Some journalists’ writing, charming in brevity, suffers when translated to a full-length book. So readers of Heather Mallick’s Globe and Mail columns may approach Pearls in Vinegar with some trepidation. Fortunately, Mallick has resisted the temptation to make her first foray into book writing too grand or colossal.

Instead, she’s taken for her model the pillow books of 10th-century Japanese ladies, which can be best explained as, in her words, “A series of musings about things that interest me.” Thus Mallick’s pillow book is crammed chock-a-block with lists, examples, anecdotes, complaints, and sweet little asides. The verdict? It works.

Fans of her “As If…” column already know Mallick has an engagingly skewed way of looking at the world, couched in the mildly acerbic tone that Canadians do better than anyone. At times her puckish, macabre sense of humour in these snippets echoes Atwood or early Jeanette Winterson (before she got too grandiose).

Mallick reports, for instance, that Verlaine’s mother kept her miscarried fetuses in jars around the house: “The modern stance advocates giving people ‘time to grieve’ but there are limits surely.” Discussing the case of a doctor in a Texas hospital who was decapitated when the elevator he was entering closed unexpectedly, Mallick wants to know which part of him fell inside, to complete the ride with the horrified occupants.

Job interviews, Mallick remarks, are full of stupid answers: “‘Where do you see yourself five years from now?’ the interviewer asks. ‘On another continent, moneyed and unwrinkled, loved by all who encounter me and displaying the storied torsal red flush of a recent orgasm,’ is what you wish to say. ‘With my skills honed, I’d like to be ready for the next level,’ is what you should say.” Mallick is, by any standard, ready for the next level. She probably always has been.