In "Isolettes," Smith again uses the world of science as a parallel to the inner life of the character. In this case, it's An, a woman whose independence frightens her and leads her to the decision to have a baby. Smith's ability to forge a character in a sentence is again present when we learn:

In her foolish twenties, she'd shared a loft with a boyfriend whose puppy-dog good cheer had made her want to drive him out to the country and leave him there.

The "B9ers," conversely, had a Palahniukian feel, with its distrust of sincerity and kindness — not to mention the support group motif and the story's resolution. A more ethereal, less gritty Palahniuk absent the potential for accusations of misogyny, mind you. There were occasionally other echoes of familiarity. The ash filled curling stone that featured in two of the collection's stories was reminiscent of Men With Brooms, not that the world isn't big enough for two memorial rocks. The title story, meanwhile, has a passing resemblance to The Confessions of Max Tivoli in the aging-gone-wonky circumstances of the protagonist. (In Smith's case, he dubs the condition "Fred Hoyle syndrome," again using science as the scaffolding for his human story— Hoyle did not support the Big Bang theory, though he coined the term, supporting instead the idea of Steady State.)

These echoes are mentioned as trivia, not as criticism. Smith's work is original, from the most ordinary of the stories to the most extreme ("Extremities"). His ability to capture wistfulness in all its hope and desperation charmed me. His unwillingness to romanticize situations or subjects shocked, delighted and devastated me. Smith clearly loves the world in all it's messy, car accident glory. Bang Crunch is the sound of life, an onomatopoeia of what it feels like to be alive. It was the perfect book for the journey I had to make, and I am grateful for it.