Liars and Saints

 I'm reaching the six-month mark of my semi-return to work; most days, I have a student, and some days, I have two. There is also some copy-editing. I continue to notice how relieved I am to have these small tasks, which would have just seemed annoying back in my twenties. My son is fascinated by the idea of work. "Are you going to work?" he'll ask me, if I'm just walking two yards to reach the bathroom. "Bye bye," he'll say, as he inappropriately wanders through the private property of a neighbor I've never met. "I'm going to  work. " Finally, Josh seems to understand that ambivalence is a common response to "compensated projects." He wonders if life is better with work, or without work. He hasn't quite mastered an either/or question, so the way he asks is cute: "Papa....or work or  no  work ?"  It's like living with a little philosophizing Hamlet. The SAT is predictable and tedious, but I get tiny rewar

  Jesse Eisenberg has been studying the work of Kenneth Longergan--which is a smart choice. No script comes within spitting distance of "You Can Count on Me." Lonergan's wonderful story concerns troubled siblings who reunite after years of estrangement. Both siblings have difficulties with boundaries. The tension grows until a rupture occurs; although it's clear that these two people love each other, it's maybe for the best if one lives on Mars, sending letters now and then, keeping a distance. Jesse Eisenberg's new movie doesn't have (a) Kenneth Lonergan's wit, (b) Kenneth Lonergan's understanding of plotting and suspense, (c) Lonergan's eye for detail and his ability to create "organic" shifts in tone, (d) Lonergan's sense of economy, his way of saying only what needs to be said. But why not borrow from the greats? If you're choosing a role model, choose Kenneth Lonergan. The favored Lonergan topic is a pairing of adults who

  Peter Swanson has a gift for killings. For describing them. His most recent novel opens with a man luring a woman onto a hotel balcony; the man then grabs the woman and throws her to her death. In another memorable scene, a little boy is tired of having to visit his senile grandfather in the guest room. So he quietly smothers the old man. This sets off a lifelong interest in murder. In the major set-piece encounter, a woman understands that she needs to attract her captor. So, despite being handcuffed, she finds a way to rip off a piece of her own ear. The gushing blood creates a false impression: She has committed suicide. When the captor creeps close, the wily woman opens her eyes and goes in for the kill. Much about "A Talent for Murder" is a success--from the title to the opening to the startling coda. Swanson loves Patricia Highsmith; she is credited at the end of the novel. Swanson's Lily Kintner is a 2024 version of Tom Ripley; it's not possible to "like

 My daughter has entered her teacherly phase; she is caring for a small cloth duck, an ornament for a Christmas tree. She bathes and feeds the duck, and brushes its teeth. Also, she tries to take care of me. I once read, in my Montessori days, that small children should be able to manage with a simple drinking glass; teach a child to hold a glass with two hands, and then no training wheels are necessary. But my daughter inevitably spills her milk and turns to me, and struggles to help me manage my own frustration. So, last week, she said: "Just give me the cup with the lid. The other one will make a spill." There are limits to Susie's abilities. Yesterday, she held out a wrapper with turkey residue. She dangled the residue in front of her dog--then said, "Bad dog! Bad dog!" She was responding to Salvy's natural interest in the turkey residue. I disputed Susie's assessment--but I'm not sure I "reached" my daughter. One never (or one rarely)

  "Tammy Faye" is an overstuffed show with strong performances; beneath the miscalculations, there is a simple story trying to be heard. This is the story of Tammy Faye herself. She comes from nothing--almost literally nothing, because she eventually confesses that it's a source of wonder for her just to have access to a warm bath. She meets a puppeteer, Jim, who wants to help to bring "Church" into American living rooms (through the television). But Jim's gifts are limited--and Tammy Faye's are not. It is soon clear that TF has a "Princess Di" aura; she can empathize, and she quickly becomes something like the voice of her generation. When Jim turns out to be a cad (and worse), Tammy Faye enters her "solo" phase. (She is 39.) She is crafty about her decisions; no one will call her Mrs. Bakker, and no one will dissuade her from wearing excessive mascara. Like Di, Tammy Faye makes waves with her outreach to "the gays" (specif

  Oscar Hammerstein was capable of perfect lines; people keep returning to a song from "State Fair," even if people have sort of forgotten the movie. I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm. I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string. I'd say that I have spring fever-- But I know it isn't spring. What makes this special is that the melody actually "jumps"; like a puppet on a string, the melodic line is jerked in one direction, then in another. Having described her own restlessness, the speaker can get to the heart of the matter. In the bridge, the song reveals itself to be an "I Want" declaration: I keep wishing I were somewhere else-- Walking down a strange new street-- Hearing words that I have never heard-- From a boy I've yet to meet. This is the "forefather" of "Something's Coming," from "West Side Story"; the speaker has a half-defined wish for adventure. The song builds to a climax: three detailed,