The protagonists span generations, though McBride focusses on flawed men in their thirties and forties, much as Klay, Lefferts, and Conroe do. But where those authors have attempted to analyze masculinity through solemn, literary means, McBride’s lens is comedy, with a simple thesis: being a man is embarrassing and therefore worth making fun of.
McBride’s stories aren’t misandrist per se, but they do poke fun at male woes, in a way that is neither flippant nor overly serious. “The Institute of Men,” a fable-like story and a standout in the book, is told from the perspective of Mitchie, a balding forty-two-year-old who undergoes an experimental treatment to get his hair and swagger back. The process is marked by varying affronts, but Mitchie presses on, basking in the compliments of co-workers and the attention of a love interest, until it all goes terribly wrong.
Like much of the collection, “Institute” is an “if only” story, in which the protagonist nurses a fatal flaw that prevents him from being fulfilled—if only I were braver (“The Book Burner”), if only I were younger (“Dad’s Way”), if only I wasn’t losing my hair (“Institute”). One is briefly reminded of Ernest Hemingway’s 1927 short story collection, “Men Without Women,” which springs from a single prompt: If only there were no women.
McBride’s focus on male shortcomings is a timely theme, but also one that he’s been exploring for his whole career. In 2023, he told the New York Times that his characters are “all just sort of dudes that I think have subscribed to this antiquated way of what the rules are, like what a dude’s supposed to be.” He went on: “They’ve committed to it, and then the reality of it isn’t adding up to the illusion.”
A strain of envy, in particular, runs through “Thrilling Tales.” In an interview in June, McBride told the Times’ David Marchese that jealousy is “one of those flaws that says so much about someone because it shows what’s important to them and how they look at themselves and feel like they’re not complete.” The darker corners of the internet are all too eager to offer men a compelling list of reasons for why their lives are unfulfilling, as well as an echo chamber full of the similarly aggrieved. McBride, like all good satirists, cranks up the volume of those resentments and insecurities, in the process revealing a new way to see the world. “I like going after human flaws as opposed to the flaws of just this moment. Guilt, shame, feeling inadequate—these things are timeless,” he told the Times.
“Institute” is inventive, taut, and very funny. There are hints of George Saunders in McBride’s ability to turn the indignities of modern life into a gently devastating black comedy. At the beginning of the story, Mitchie, who works at an auto-body shop, is discussing aging with his colleague:
