Liars and Saints

 SVU is having a great run, despite COVID, and this week's "What Can Happen in the Dark" seems to be a stand-out. Good writing is grounded in memorable characters; the new SVU gives us a mysteriously addled construction worker (Andy)....who drinks too much and finds himself injured on the job. Everything begins to come together. Andy was once a theater artist, but of course he can't do much on Broadway during COVID. The abrupt, unwelcome transition seems hard on him. A doctor's inspection uncovers injuries that can't be job-related, including a torn perineum. Did Andy's construction colleagues assault him? Is Andy having an abusive secret homosexual affair? In fact, Andy's wife is the assailant. This starts to become clear when Andy accidentally uses a pronoun he doesn't mean to use. And he keeps saying, "Whatever she claims....that's the truth" -- which doesn't fill Olivia Benson with confidence. The courtroom scene gets crazy. A...

 I'm not sure there is a "literature of rainy weekends," but if such a thing exists, a prime specimen must be "Rainy Sunday," by Beverly Cleary: Rainy Sunday afternoons in November were always dismal, but Ramona felt this Sunday was the most dismal of all.  She pressed her nose against the living-room window, watching the ceaseless rain pelting down as bare black branches clawed at the electric wires in front of the house.  Even lunch, leftovers Mrs. Quimby had wanted to clear out of the refrigerator, had been dreary, with her parents, who seemed tired or discouraged or both, having little to say and Beezus mysteriously moody.  Ramona longed for sunshine, sidewalks dry enough for roller-skating, a smiling happy family. “Ramona, you haven’t cleaned up your room this weekend,” said Mrs. Quimby, who was sitting on the couch, sorting through a stack of bills.  “And don’t press your nose against the window.  It leaves a smudge.” It's all there: the pelting of ...

 Memorial Day seems like a terrific time to revisit a strong "Friday Night Lights" episode--"The Son." This is the one where Matt Saracen learns that his dad (a soldier) is dead. "Friday Night Lights" had a slightly frustrating habit of treating characters as pawns, and the reemergence of Saracen's dad--at this particular moment--felt a little bit convenient. Even so, the hour is thrilling, because it explores ambivalence in ways that feel unusual for TV. No one mourns when Gus Fring dies on "Breaking Bad." Everyone mourns when "the quarterback" dies on "Glee." In "Friday Night Lights," Saracen's dad is neither great nor truly terrible, and, in a way, this makes his death especially painful. Matt has unresolved anger. He doesn't know what to do about that. Matt's private crisis leads to one of the most exciting scenes I can remember from TV Land. The Taylors have invited Matt for dinner, and Matt is i...

 I've written before that Jerry Pinkney seems especially drawn to tales of compassion and mercy. Pinkney finally won his Caldecott Medal for "The Lion and the Mouse"; he said that the thought of the lion freeing the mouse (wielding power for good) was a thought that especially moved him. Soon after, Pinkney wrote a "companion piece," another Aesop adaptation--"The Grasshopper and the Ants." In Pinkney's re-telling, the ending is reimagined so that the Queen Ant welcomes the undisciplined Grasshopper for tea. (Like the lion, the ant shows mercy.) An additional companion volume--a re-telling of the Norwegian fairy-tale "Three Billy Goats Gruff"--again looks at power and kindness. After the ogre is defeated, many writers suggest that he just goes away or dies. But, in a wordless scene, Pinkney presents an alternate ending. He shows the ogre building a house--building, not destroying--and he shows a now-powerful billy goat providing assistanc...

 It's said that a great way to meet people is to get a dog. Salvy has expanded our network in substantial ways. One of my favorite new encounters is with our dog-loving neighbors, who cuddle with Salvy while telling me lurid stories. "Salvy is the best," says Margaret, as she reaches for a pita chip. "Oh, did I tell you what happened with a blackbird in my lawn? I was brushing my teeth, and I looked out, and I saw a bird grab a rabbit in its talons. My dads didn't believe me, but then we all walked out and saw the rabbit entrails on the roof of our shed." "We love Salvy," says Margaret's father. "And did I ever tell you that we bought our house from literal Nazis? That's the rumor. They fled from justice after the war. Their name was Schmidt, and once they reached Maplewood, they never, never left the space within those walls...." Salvy also had a great friend and teacher who would deliver him, via pet-taxi, to regular installment...

