Liars and Saints

My desert-island cast album is "Red," by Taylor Swift. This isn't actually a cast album--it isn't paired with a musical--but, then, wait. "Red" is sneaky; it does work as a musical. When she met Jake Gyllenhaal, Taylor met the nemesis of a lifetime; I'd argue no one else, in Ms. Swift's vast galaxy of characters, seems quite as interesting. Gyllenhaal is the Joker, or Lex Luthor. Yes--the Penguin is out there, as well--but no one can really compete with the Joker. Who wants to hear about love? We're all here to get the details on the breakup. Young Taylor Swift knew this instinctively; she wastes very little time on the happy period. We move very quickly toward the pain. Take "All Too Well," Taylor's most celebrated number, and a kind of thesis statement for the album. The very first line: "I walked through the door with you; the air was cold; but something about it felt like home somehow...." THE AIR IS A

My husband and I very much liked "The Ladies who Lunch." A recap: This song is meant for one woman. But Audra et al. split up the duties. The first verse went to Christine Baranski--reasonably poised, with perfect hair and makeup. The second verse went to a more-beleaguered Meryl Streep--letting some of the rage show. The third verse went to Audra, who was like the ungoverned id--just full craziness, with wild hair and some drunken leering at the camera. A smart move. Also, it was great to make Audra the punchline, since we tend not to focus on Audra's comedic chops. I always like surprise casting. (Another example would be the opposite trick: when a comedian gets to be dramatic. Ted Danson on "Damages." Kristen Wiig in "Skeleton Twins.") I think Gemignani and Elizabeth Stanley were also stand-outs, and they're not getting the attention they deserve. I could have done without Josh Groban and Lin-Manuel. (The less said.....) And I'm de

Sometimes, reading "Frog and Toad," I worry that I'm giving my son terrible lessons about co-dependence. Take "The List." This is a story in which--predictably--Toad loses his mind. Like any neurotic, Toad struggles with the concept of time. (Time has to do with boundaries, and a neurotic can't really handle time, or money, or any other "boundary thing.") You'll notice that time comes up again and again in the Lobel works: the one about mail, the one about springtime, the one about Christmas. (Time--and falling asleep. Toad--deeply-depressed--is often shown as falling asleep, or deep in sleep.)   To manage his time obsession, Toad structures his day with a to-do list. It's ridiculous. It's like: "Take a shower. Have a walk. Clean ears. Skip through meadow. See Frog. Fly a kite. Drink tea. Go to sleep." Toad gets to Frog, but his list flies away, and, unlike a normal person, he can't function. He has a f

My husband and I loved Brad Pitt as Anthony Fauci this weekend. The joke is that Fauci must repress his rage and encourage us to "keep an open mind" while he himself struggles with exasperation. Donald Trump once suggested that a cure would pop up "relatively soon," and Dr. Fauci observes that "relatively" is a tricky adverb; if you tell your friend you'll arrive "relatively soon," then take a year and a half to show up, well, she might punch you in the face. Trump asserted that "a miracle will happen" -- and, patiently, Dr. Fauci acknowledges that miracles are nice. "But they shouldn't be Plan A. Even Sully tried to land at an airport--first." The thing that elevates the skit is Pitt's use of silence. (Here's why he is a star and an Oscar winner.) Confronted with a Trump clip in which it's suggested that "no one really knows what the virus is," Dr. Fauci briefly goes into a wordless tails

I missed National Book Day--it was this past Thursday--but, for the record, here's what I'm reading: *"Lady in the Lake," by Laura Lippman (second time) *"One of Us Is Next," by Karen McManus (sequel to the YA mystery "One of Us Is Lying," which I really liked) *"Babar and Father Christmas," by Jean de Brunhoff ....And I'm looking forward to: "The Last Coyote" (Connelly), "The Most Fun We Ever Had" (Lombardo), "The Complaints" (Rankin)..... That's my list....I'll talk about some of these (at the least) down the road.....

