Taken individually these short - some extremely short - stories may seem little short of childishly gruesome, trivial, and banal; you may, if unfamiliar with Daniil Kharms (and especially with the IDEA of Daniil Kharms which seems to count for more), wonder why he should possibly be so celebrated for, say, a tale of old women falling out of a window, and who abruptly ends his stories by claiming, for instance, that he's going to stop writing because he's lost his ink pot or has fallen off his chair. Yet you don't stop reading. It's this triviality, and this banality of his writing which draws you in, it's the casual simplicity of his narration which makes you want to read more, until you find you've devoured the whole book and only then realise the insidious effect these pieces have.
Kharms ought, however, to be read with a degree of knowledge of his life, for knowledge of the Stalinist Russia in which he lived (and died) lends an even eerier quality to the work; my only qualm with this volume is that there isn't a more of a biographical introduction. Neil Cornwell's end essay would have been more happily placed at the beginning of the book. Simon McBurney (presumably he of the Theatre de Complicite) writes more about Simon McBurney than he does about Daniil Kharms in his introduction in a style where he tries - too hard, I think - to imitate the pithy, gnomic style of the author but doesn't quite make it. Indeed, one gets the feeling that this introduction to the new edition has been hastily tacked on. (The proof reader - if there even was one - failed to notice that the author's name was misspelled "Danill" on the head of each page of the intro - not a good start, that.) However, it's fantastic that the book should be reprinted at all so it isn't really fair to quibble about such things.