Ramona Quimby, Age 8

"Ramona Quimby, Age 8" is like a Greatest Hits album for American literature. I think literally every scene is iconic.

Ramona has entered third grade, and her devil-may-care teacher says "Hey guys" -- and not "I wonder why I'm hearing so much noise...." This teacher also uses Sustained Silent Reading--which becomes a life-changer for Ramona.

But all isn't well. The Quimbys must economize, so that Mr. Quimby can return to school to become an art teacher. (No more thick socks for hours of work in the freezer section of the grocery store. No more memorizing of the price-change list.) Cutting corners means serving "tongue" -- and lying to your children about what's on their plate.

Mrs. Quimby has so much worry at this stage, she accidentally grabs a raw egg and stuffs it in Ramona's lunch-bag. This leads to the canonical moment: Ramona ends up spilling raw yolk all over her head.

Cutting costs also means ignoring a deteriorating car--until one adult discovers, one morning, that he can no longer drive backwards. This is *not* the source of hilarity that little Ramona *wants* it to be. In the midst of the car drama, Ramona forgets to tell an adult that she is feeling nauseated--and then we have a scene of vomit-in-the-classroom. (Little Marsha pretends to be motherly and solicitous, but she sounds just a bit too excited as she delivers Ramona to the nurse.)

Like every other reader, I view this book as a film of my own life. I feel for Ramona, as she plots a retort for Yard Ape. ("I'm not an Egghead. I'm a DEVILED Egghead.") I feel for Mrs. Whaley, as she tries to explain some intrigue in the copy room. ("It's not YOU that would be the nuisance. It's the YOLK that is the nuisance.") But on another level, I'm always thinking about craft. I love that Cleary gets "meta": She has Beezus remark, at the end, that a free dinner is "like a happy ending." (And--wonderfully--Ramona says, "A happy ending for today. There's always tomorrow....")

Someone once said that Alice Munro makes plots seem natural; "you don't see the stitches." I feel this way about the climax of "Ramona Quimby, Age 8." Home and sick, Ramona gets asked to write a "sales pitch": "Pretend you're not reviewing this novel, but selling it to potential readers." Ramona knows how this will play out: Twenty bored children mumbling, "If you want to know what happens next....you'll have to read the book..."

By contrast, Ramona uses her knowledge of cat-food commercials to have human colleagues dress up as singing cats. Like Beyonce, Ramona stands downstage: "This book was tasty and nutritious....This book gave me energy for my day....This book filled me up...." Then, borrowing from a Tums commercial: "I can't believe I read the WHOLE book!"

The success of Ramona's commercial leads Ramona to take greater risks with her teacher--and thus we have a misunderstanding cleared up, and the beginnings of a happy finale.

And it's this idea--interconnected-ness--that makes the book so special. One event leads to another, and to another, and a character can have great (subtle) power over the people around her. Every soul matters.

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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