Samantha Irby had a traumatic childhood. At one point, she alludes to multiple men dying in her childhood basement. Also, she spent time in a crack house. (She corrects herself; she feels it wasn't really a crack house, but maybe just a retreat for people who enjoyed crack? I'm not sure I have the right distinction here.) Irby's unusual gift is that she can write about this sort of thing without even a hint of self-pity; she describes tough times, and the ensuing depression, with clear eyes and even an occasional shrug. She has something in common with Augusten Burroughs. Irby's new book lists the kinds of questions you might have if you're an anxious person feeling not quite at home on this planet. (I fit in that group, so I was charmed.) The questions: If you move into a house, do you have to wash the *outside* of the house? Do people wash their walls? If you find yourself working at a fancy company, can you be honest and write "Hostess low-fat cherr

Recently, I was asked to participate in a gay-men's recipe exchange. And this terrified me. I imagined hyper-competent gay men all over America, dicing and slicing and also preparing some kind of compote and maybe a jus. This is not how I cook. If I were honest, I would tell you this about food preparation. (1) Make sure the recipe has fewer than five ingredients. With the measurements, just sort of let your eyes slide over the numbers...and hope some kind of osmosis process is happening.....because you will not be referring back to the measurements. (2) People say that small children really like textures that bring back memories of baby food: yogurts, creamy sauces, butter and noodles. These foods don't require a great deal of work: You can wolf the stuff down, you don't really have to chew, and then you can go back to staring at your phone. I have not outgrown this phase. I like to eat quickly, without effort, and I find that eating quickly means that you ca

The NYT has had at least two pieces on "desert-island cast albums"-- which bits of Broadway would you want with you in solitary confinement? --and I thought I'd add some overlooked choices. *The Nathan Lane version of "Guys and Dolls." People suggest "Guys and Dolls" is among the closest-to-perfect works in Broadway history--a work so strong that even a bad high-school version can't fully dilute the charm--and the Nathan Lane version seems definitive. Lane is tremendous, obviously, and this version also has a canonical performance by Faith Prince, who went on to win the Tony. (The Times critic: "Prince is so expressive, she can make a one-act drama just from her bizarre pronunciation of a single random word, subsequently .") *Lea Salonga, "Miss Saigon." This is not a perfect musical, but the Broadway Original Cast (not Revival Cast) recording has three--count them, three--Tony-winning performances. Lea Salonga and Jonat

Det. Harry Bosch lives in LA; he has a fabulous hillside home, because one of his cases became a movie, "The Black Echo," and the proceeds were generous. (What is a black echo? That's a joke the writers choose not to explain. Novelist Michael Connelly actually has written a Bosch tale called "The Black Echo," as well as "The Black Box," "The Black Ice.") Bosch is a good cop who sometimes cuts a few corners, nothing major. He believes that "each soul counts," because, if that's not true, then *no* soul counts. He is the "tough, silent type"; he tells his daughter's nervous boyfriend that awkwardness-with-small-talk is a sign of good character. In any season of "Bosch," there is a range of plots and even genres, from slightly absurd "24" melodrama territory to quiet Raymond Carver-ish domestic skits. This is what I love. In the current season, for example, there is some monkey busines

"The Story" is a sweet tale of the romance between Frog and Toad. Frog arrives to tea but he is clearly ill, and Toad puts on his schoolmarm voice. "Go to sleep!" he says. "You must be good to yourself!" But the teacher fails his own test (situational irony). Toad--so worried about self-care--neglects to monitor his own well-being. He is so eager to provide Frog with a story, a "make-the-time-pass" story, that he rams his head into a wall, several times. He makes himself ill. Newly recovered, Frog can now tend to Toad, and he tells Toad a story, the story of Toad's own insane devotion. "And then Toad rammed his head into the wall....." This has just the impact that any patient would want: The story causes the patient to fall asleep. It's hard to beat this, and of course I hear echoes of Arnold Lobel's friend--James Marshall--in the words. Marshall was obsessed with situational irony. In one "George and

