For me, fiction is either a conduit to some alternative reality or it’s an opportunity to see the existing world from another perspective. My go-to reads are usually the classics (Animal Farm, The Great Gatsby, Dracula, etc.) but occasionally I venture out of my comfort zone for something more contemporary. It’s not that I am afraid of taking literary chances, but… okay, maybe I am.

“I have the face of a worrier. Not a warrior, but a worrier. I looked like a hypochondriac. I didn’t look seriously ill, but I looked like I probably thought I was.”

James Thomas has created a protagonist here that I can relate to. Joseph is an intelligent, slightly successful, unmarried hot mess. He wakes one day to find himself in the mid-thirties doldrums: lonely, alone, and underemployed. Thomas masterfully evokes a sense of hopelessness; yes there is the ever-present possibility of redemption, but there is also an almost tangible abyss.

I enjoyed this more than I first thought I would. Thomas has a sense of humor that creeps into his storytelling at just the right times—keeping the arc from spiraling into something morose and out of perspective.

In spite of the somewhat dark undertone, My Name Isn’t Joe is ultimately uplifting, but in a very unexpected way.