It is no secret that I am a voracious reader of short fiction, both by preference and to fulfill professional obligations. As the editor and compiler of numerous anthologies, calculating the number of stories I’ve read during the past few years would be like trying to keep track of the number of times I’ve overheard “awesome” and “omigod” in sidewalk cell phone conversations over that same period.

One of the best of those mystery collections, lustily praised and strenuously recommended in this column, was “Brooklyn Noir,” edited by Tim McLoughlin (Akashic, 300 pages, $15.95). Combining well-known authors (Pete Hamill, Ken Bruen) with equally talented newcomers (McLoughlin and Lou Manfredo, both of whose stories were selected for “Best American Mysteries Stories 2005”), this was a laudable book in every way.

After that impressive debut, it seems the publisher thought he was on to something, and he rapidly came out with “Brooklyn Noir 2” and then “Brooklyn Noir 3.” This is, as the expression goes, the tip of the iceberg, and it may be the same big hunk of frozen water that sank the Titanic.

The series concept is a good one. All original stories are set in a specific part of the city, presumably written by inhabitants who know the heartbeat and soul of the places. I can understand “Manhattan Noir,” edited by Lawrence Block (257 pages, $14.95). Okay, he was born in Buffalo, but he’s lived here long enough to know his way around. As editors of this series evidently are required to do, he wrote a story and, predictably, it’s a good one.There are stories by other favorite writers: Thomas H. Cook (born in Fort Payne, Ala.), Jeffery Deaver (born outside Chicago), and John Lutz (born in Texas and lived most of his life in St. Louis, Mo.).

What I have a little more trouble with is “Twin Cities Noir” (258 pages, $14.95), edited by Julie Schaper and Steven Horwitz. I mean, no offense to Minneapolis and St. Paul, but I have to ask you: Did you ever imagine you would hear the words “Twin Cities” and “noir” in the same sentence? No doubt the cities have their share of crime and violence. It’s not all Lake Wobegon. And there are good writers out there, you bet. Steve Thayer, Pete Hautman, and William Kent Krueger are the real deal. But seriously, noir? I know kindergarten teachers in New York who could make Twin Cities gangs cower.

Sadly, one of the low points in this series is “Dublin Noir” (228 pages, $14.95), edited by Ken Bruen. At a time when there are so many first-rate Irish authors working, the lineup here is both perplexing and disappointing.

First of all, Mr. Bruen, a splendid and original writer whose characters are so hard that the softest thing about them is their teeth, is from Galway, which may indeed have its noir style – but it’s, like, Galway, not Dublin. And I want to know which of these writers has even visited Dublin, much less understands its heart and soul. Jason Starr? Laura Lippman? Jim Fusilli? Charlie Stella? Reed Farrel Coleman? Duane Swierczynski? Gary Phillips? All good writers, no question, but Dublin?

In the disingenuous introduction, Mr. Bruen states that the plan was to turn the concept of the series upside down, to show how Dublin looked from the outside. Sorry, that’s cheating. Why is there no story by the superb John Connolly, who lives in Dublin? Why nothing from Adrian McKinty, the super-talented Irishman? In “Yeats Is Dead,” edited by Joseph O’Connor, 15 Irish mystery writers appeared. It seems a few of them, at least, might have been available for this collection.

And while there are some excellent stories, there are some so lame they’d make Long John Silver seem like the Olympic sprint gold medalist. For a hodgepodge called “Hen Night” by a blogger named Sarah Weinman, one can only have wished that someone had taken away her box of Crayolas. If there’s a cliche that didn’t make it into this story, it is somewhere being lonely. “Cut to the quick,” “dead right,” “my last hurrah,” “made my skin crawl,” “settled into our seats,” “his eyes fixed in a stricken expression” – no, please, make me stop.

“D.C. Noir” ($14.95, 308 pages), edited by George Pelecanos, is far superior. In addition to his own first-rate story, there are the usual professional jobs you’d expect from Laura Lipp man and James Grady, and good stories by two writers I’d not heard of before, Richard Currey and Jennifer Howard.

Peter Maravelis edited “San Francisco Noir” ($14.94, 291 pages) and it, too, has some good stories, notably by the talented Eddie Muller, David Corbett, and Domenic Stansberry. “Chicago Noir” ($14.95, 252 pages), edited by Neal Pollack, has also been released. Akashic’s future schedule includes anthologies devoted to London, Miami, Los Angeles, Detroit, Wall Street, Havana, the Bronx, Queens, and New Orleans.

Sometimes, success can be a terrible thing, like a prizefighter who goes undefeated for 22 bouts, busting up a bunch of tomatoes, and then, thinking he’s invincible, steps into the ring with a real tough guy who promptly beats the snot out of him. With a little more patience, more time, more attention to detail, the undefeated pug might have had a chance.

That’s the story of these books. “Brooklyn Noir” was a great success and so Akashic, a very good little publishing house, appears to have rushed into production as many books as it could conjure, failing only to sign up “Oshkosh Noir” and “Podunk Noir.” While the quality of stories in any anthology is bound to be variable (not all authors are created equal), there are far too many clunkers here to be acceptable.

I think the next volume should be titled “Golden Goose Noir.”

Mr. Penzler is the proprietor of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan and the series editor of the annual “Best American Mystery Stories.” He can be reached at ottopenzler@mysteriousbookshop.com.