Liars and Saints

  "Secrets and Lies" is really about a sibling relationship. It's a relationship that will be instantly recognizable to most of the Western world: Two kids grow up in a chaotic home, and they look out for each other. The older child eventually collapses--runs with the wrong crowd--and has a few complicated pregnancies. The younger child has an easier time and climbs to a "higher" rung on the socioeconomic ladder. The class difference is a source of resentment within the family. Whenever the two adult siblings meet, there is a deep well of unarticulated gratitude and pain. Maurice--the "lucky" sibling--marries Monica, and Monica seems snooty. Cynthia--the "unlucky" sibling--can't tolerate Monica. A main issue is that Monica once insisted that Maurice receive his portion of "the inheritance." Maurice didn't need the money; Cynthia did. This small envelope of cash has essentially ruined three lives. (Additionally, Cynthia canno...

 I can't help but notice situational irony; Whitney Houston's is not a life that shouts, "Gay pride!" This is someone who buried evidence of her own lesbian relationship--severed contact with her girlfriend--then died alone in misery. So I'm surprised, at the North Jersey Pride Festival, to hear someone attempting these lines: Somebody WHO! Somebody WHO!  Somebody who LOVES me... yeah! One sad heckler stands on a curb and speaks about God and Satan. "You think you can do anything you choose....But remember you will die....And you will be judged...." My daughter looks at me in distress. "I don't want to die," she says. Fortunately, a weary dad wanders past at this moment; he raises a fist to the heavens and shouts, "SATAN! SATAN!" I immediately join him. "Yay, Satan!" By this point, my daughter has (inexplicably) removed one of her sandals. She has also dropped her "merch"--a small Lego action figure designed to...

  The two bad bears of the title have a friend--Larry--who explains the etiquette of "a visit." He says, "I have brought you a baked treat. We will eat it together and chat about our lives. Then I will go home." Later--amazed at the world's possibilities--the bad bears realize that they themselves can *make* a visit. So they find the home of a group of strangers, the Beachball family. They do not have a gift, so they rip a fruit tree out of the garden and hand it to Mrs. Beachball. They demand a sugary fish treat--and Mr. Beachball produces a donut. On the donut, he has sprinkled the remnants from a tin of sardines. The little Beachball girl calls the cops--and this interlude ends. Oblivious, the bad bears congratulate themselves on a fun evening. "It is nice to have a visit--and it is nice to *make* a visit." Fade to black. I think this is like a modern-day version of a James Marshall story. The focus is on subtext. The little Beachball girl can't...

  Ann Patchett is well-read, and occasionally, in her new novel, she seems to be borrowing from Dickens. These moments are the highpoints of the novel. They involve Abigail, an aging mom, and her current husband, Ekker. Dickens understood that there is a place for amusing but "flat" characters. Static characters who catch your attention. Gargoyles. In Patchett's current work, Ekker is a failed writer of "positivity manuals." ("Bounce on your feet as you brush your teeth! Feel the blood start to flow through your body!") ....After the eighties positivity craze faded, Ekker began to flounder. Now, he is drowning in bitterness, determined to mount a comeback. He cannot hear anyone around him. His sole conversational subject is the series of steps needed for a publishing rebirth. His stepdaughter is a teacher--couldn't she include the positivity manuals on her syllabus? Abigail is similarly captivating. She insists on being included in a particular eve...

  Substantial portions of my month are spent in email discussions with the SOMA school administration, a coven of incompetent goons. I try to remind myself that these are people unhappy in their jobs, simply trying to put food on the table. Sometimes, this reminder is helpful. I do not have tactical skills, so my standard M.O. is to veer wildly between puzzling silence and overwhelming (and unhelpful) candor. I lack the muscle that would lead me to pause and ask myself, "What is the politically wise move, in this context?" If I'm advised to withhold info--"do not give them power"--the advice comes as a surprise. Over and over again. Some critics think of TV in terms of scenes. A strong literary work is a parade of exceptional scenes--one standout after another. And so it's easy to understand why "Last Exit to Springfield" is considered a prizewinner--not just among "Simpsons" episodes, but also among all episodes of all TV shows in histor...

  As my dog gets older, I notice a difference between my spouse and me. My spouse is ready--even eager--to get sentimental. If you are five months late with a work assignment, you can say, "Sorry, my dog died," and my spouse will accept the excuse without question. Also, Marc likes to talk about Salvy's hips. "You know what they say about an aging lab and his hips." I *do* know what they say--but I don't see the value in worrying. My dog still happily makes it around the block. That's good enough for me. At my dog's petcare retreat, various "death announcements" are on display. Owners write in the voices of their dead dogs. "I was pleased to spend time on Earth with my Maplewood neighbors. I'm Peanut, and I'm signing off!" ....Like me, my own daughter is a bit more steely and clinical. She is speaking--quite often--about her desire for a cat. And I can't help but wonder if she has one eye on the ticking clock.... I mys...