Gary Fincke’s The Sorrows explores the human dynamics, gone wrong and right, of family, of loss for women who never “said they needed their husbands to come back from the dead,” of the ghosts that populate the world. There are filthy people in the world of sorrows, collecting porn and drinking beer; racist and sexist, dangerous and blind despite the disasters. Yet, the grotesque often brings the saints through the darkness to redemptive light, and Fincke is adept at guiding his reader toward such consolation. After all, the reader is “someone who needed me. Or, at least, a presence, a voice.”