Halfway through reading Pepsi Bears I had to put it down and figure out what it was about Anson Cameron’s writing that was so ridiculously infectious. Sure, it was witty, incisive and insightful, but that didn’t quite explain it. Then I realised it was the sheer delight this author takes in the act of storytelling. Not since reading Roald Dahl’s short stories as a teenager have I encountered a writer who so clearly revels in the form as Cameron.

By turns hilarious, macabre, heartbreaking, scatological and surreal, the stories in Pepsi Bears are principally concerned with the collision between humanity and the natural world. Zebras, dogs, polar bears, gorillas and an entire zoo-full of exotic animals conspire, with Cameron’s deft guidance, to unmask the absurdity of humankind in situations trivial and profound. But Cameron is a satirist with a keen sense of empathy, and he has the ability to turn comedy to poignancy in the flick of a single sentence. I finished the book with the strange sense of having undergone a deep searching examination of the human condition whilst watching a riot of clowns and circus animals set loose in a fairground.

I had only read Cameron’s stories in isolation before, and the snowball effect of reading a whole volume left me somewhat giddy. Short story collections are like novels at fever pitch, and it can be hard to judge individual stories in the initial onslaught. But after taking a deep breath and considering each one on its own terms, the only criticism I can offer is that of comparison: not all of them are quite so excellent as their companions. But this hardly seems fair, because if you open Pepsi Bears at random, chances are you’ll encounter one of the best short stories you’ll read this year.