FICTION

IN THE ARMS OF OUR ELDERS by William Henry Lewis (Carolina Wren Books: $10.95; 143 pp.) If it weren’t for the jacket photo and bio, one might assume, at first reading, that 28-year-old William Henry Lewis was in his 50s. The best stories in his debut collection, “In the Arms of Our Elders,” concern the delicate intricacies of familial relationships, often with growing older as one of the themes. There is, however, a subtle pushiness to the writing, a hand-waving-in-the-air, “Oooh, ooh, call on me ,” quality that is usually seen with a younger author.

In one of the strongest pieces, a lonely, repressed old woman mourns the past, talking to a young boy who doesn’t understand. “And Lauralinda, after pausing for a moment, rolls back in the chair, letting out what she hopes sounds like laughter. The sound comes sharp and high-pitched, her teeth showing. It could be a wail, but she’s trying to smile. It falls out, her hand not even covering her mouth, and she wonders what inside her could make such sounds.”

If Lewis has a problem, it is in his dialogue. Often, people seem to say things as a way of explaining plot, which doesn’t feel organic to their characters. In addition, what they say is much less interesting than what they are doing and feeling. Still, it is obvious that Lewis is quite talented, and one suspects his future work will only get better.