More Hell: Stories, Tilled and Driftless (from independent publisher Whiskey Tit) is a compendium of rural tales from multiple perspectives, each carrying a layered experience of what it means to be human, challenge stereotypes and grieve loved (or not-so-loved) ones. The book oozes with palpable Midwest dread, as I like to call it, with nods to Iowa City and the Quad Cities tossed in.
I had the distinct pleasure of getting the chance to hear al-Sirgany read a few of these stories aloud at his book event at my indie bookstore, the Atlas Collective in Moline, Illinois. From the moment he began to read “Gracie’s Story,” I welcomed a settling breath in myself, but also noticed the rest of the audience settling as the author really dug deep. Adam spins stories with a rich lyrical quality — spoken and written. This trait is rare, and seeing this style in a short collection of fiction was wildly refreshing.
This book is divided into three collections, all similar and woven, yet told in distinct ways. In the piece “Long Weekend,” early on in the book, al-Sirgany had me sat. This piece feels like a life lived, a full circle, as referenced once: “…it was a circle his words turned on.” Sirgany found a way to paint this heavily personal and nostalgic piece in words that feel and look like an Iowa dusk, or how he describes it, “the sky is a contusion. Cloud’s striate horizon so that the sun, somewhere above, spreads from a perse into violets and pinks.” It truly stopped me in my tracks.
Many stories in the middle collection, entitled “Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics,” had me thinking of the sad millennial girl I used to be, and all the memories I repressed, packed up in a box and chucked into the attic. Within those boxes resides my creative self, which I recently began to pry them open again in my 30s. The opening piece, “A Real Drag Princess” has a quote spoken by Jason, a musician and drifter of sorts, that made me strum my guitar for the first time in years. “He believed — still believes — making music, really making music, whatever the circumstances, is the hardest thing a person can do.” We must never lose sight of the wonder we once had, no matter how dark it was and currently is.
Between openly cackling, shedding a couple tears and taking a moment to journal, al-Sirgany delivers stories that almost feel sticky, sinking their fingers into you and holding on for holy hell. In the last section entitled “Heritage,” the mention of “pretzel Jell-O salad” sent me back to my Busia’s kitchen — the flavors, voices and that musty Catholic church I was raised in. Al-Sirgany serves up the sacredness of a family home, the layers of life, dust and nonsense. By doing so, he helped me reflect on my own Midwestern background. Thank you, Adam, for this profound gift.
This article was originally published in Little Village’s December 2025 issue.
