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I have a bit of a love-hate thing going on with Lisa Moore.

On the one hand, she's an exquisite writer. She uses mundane details in unusual ways to render setting or plot or character both familiar and disconcerting. The result is a collection of stories in which we recognize ourselves, but often wish we didn't.

Long story short: Moore has a knack for laying bare our collective nerves and heart.

I also love how specifically she locates her work. There's no doubt that we're reading about Newfoundlanders, either displaced or recently returned or never-left. It's there in the words and phrases she chooses; the briny atmosphere; the problems and pleasures her characters encounter. The Rock underpins everything, like salt in the air.

On the other hand: part of Moore's style is to let loose with a dozen scatter-shot details (of a person, place or thing - doesn't matter) that coalesce into a snapshot. It's a quick and effective way of establishing atmosphere or backstory, and it's often powerful.

The first five times.

After the tenth or fifteenth time, though, it gets a little old. She uses it so often that it looses it's power; we become immune. Not only that, we loose the plot. Instead of immersing ourselves in a story, we end up bouncing from image to image, impression to impression.

That said, the writing alone - the bracing, honest, wit of it - is worth your time. And, in the end, Moore often pulls it together. Not always, but I'm willing to forgive her that. So, if you haven't read Open - or anything else by Moore - yet, do it. Soon.