Lawrence.com

A brutal car wreck, perverted preachers, angry orphans and teen-age girls aflutter with adolescence sexuality. The subject matter of Elizabeth Cox's bummer-filled collection, "Bargains in the Real World: Thirteen Stories" (Random House, 217 pages, $19.95), recall the potent Southern Gothic amalgam of carnality and religion that Flannery O'Conner so righteously perfected.

However, there seems to be something missing from these 13 skillfully wrought stories by Cox � emotion. The stories, set all over the South and from post-Civil War to pre-Gulf War, trace the ups and downs (mostly downs) of normal folks who have been placed in abnormal circumstances. The results, despite the rigor of Cox's prose, are surprisingly chilly.

The book opens with "The Third of July," where Nadine, a wife of 30 years, leaves her husband a note explaining that she is leaving him, then runs to town for some errands. On her trip she comes across a horrifying automobile accident, with bodies strewn on the ground, crumpled in the backseats and wedged against the steering wheel. She is quickly joined by a neighbor, Emmett, and they do what they can to help before an ambulance arrives. The set-up is reminiscent of Denis Johnson's haunting "Car Crash While Hitchhiking" in his collection "Jesus' Son," but what's so strange about Cox's crash and fallout is the lack of feeling involved. The prose is so straight-forward, Nadine so distant that we never get a sense of why she's leaving now � other than the obvious symbolism of her first day of freedom being the imminent Independence Day signified by the story's title.

She writes, "He picked up the crates from the road and climbed into the truck. He turned the key several times before hearing it catch. As he drove off, he waved good-bye and Nadine waved back. She walked to the car and checked the salad. It was still cool." (Page 12)

Similar coolness permeates the book, as each story seems to feature a recently dead father, various dead animals, simmering teen sexuality and variations of love gone wrong. In "Saved," a young girl bewitched with becoming a missionary calls a bar and practices her pitch on a drunken fellow who calls himself "Samuel Beckett." After a few calls, they decide to meet � teen and 40-year old man � in the park. In "Biology" a similar teen girl finds that Warner James, a tent-revival preacher, has a hands-on approach to his flock. In "A Sounding Brass," a single mother and her two children cope with the accidental shooting of their father during a vacation.

For all the sadness and disturbing premises, though, one story really stands out � "The Last Fourth Grade." Carey was a student of Mrs. Johnson, everyone's favorite fourth-grade teacher. She invites her students into her home twice a year for treats and to be entertained by her husband's rollicking stories. Trouble is, her husband, Harry, likes kids a little too much. Mrs. Johnson, instead of continuing to hide from this knowledge, shoots the bastard dead and is sent to prison. The story takes place years later as Carey and her 9-year-old daughter, Soskia, visit Mrs. Johnson in prison. Their meetings are coiled with joy and tension, as Mrs. Johnson finally gets to teach a fourth-grader again, but that thrill is offset by her continuing refusal to deal with the truth about her former husband.

"'Since I have been in this place, I've thought a lot about Harry, and what he did. And you might be surprised to know that I realize now what really happened.' She turned to look at me. I couldn't read her mood. 'I mean, what you little girls were doing in your pretty little dresses. And your soft little legs. Not all of it was my Harry's fault, you know.'"

The best short fiction operates in the spaces of the prose � it's all in the implication. In "Bargains in the Real World," for the most part, those gaps aren't filled, leaving readers with haunting stories, but no connection. Cox's ability to craft clipped, powerful sentences can't be denied and she has plenty phenomenal, creepy scenes, wonderful dialogue and a few splashes of dark humor. One leaves the collection feeling very little for the characters or their circumstances � not because the subject matter is so unrelentingly grim, rather because Cox emotionally stiff-arms them throughout the book.

� Mark Luce serves on the board of directors of the National Book Critic Circle. He also reviews for the San Francisco Chronicle and the Washington Post. He lives in Lawrence.