I have quickly grown tired of the grocery shopping. At one point, one of the doctor-experts told America to "avoid the grocery store for the next couple of weeks," but an alternate plan wasn't outlined. ("Eat the lint from your belly button!") So--as often--I felt I was in Kafka territory. If you look on Amazon Fresh, the site will allow you to load up your cart before informing you that "no delivery windows are currently available. New windows are released throughout the day." This is clearly bullshit. New windows haven't been released for a month. I know there are heftier things to complain about, but fuck it. I'm so fucking sick of Amazon. I'm especially sick of a new twist: Amazon can't concede that groceries just aren't a thing the Amazon gods can do anymore, but half-steps are occurring, we're inching toward the concession. Instead of saying, "Just fend for yourself!" Amazon says, "Find a terrifi

You have to wonder what goes through the mind of a man like Micah Mortimer. He lives alone; he keeps to himself; his routine is etched in stone. At seven fifteen every morning you see him set out on his run. Along about ten or ten thirty he slaps the magnetic TECH HERMIT sign onto the roof of his Kia. The times he leaves on his calls will vary, but not a day seems to go by without several clients requiring his services. Afternoons he can be spotted working around the apartment building; he moonlights as the super. He’ll be sweeping the walk or shaking out the mat or conferring with a plumber. Monday nights, before trash day, he hauls the garbage bins to the alley; Wednesday nights, the recycling bins. At ten p.m. or so the three squinty windows behind the foundation plantings go dark. (His apartment is in the basement. It is probably not very cheery.) This is the start of Anne Tyler's new novel, "Redhead by the Side of the Road." Micah Mortimer is w

My favorite moment in this odd time involves--you guessed it--Stephen Sondheim. Early in the pandemic, Sondheim was celebrating his birthday. It also happened to be the birthday of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Rosie O'Donnell screened Webber live from one of his palatial homes. "Happy Birthday, Stephen," said Andrew, and he, ALW, played a bit from Sondheim's middle years on his piano. (I think the melody was "Night Waltz," from "A Little Night Music.") Earnest, direct, not trying too hard: Standard Andrew Lloyd Webber. The screen then showed Sondheim in his own home (in midtown Manhattan?) Sondheim did not speak; instead he began singing. He seemed to set a timer. "Happy Birthday, dear Andrew...." Sondheim began washing his hands, and washed them all the way through the end of the song. He again hit the large timer, and dried his hands on a towel. Fade to black. Layered, subtle, complex: A tip of the hat to Andrew, but also a piece of

This weekend, Andrew Lloyd Webber will release a filmed version of "The Phantom of the Opera"--for the quarantined world. Not the Hollywood movie version. A filmed version of the stage musical. So, to prepare you, some notes: *"Phantom of the Opera" is, obviously, a huge and startling commercial success. There can't even be a Broadway revival--as there have been revivals of "Evita," "Cats," "Jesus Christ Superstar," and even "Sunset Boulevard"--because the damned original production has never, never closed. *Judy Kaye won the Best Supporting Actress Tony--as the diva--and of course Michael Crawford won for the title role. But the big scandal was that Christine--the iconic Christine-- wasn't even nominated. (Best Actress that year went to Joanna Gleason, for "Into the Woods.") *I don't really fully remember the plot of "Phantom"; I'm not sure I ever totally digested it, even as I list

(5) Book lovers: Anne Tyler's new novel, "Redhead by the Side of the Road," has some of the strongest reviews of her career. Something strange happens when a novelist is prolific and getting old. Many critics decide that she ought to write about something else. "Maybe Anne Tyler's Baltimore should resemble the world of THE WIRE more." I find this tiresome, and I'm glad most reviewers stayed away from that trap, this go 'round. (4) Curtis Sittenfeld's "Rodham" will be a big event this spring. Sittenfeld hasn't written a novel since "Eligible," a Jane Austen update beloved by many, but famously savaged by both Ursula Le Guin and Michiko Kakutani. (Sittenfeld on Twitter: "Is it weird that Le Guin trashed my book and I'm sort of flattered?") (3) Also: a new book by Ottessa Moshfegh. I'm not hearing much about this. Moshfegh last appeared with the audacious experiment "My Year of Rest and Relaxati

