A Guide to the Winter

January! A time for shutting out the world. A time for remaining in one's pajamas and enjoying the comfort of one's own four walls. May I suggest....

(1) Any work by Tessa Hadley. Ms. Hadley has a new novel coming out this coming Tuesday. She did not start publishing, in earnest, until she was 46--and now she is among our major writers--and so of course she has a place in my own late-blooming heart. (I mixed metaphors there!) Ms. Hadley is especially interested in how a narrative approaches the question of time, and elapsed time; she cites Ms. Munro, with her strange time experiments, as a major inspiration.

Mark your calendar. Tuesday! Tuesday! Tuesday!

(2) Scented candles. January is a month for scented candles.

(3) Strange true crime stories. Asha Degree, a tiny child, left her home in the wet and in the dark, around 4 AM, one day, and she was never seen again. What happened? And Robert Wone, allegedly heterosexual, arrived at the home of a gay thrupple, only to be drugged and stabbed. Was Mr. Wone in some way a consensual partner in at least a few of the events leading up to his death? Who did the final deed, and why?

(4) "Darkness, Take My Hand," by Dennis Lehane. Mr. Lehane is a prolific crime novelist; he belongs to that category called Crime Novelist with a Literary Twist. I, unfortunately, can predict at least a part of the shattering event that allegedly ends this particular novel; I've read later novels in the series. Still, any book that features--within the first 100 pages--a crucifixion, a mysterious pseudo-bisexual man, a poison pen campaign, and a Hepburn/Tracy rom-com sideshow.....is a book for me.

(5) Literary rankings. A great January past-time is: thinking of a prolific writer you love, then looking for people who have ranked that writer's works online. "Gone, Baby, Gone" is the *best* Lehane book, apparently. And "The Last Coyote" is a Michael Connelly masterwork. Who knew?

(6) The Edward Robinson Film Festival. Mr. Robinson ranked 24th on the list of America's greatest male film icons (Golden Age). I recommend "Scarlet Street" and "Double Indemnity," and though I haven't yet seen "Key Largo," I'm sure I'll end up recommending that, as well.

(7) YouTube "How To" clips. I can't get enough of these. "How to Store Your Christmas Lights." "How to Call in Sick." "How to Spend a Sick Day." "How to Store Your Ornaments." "How to Prepare a Beef Stir Fry." "How to Parallel Park." "How to Impress Your Driving Evaluator." A clip is so much better than an article, because you get fun visuals thrown in. Also, if, like this writer, you have spent years doing basic tasks impetuously, blindly, and badly--then YouTube has a great deal to teach you. For example: Your "I'm Sick" e-mail should include a few (not-too-gory) details, and should make explicit that you understand you are expending one sick day on your absence. It should indicate whether or not you will be checking work e-mail. And it should be infrequent: People who max out on sick days are people no one else would want to work with. Thanks, YouTube!

Who needs outdoor activities? Who needs to interact with "the world"? January is a month in which I really flourish. Plus, the days are getting longer! Pull out your jammies. Find your Smartfood popcorn. Join me in an antisocial adventure. You can thank me later.....

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...." I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...

Liars and Saints

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