Compared by critics to such masterful storytellers as Raymond Carver, Rick Bass, and Thom Jones, Elwood Reid, author of the acclaimed novel If I Don't Six , signals a powerful presence on the American literary landscape with his knockout story collection, What Salmon Know . Reid's characters are tough men living in a world tougher than they are. Life's disappointments fester in their hearts, dashing earnest hopes and provoking violent tendencies made manifest in bad behavior and fatalistic posturing. But there's more to these men than meets the eye, and with great emotional acuity, Reid sheds light on their opaque souls. "Imagine Sherwood Anderson on the dark side of town, with Nicolas Cage riding shotgun." -- USA Today "Best read in one sitting as a tour de force." -- Boston Book Review "The honesty of Reid's prose produces an emotional resonance that fills the heart, the kind of stuff literature is made of." -- The Denver Post "Strong, unsettling tales, narrated in a spare, pungent prose"-- Kirkus Reviews critics to such masterful storytellers as Raymond Carver, Rick Bass, and Thom Jones, Elwood Reid, author of the acclaimed novel If I Don't Six , signals a powerful presence on the American literary landscape with his knockout story collection, What Salmon Know . Reid's characters are tough men living in a world tougher than they are. Life's disappointments fester in their hearts, dashing earnest hopes and provoking violent tendencies made manifest in bad behavior and fatalistic posturing. But there's more to these men than meets the eye, and with great emotional acuity, Reid sheds light on their opaque souls. critics to such masterful storytellers as Raymond Carver, Rick Bass, and Thom Jones, Elwood Reid, author of the acclaimed novel If I Don't Six , signals a powerful presence on the American literary landscape with his knockout story collection, What Salmon Know . Reid's characters are tough men living in a world tougher than they are. Life's disappointments fester in their hearts, dashing earnest hopes and provoking violent tendencies made manifest in bad behavior and fatalistic posturing. But there's more to these men than meets the eye, and with great emotional acuity, Reid sheds light on their opaque souls. Elwood Reid's new novel, Golden Heart , will be published by Doubleday in September 2000. Mr. Reid lives in Obernberg, New York. Random Beatings and You The tests at the VA hospital did not go well. The nurse was a butcher, couldn't get the needle right. A vein in your arm collapsed, which leads you to question whether or not this is any way to make a living. You are a carpenter who can't stand work. It beats you, makes your hands hurt, your ears, back, neck, even your fingernails, which take sliver after slam after stub. There are, however, five crisp twenty-dollar bills in your pocket. You are in a bar. You have a drink and the drugs they tried on you this time have given you a raging hard-on as well as a headache. That is why you are at the bar, drinking vodka and tonics (more vodka, less tonic). It is not your favorite bar. It is peopled with defectives and men in suits hiding out from their jobs. You know two people in the bar and like neither of them. The bartender is a bar-tanned pretty boy--coke-red nose and twitchy eyes. He talks too much and pours light. To your left is a man in a suit who smells of aftershave and cigarettes. And to your right is Angel--one of two people you know but don't like. Angel is big and black. He has tattoos, no front teeth and you have been told his cock is pierced. He is the Picasso of drink chiselers, his talent is sniffing out coin. When he spots money he says, "Yeah, baby, yeah, baby, lay some on me. Spread some of that silver sunshine around and be happy." Your talent is avoiding work by letting VA doctors poke you full of experimental drugs. You justify the drugs and what they might be doing to your nervous system and kidneys with a vague sense of patriotism, country and maybe a little God sprinkled in with all the other star-spangled bullshit. Somewhere a flag is being raised in your honor. Somewhere there is a vet getting the same drugs as you only he can't leave at night because he is bona fide crazy and can't even remember his name. You are full of great things, that is why they pay you. You are part of the control group--the normal. The want to know what you think, how the drugs make you feel. And for this they pay you. "Hey, buddy," the Suit next to you says. "Bottom line is I want to know what the hell you're doing in here." He laughs. His face looks like a split potato. You say "huh" and drop your jaw at him, hoping he will leave you alone. But there is no such luck. Herb has already hit him up for a Black Label and he wants to talk--a return on his investment, only he doesn't want it from Angel. He wants it from you because you have a pleasant face and look like a guy who might know everything there is to know about the