalistic six-year-old named Chance whose mother becomes obsessed with the rare scarlet Betta fish he adopts…a delicate and fragile college girl who appears to be turning into a bird and is on the way to being misdiagnosed by her traditional psychiatrist. It’s hard to decide which is most compelling.

At the core of every story is an animal – a dog, an owl, an ancient fish, a bird, a rat, a deer. Human characters imperfectly try to hoard them, tame them, train them, rescue them, save them, study them, even in one case, become them. But the one thing they can’t seem to do is understand them – even though our human brain is descended from animals over hundreds of millions of years. Even the so-called lowly rat shares 65% of our DNA.

What happens when we begin to get close to that thin line that separates the human animal from the rest of the animal kingdom? When we don’t listen to it or respect it or honor it? When we forget what it means to be human? I owe a deep thanks to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for enabling me to be an early reader in exchange for an honest review. But most of all, I thank the author, Lauren Acampora, for writing such an extraordinary book that reminds me all over again that THIS is why I read!

[Katy · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 Stars

The Animal Room is a selection of stories based in one town in Connecticut, where characters of all different backgrounds, social classes and races weave through the stories and explore a connection (or not) with animals, whether that be the foreground or background of their lives.

At first I thought each story would be completely separated but I was happily surprised to find out we revisit characters however briefly in later chapters. Each story (chapter) holds its own but the connects gave the book something more. I really enjoyed the novel even though some chapters were difficult to read due to neglect, death or abuse but even those subjects were dealt with compassionately.

Can't wait to read more from Lauren Acampora. She will be an auto-buy from now on and I plan to pick up her previously released books.

Thanks to Grove Press for the arc via Netgalley.

[Ash Raymond James · Rating 3 out of 5]

ARC REVIEW (3.5) The Animal Room is a collection of stories set in a single Connecticut town that interlock. It's a clever approach, and having characters recur makes each story feel bigger and more alive. Lauren Acampora writes vividly with great detail and manages to accomplish an underlying discomfort throughout the majority of this book. It is obscure and isn't something I have seen done often, especially at this level.

If you are looking for a quick horror read, then I would recommend checking this out. It isn't a guarantee that all of the stories will work for you but that is part of the joy of having a short story collection.

Thank you Netgalley for the advanced copy.

[Vmndetta ᛑᛗᛛ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow, let me tell you something. I love animals, and it wouldn't sit right with me if I didn't read this book. So here I am. It's rare for me to give a short story collection 5 stars … but this one deserves it.

Count me speechless. I didn't expect to love this book this much. Every story kept me hooked. My favorite part is definitely the animals part. I love how every story has animals in it and shows the connection between humans and animals. This book was such a good and enjoyable read for me. Definitely one of my favorite short story collections and will stay in my mind for a long time.

[meg · Rating 4 out of 5]

*Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC—I appreciated the opportunity (3.5)** I loved Acampora's voice in Animal Room; it's sharp, and I liked how the stories build off of each other. Solves the disjointedness you can stumble through in other short story collections. Some of the stories felt a little redundant (like the Tiger King-esque one), but I will definitely keep an eye out for further releases. I think Acampora would shine in a full-length novel of this style.

[Remi]

i'm an animal friend.

*thank you to Grove Press for the ARC*

[Michael]

Review TK.