Like the cover and the way the stories are presented, the title "Thrilling Tales" is an ironic smirk at the content. Big name writers try to write genre pulp fiction from the '30s and '40s and the results are dire.
Jim Shepard opens with a story called "Tedford and the Megalodon", a snoozer about a guy who goes looking for a prehistoric fish (I think anyway, I was so bored I drifted in and out) and ultimately finds it only to have it swim away. Yup, that's the opening salvo that's supposed to have you clutching the book feverishly. I put the book down for several days out of boredom.
Going for a more well known writer I picked up with Stephen King's "The Tale of Gray Dick", a story set in his Dark Tower world. It's literally a story about a metal plate.
A week later, I picked another famous writer, Michael Crichton, and his story "Blood Doesn't Come Out" a story about a private detective who shoots his mother. Amazingly, this story wasn't hard boiled like the genre it sets out to represent and was utterly dreary.
I stopped at that point realising there were 400 pages left! 400 pages of potentially more soul crushing tedium. Michael Chabon and Rick Moody both supply 70 page stories and having read both writers' previous work I knew I wouldn't like them. The rest, including the other big name - Glen David Gold, Elmore Leonard, Harlan Ellison, Dave Eggers - didn't fill me with confidence given the output so far.
I'd read Neil Gaiman and Nick Hornby's contributions before and liked Hornby's so I felt like I'd read a good enough chunk of the book to get the gist of it. It was ironically thrilling in that it wasn't at all.
Nice one Chabon for editing the weakest issue of McSweeney's ever. Avoid.