It's not great fun to watch the film version of "The Sound of Music" with me. I am the nerd who continuously says, "This is *not* how it was done on Broadway." My husband is patient. He's maybe not fascinated that the big Mother Abbess solo has been moved out of Act One, but he pretends to show an interest in my speech. He's so pleased that I'm watching this movie--it's not my favorite movie--that he'll let me blather and blather about how Max and Elsa have become less obviously cowardly for Hollywood. And he'll tolerate my monologue on the "Hollywood Hall Pass." The phenomenon of the hall pass has to do with your marriage. Your spouse will allow you to conduct a one-night-only affair with a Hollywood figure, should the opportunity arise. Many gay men might choose--I don't know--Chris Pine or one of the other Chris-es, but my Hollywood Hall Pass is for "Sound of Music"-era Plummer. In that unifor

I have quickly become hooked on a podcast called "Rewatchables," and I'll make my pitch here. This is a group of movie enthusiasts who gather and talk at length about movies they love. That's all. The talks are not overly technical. But they are thoughtful and passionate. So far, I've listened to four: "Gone Girl," "Election," "The Talented Mr. Ripley," and "Fatal Attraction." The movies chosen aren't super-arty; these are major cultural touchstones, movies seen by many, many people. The panelists will walk through the plot of the movie, then choose favorite scenes, gossip about stars who weren't selected, re-imagine the story as a ten-part Netflix series, and name the moments that haven't aged well. For example: "Gone Girl" could have been the Jon Hamm Story, if Matthew Weiner hadn't put a foot down. Brad Pitt was considered for "Election." Glenn Close had to fight hard to be Alex.

I'm thinking of the opening of "Ramona Quimby, Age 8." Ramona is writing--"slowly and carefully"--and pondering her nemesis, Yard Ape: Well, he was a problem, but so far she had not let him get the best of her for keeps. Besides, although she might never admit it to anyone, she liked him--sort of. Maybe she enjoyed a challenge.... The story starts with ambivalence: Ramona finds Yard Ape exasperating, but on some level, she is also drawn to him. Ambivalence is something Cleary returns to again and again. Scooter, bullying Henry but also supporting him. Beezus, finding her sister both intolerable and lovable. Henry, recognizing that he feels joy that he can keep Ribsy, but also acknowledging his sadness regarding the new kid, and the new kid's loss. Cleary writes about complicated emotions, and she writes in a plainspoken way. As others have noted, she doesn't talk down to children. More later -- and hats off to the birthday celebrant! With gra

On Beverly Cleary's "Dear Mr. Henshaw": Leigh Botts begins writing to novelist Boyd Henshaw in the second grade. Because he is a small kid, Leigh has special trouble with his "long vowel" sounds, and instead of writing that he "likes" Boyd's novel, he writes that he "licks" it. A correspondence begins. Henshaw gently encourages Leigh to begin to reflect on his own life. Leigh is surly and impossible, because he is a kid, and specifically because he is in pain; his parents have divorced, and his (overwhelmed?) father is never around. This novel won't give us a solution to Leigh's deep family problem, but it will pursue other fascinating matters. For example, how can you make sure that your unusually tasty lunch (Mom works for a caterer) won't get stolen? Thieves don't think very deeply, so if you put a false name on the front of the lunch, you're safe, at least for a while. It's boring to arrive at

My favorite Cleary facts, in ranked order: (5) She actually based "Mitch and Amy" on her own twins (the only time this happened in her career). (4) Young and newly employed, she was confused when her boss told her to shelve the "little brown books." Little brown? Her boss was talking about the publisher "Little, Brown." (3) She once won a writing competition and then learned that literally no one else had made a submission. The lesson? "Just TRY!" (2) When she turned 100, she shrugged and said, "I didn't WORK to make this happen." Also: "Go ahead and make a big deal of this. Everyone else does." (1) She is happy--happiest--to know that kids have loved her books, and continue to love her books. That's what she wanted. More than a Newbery or a National Book Award. More soon!

