Liars and Saints

  Stewart O'Nan is ranked among Anne Tyler, Richard Russo, and Alice McDermott--the major living American realists. O'Nan could be called a  hyper realist--his attention to detail is such that you feel you're living through the experiences that he describes. O'Nan opens his celebrated novel, "Last Night at the Lobster," with a portrait of a car, a semi-living thing. It's a damaged Buick Regal--something "a grandmother might leave behind." It's traveling through the "far vastness" of a suburban shoppers' parking lot; it's headed toward a Red Lobster. Though this part of the lot is utterly empty, the car observes all painted-on boundaries. The car also signals a turn--"for no one's benefit." (These details are helping to teach us about the fastidious driver, a man we have not met.) This is a story about capitalism, about appetite. It's a novel about eating. A child eats a sundae and vomits on the carpet of th...

  I'm embarrassed about potty backsliding -- which means I should go ahead and describe it. In my head, once potty skills were attained, they would be permanent. This would be like leaving the womb. You don't *go back* into the womb. The process is complete. But -- at least in my house -- potty skills are more like landing a "triple lutz" in figure skating. Sure, you've done it once at a practice -- but this doesn't mean you can do it consistently. This doesn't mean you're going to pull it off in competition. I have nothing to complain about. Other people live with terminal illness. "Potty relapse" is just a phase. Yesterday, in my house, we talked so much about poop and pee, these nouns became like characters in a drama. In the evening, we went to an ice cream shop, and my son began to narrate a story about a Talking Poop -- he used a loud voice that one might normally reserve for a Monster Truck Rally. Other patrons observed in horror. And ...

  "Scream VII" has left viewers cold--the ending is particularly weak, and the ending is generally the thing that counts when you're forming an opinion. The "Scooby-Doo" revelation feels notably absurd; the paper-thin character development is forgettable. It's especially puzzling to see Sidney Prescott reconciling with Gale after Gale betrays her. Sidney seems to forget the betrayal--her lines unintentionally suggest that she may have suffered through an off-camera lobotomy. Or a crucial scene was lost in the editing process? The "Scream" movies are essentially Agatha Christie stories--but, at her best, Christie *did* care about her characters. Val McDermid makes this observation: In "The Murder at the Vicarage," here’s how we’re introduced to our heroine: “I … sat down between Miss Marple and Miss Wetherby. Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner. Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Miss Marple ...

  Inevitably, there are political divisions within my family, so I really like "Mom Confessions" from "Saturday Night Live." A woman in middle age is practicing a big revelation: she wants to let her children know that she has "evolved" in her thinking about Trump. This is immediately fraught. The kids have had to accept, for years, that their mother "drinks and enjoys the Trump Kool-Aid." So--even though Mom's news is "positive"--any mention of Trump helps to unleash the Hounds of Fury. Mom's disclosures are enjoyably nutty. "I feel like..... some  of the things Trump says.....are not true...." "I feel like....he has different  gun rules ....for different groups of people...." "I'm starting to wonder if drag queens....are actually hilarious..." This script would be just OK if Ashley Padilla did not contribute "next level" displays of tightly coiled rage. She is especially great when s...

  One of my favorite movies this year was "Wake Up Dead Man"; it's exuberant and inventive. It borrows from P.D. James--with the writer having recognized that a "faith community" is an ideal setting for a murder story. It reimagines Donald Trump as a hate-filled minister; Steve Bannon becomes a young man (Cy) with an interest in TikTok and a lust for power. "Dead Man" also allows Glenn Close to have fun. She throws tantrums. She has long passages of breathy voice-over narration. She is even a part of a "dick joke." The reason I *really* love Rian Johnson is that I share his interest in subtext. Again and again, he is focused on all that goes unsaid. In a brilliant early scene, the Trumpian priest, Monsignor Wicks, asks to have his confession heard. But--really--he wants to intimidate the young man who is under his thumb. "I masturbated four times this week....once, in the shower, standing up....Once, I was unprepared, so I had to finish ...

 My kids have a sitter who is more than a sitter--part-sitter, part-nanny. A nanster. Google says that you shouldn't ask a teen sitter to handle more than four or five hours of waking time with small children; my kids' nanster is not a teen, so I can go over "the five-hour limit." Her name is Rutendo, and she traveled here from Zimbabwe; she is studying to join one ministry or another. (I should know the name of the ministry.) Her program works with students who hop on airplanes and dramatically change many aspects of their lives. Rutendo is tough; when she visited Montreal at Christmas, she said, dryly, "I may or may not be back. It depends on how Trump's America chooses to treat me at the customs booth. I'll text you with an update." Her tone was what you might use if you were describing a mildly annoying trip to the dentist. My husband is much more of a conversationalist than I am--and so I learn tidbits through him. Rutendo's current placemen...