I've always loved Singer, and this great collection, published by Modern Library in 1966, reminded me why. Singer's stories are exquisite, revealing the wonders and weaknesses of human nature. In these stories, Singer takes us back in time to pre-Holocaust Jewish shtetel in Russia and Poland. He also introduces us to the magical realism of Jewish mysticism and superstition, as demons and imps play major roles in many of these stores, and indeed even narrate a goodly number.

Singer's use of language and powers of description are often breathtaking, although, as he wrote in Yiddish, readers are dependent on the quality of the translations. At any rate, here is a deft and telling, if hardly cheery, character description that has stayed with me, from the short story, "The Wife Killer":

Some years passed and he didn't remarry. Perhaps he didn't want to, perhaps there was no suitable opportunity; anyway, he remained a widower. Women gloated over this. He became even stingier than before, and so unkempt that it was positively disgusting. He ate a bit of meat on Saturday: scraps or derma. All week he ate dry food. He baked his own bread of corn and bran. He didn't buy wood. Instead, he went out at night with a sack, to pick up the chips near the bakery. He had two deep pockets and whatever he saw, he put into them: bones, bark, string, shards. He hid all these in his attic. He piled heaps of stuff as high as the roof. "Every little thing comes in handy," he used to say. He was a scholar in the bargain, and could quote Scripture on every occasion, though as a rule he talked little. ( )