It's Friday, and the world is a disaster. Travel back with me to a simpler time, when Kristen Wiig was starting her career. She became Farooza, a sweet tooth fairy with a good friend and a few spare minutes for water-cooler chatting. Farooza and her friend (Trixie) have a certain self-image: They are respectable, law-abiding tooth fairies. You take the tooth, and you leave the money. But friendship can lead to bravery, and bravery can lead to shocking confessions. Something about Farooza's presence causes Trixie to "open up": "Sometimes I don't leave the money." Farooza, shocked, still finds a way to recover. And Farooza repays Trixie with a disclosure of her own: "Sometimes I don't take the tooth." (And we're suddenly encouraged to see the life of the Tooth Fairy in a new way. What a shitty job! Who would want to take the tooth? Who would want to leave the money?) Pain can make you crazy. The life of a tooth fairy is

A story is nothing without vivid characters, and the new HBO documentary has "the goods": * Wayne Williams , gifted child in a "respectable home," who may have (may have) grown up to murder several kids in Atlanta. * Atlanta itself , eager to seem above America's racial tensions ("a city too busy to hate"), and also guilty of lying, on several fronts. * The outspoken mom-of-victim (like Mari Gilbert, but from an earlier era), boldly correcting privileged Tom Brokaw on the air, when Brokaw seems unable/unwilling to do some basic research on the story he is reporting. I really liked (weird verb here) the first hour. I'm curious to see Part II...... https://www.hbo.com/atlantas-missing-and-murdered-the-lost-children

I can't (ever) stop talking about Ruth Rendell, and if you aren't sold yet, let me make this pitch. "The Secret House of Death"--like many of Rendell's other early novels--is quite short. (The later Rendell became "baggier.") The book involves a bizarre group of neighbors; the neighbors study one another, sometimes from afar, and they make inferences about certain behaviors (and the inferences are generally wrong). One woman, Doris, becomes convinced that another woman, Louise, is having an affair. Louise is continuously welcoming a certain man to her house for thirty or forty minutes, and no one knows who the man is. Our protagonist--Susan--doesn't want any part of this, but she becomes involved when Louise stumbles in and seems to utter a confession. The confession is interrupted; still, slightly moved, Susan is ready to be a sympathetic friend to Louise. But when Louise seems to lie to Doris (who also stumbles in)--"That man who v

Cleary's reading tastes: “Novels by British writers are among my favorites because our family has enjoyed travel in England and because they are written with an economy of words, as if they were written with a pen instead of a computer. Penelope Fitzgerald is a favorite.” I don't know Penelope Fitzgerald all that well, but I suspect that Cleary herself thinks about "economy" when she works. Understatement can be powerful. (Sondheim says, "Less is more.") Cleary's use of economy is really striking to me at the end of "Henry Huggins." Henry has just won Ribsy in a kind of devotion-tug-of-war. So: Henry is overwhelmed with feeling. And Cleary could--if she'd like--go on and on about the sensations of pride and love and excitement that Henry might be experiencing. But she knows "less is more." So: "Henry found that he was speechless." And Cleary moves on. I love that!

Here, Jean de Brunhoff lets it rip. Basically everyone loses his/her mind. Babar has triplets--and someone decides it's a good idea to leave little Flora in her crib with a tiny rattle. Of course Flora ingests the rattle and nearly dies. Alexander, another of the triplets, is riding in a perambulator. His maid senses she has lost an item--a shawl?--and, bizarrely, she entrusts Alexander to the care of airhead teenager Arthur. Arthur gets distracted by the shiny buttons on a nearby marching soldier, and Alexander falls off a cliff, only to be rescued by a group of chatty squirrels. Finally, a baby--Pom?--wanders off from a family picnic, floats in the sea in his uncle's bowler hat, and attracts the attention of a hungry crocodile. Babar impales the crocodile on an anchor, and the villain is left to thrash and thrash, and I think we're meant to conclude that he is slowly dying as the curtain falls. Something tells me a children's story written today would

When Beverly Cleary turned 103, the CBC published this great list of Cleary facts: https://www.cbc.ca/books/100-things-you-might-not-know-about-beverly-cleary-to-celebrate-her-103rd-birthday-1.4095050 One fact I love is that Cleary wouldn't tolerate fads or new technology in the 2010 film "Ramona and Beezus." Cleary wanted a sense of timelessness--nothing that could easily become dated. She wanted to be able to speak to kids in any era, from any background (I think). This reminds me of her wish to write on universal themes--the experience of being a daughter, sister, pet-owner, friend. Who among us couldn't relate to all (or most) of that? Anyway, enjoy the list!

"Ramona and Her Mother" involves a meltdown. Both Quimby parents are now working--Mr. Quimby hates his job--and this arrangement is only half-functional on a good day. Change the system, and things fall apart. If your one and only car needs repairs, then shit will hit the fan. (We have all been part of a rickety structure. We know what this is like.) Mrs. Quimby gets to the repair shop after work and of course the car isn't fixed on time, and this causes Mrs. Q. to miss a bus, and the next bus is late, and by the time all Quimbys are shuttled back home, Mrs. Q. is royally pissed. One straw can break a camel's back. Mr. Quimby makes a cheerful, irritating reference to his wise, dead grandmother--"Self-reliance! Every kettle must rest on its own bottom!"--and Mrs. Q. can't help but lash out. The tension between the two Quimbys grows and grows--there are choice words about pancake batter--and eventually one isn't speaking to the other. Ramon

"Ramona and Her Mother"--a National Book Award winner--has many stand-out moments. But my favorites are: *Mrs. Quimby revealing that she dreams of being less-than-sensible. Sitting outside and blowing dandelion fluff all over the place, even though that will mean WEEDS. *Mrs. Quimby losing her cool over the pancake batter. (Never claim that unfinished pancakes are ready--if you're warring with your husband.) *Mrs. Quimby strategically over-stuffing Ramona's suitcase, in the climactic scene. Just a reminder that that's all packed into this "mid-series" novel. It holds up really well....

I had a strong urge to be petty after the termination. For example, after having been fired, I received a text message from my employer. The text message was requesting new work from me. New, unpaid work--after I had been dismissed! The ultimate irony: The request involved termination paperwork. I was being asked to unearth various forms so that I could assist in the expulsion of.....myself. Wise people say: Practice empathy. It's not easy to run a school right now. It's never easy, and it's certainly not easy right now. Also: A smart negotiator offers, and offers, and offers his services. He offers more than he takes. (This actually scores him long-term points.) Easy to forget, in this Trumpian era. So I was a model of civility. Judith Martin would have been proud. My husband--a congenital optimist--boldly predicted that unemployment paperwork would be "a piece of cake." They--nameless government agents--want "to make this easy, especially a

Another thing that sort of helps me through these times: John Mulaney, "Airport Sushi." This is a kind of sequel to "Diner Lobster." A young man at LaGuardia wants to purchase the salmon rolls at a dingy LaGuardia kiosk. Such a transgression creates a kind of rupture in space/time, and a bizarre musical begins. The Phantom of LaGuardia--a massacred goose from "the miracle on the Hudson"--appears and warns against the purchasing of the sushi. His song seems to summon others: a dancing man-sized rat, Auntie Anne (of the pretzel world), and also a wide-eyed stewardess. These visitors have stories to tell, stories of De Blasio hatred, of "watching a man die at LaGuardia," of hiking toward an Uber car three miles from the baggage claim. Eventually, the singers are joined by a weary Asian-American man, who has thoughts on COVID-era profiling, and by Jake Gyllenhaal, who just really enjoys an aggressive full-body search at the entrance to t

A couple things I loved in "Henry Huggins." First, there's an interest in cause and effect. Henry sprinkles talcum powder on Ribsy, because he thinks it will conceal some spots. Actually, it makes Ribsy pink. But the pinkness leads to Ribsy getting named "Most Unusual Dog." But this triumph leads to newspaper coverage, which means Ribsy almost gets taken away. You can't predict everything that will happen. A second thing I loved. Other people are unknowable, and Cleary understands this. Throughout "Huggins," Scooter seems to be an antagonist--but then, at the end, it's Scooter who really stands up for Henry against the new kid. This is surprising, but it seems right. We just can't read another person's mind. More later.

Liza Minnelli and her friend have tickets to CATS. But you can't go to Broadway if you haven't turned off your living-room lights! How do you turn off a light? Liza panics. "I just....I just gotta find the clicker! Or the switch! It's this scoundrel here!" Liza can't fully focus on the task at hand; a reference to balls and chains sends her into a Bob Fosse reverie, and she begins a "ball change" routine. Maybe she can turn off the light via "Fosse neck"? Liza's friend protests this can't be all that difficult--and Liza, bizarrely, shouts, TELL THAT TO DEBBIE REYNOLDS! This goes on for approximately four minutes, and it's a rare chance to see Kristen Wiig "breaking" on camera. I'm also fond of Jonah Hill's drugged performance; the fact that he doesn't conceal his reliance on cue cards somehow makes things better. And I like Hill's concern for the Broadway cast of CATS: "We can't ke

(1) Beverly Cleary would start writing a novel around January 1, then finish around May, then "stay fallow" until the next New Year would roll around. (2) Ramona popped up in "Huggins" simply because Cleary noticed that not one of the town kids seemed to have a sibling. Cleary's genius: What if Beatrice had a little sister who couldn't pronounce many words, and so the name Beatrice would get twisted into "Beezus"? (3) Cleary's rule: "Make it simple. Keep it funny." (Not as straightforward as it seems.....) More to come.

"The Art Lesson" is about a young artist who really dislikes his Kindergarten art curriculum (at least, this is what I recall). The teacher insists that all kids make cut-out turkeys in one specific way--or something like this--and young Tomie ("Tommy") rebels. He has to follow his inner voice. He has a vision of a turkey, and it's not like anyone else's turkey. I like to think that the title, "The Art Lesson," is double-edged. Tomie is submitting to a lesson, on the surface, but really Tomie is *giving* the lesson. Tomie is teaching the teacher something important about art. That's how I read it. I continue to miss this guy.

As we approach Beverly Cleary's birthday....some thoughts.... *Mrs. Cleary won her Newbery Medal for "Dear Mr. Henshaw." It tackled serious subjects--divorce, an absentee parent--and it wasn't part of a series. These phenomena may have helped with the judges. *Henry Huggins appeared first in 1950, and he made his final bow in the 1970s. By contrast, Ramona popped up in 1950, and she was still around, in new fiction, in 1999. *Cleary gives major credit to her editor, who pushed for a book about Ramona, and who said, "Don't analyze your work. Just do your work." More to follow.....

(On "The Watsons Go to Birmingham....") The "Weird Watsons" live in Flint, Michigan, in the 1960s. Wilona and Daniel, and their children: Byron, Kenny, and Joetta. Kenny, our narrator, is self-conscious about his lazy eye, and about his smarts. Teachers sometimes parade him around and ask him to show off his own intelligence, as "inspiration" to the other kids. (The "other kids" see things differently.) Kenny also feels anxiety about his older brother Byron, thirteen, a charismatic bully. Byron can be mean and self-absorbed. He can be a danger--playing with matches (while staging a film in which "Byron defeats the Nazi parachuters"), stealing from the grocery allotment, terrorizing children on the playground. Wilona and Daniel have their own problems: Money is tight, Daniel sometimes makes unwise purchases, and also what do you do when one of your kids freezes his tongue to the side of the car, in the winter? All