 I know very little (really nothing) about dance, but I did know the name Jacques d'Amboise, and I knew he was a dance titan. If you're a Broadway nerd like yours truly, you know that d'Amboise was also the dad of Charlotte d'Amboise (Cassie in the major "Chorus Line" revival a few years ago), and that d'Amboise was the father-in-law of Terrence Mann. How strange is the world? Terrence Mann had the rare honor of originating a role in a Sondheim show--"Assassins"--and this isn't even highlighted in his Wikipedia bio. Mann was the first Czolgosz; no one played this role before him, at Playwrights Horizons. In any case, a salute to Jacques d'Amboise today, and to his "four double tours" and "double cabrioles," in the film version of "Carousel": https://www.pointemagazine.com/jacques-damboise-carousel-2565577952.html Obsessed!

 For a long time, I've wanted to write about a kind of "B Team" Beverly Cleary book--"Strider"--and to give my enthusiastic recommendation. "Strider" is a journey story. Our hero, Leigh Botts, is a few years older than he was in "Dear Mr. Henshaw." He meets an abandoned dog--"Strider"--and begins running on the beach. This leads to the beginnings of a track career, early attempts at dating, and a renewed interest in writing. That's all. Once again, Cleary dazzles just by paying close attention to ordinary life. Leigh is not a superhero. His problems couldn't be more average. He feels irritated when his sloppy dad probes him for information on his mother; he, Leigh, knows and resents that he is being used as a kind of "dating spy." Cleary touches on class: Leigh meets a much wealthier kid and slowly starts to discover that the kid deals with loneliness in his own way. (Everyone has an inner mess, or several messes, ...

 At times, parenting feels like a competitive sport. We talked with a nice couple yesterday who have their eighteen-month-old learning Mandarin and Spanish, in addition to English. ("They sit in instructional circles at the Goddard School. Our daughter comes home saying MA, and she does not mean MOTHER. She means MAS, as in MAS COMIDA, POR FAVOR.") The subject switched to dental care. "It's good to have your child see the dentist before he is two, just to get the routine started. Basically, the dentist will give your kid a sticker and tell him he has nice teeth. We have a name we can give you. Great guy. He has your child sit with a therapy dog throughout the visit." These parents also had a detailed plan for filling three hours of a toddler's in-flight experience. Decals, sensory activities, pre-boarding calisthenics. That's my life, for now.

 One reason Howard Ashman's words endure is that they're often about personal change--a universal theme. Everyone knows the difficulty of reforming oneself, how scary and frustrating this can be. It's an idea that Ashman played with, explicitly, in his work. Change can take concrete forms: "She glanced this way....I thought I saw....For once, she didn't shudder at my paw...." (Meeting the Beast halfway, Belle decides to slurp directly from her bowl of soup. A high-point in Disney animation.) "Lift up your face. Wash off your mascara. Here, take my Kleenex. Wipe that lipstick away." Characters in the midst of change tell us directly about the anxiety they're feeling. "Please understand, this is still strange and frightening. For losers like I've been....It's so hard to say....Suddenly Seymour....is standing beside me...." "New and a bit alarming: Who'd have ever thought that this could be?" And: "Bittersweet an...

 It seems to me that the George and Martha stories happen in perpetual, or near-perpetual, summer.  Chaos unspools at a local outdoor community pool. And the two hippos visit an amusement park--a classic summer stop. When George gets a job, he is lifeguarding at the beach. And a true test of the friendship occurs when Martha refuses to wear sunscreen before plunging into ocean waves. We also witness lounging-in-a-hammock, landscape-painting-among-palm-trees, and water wars "one late-summer morning." This is one of many ways in which James Marshall's spirit matches mine. I'm thoroughly ready for summer, especially a summer in which Covid has a diminished role. Maybe this family will spend some time with George and Martha as we get ready for the beach.

 "I see Salvy has put on his own COVID FIFTEEN." These were among the sitter's first words when she visited on Friday.  I'm really to blame. I'm uninterested in housework, so after Josh throws his lunch all over the floor, I don't reach for the Hoover. I just reach for Salvy. Salvy and Josh are like the symbiotic pairs you study in high school, the bird/crocodile buddies who look after each other. Josh feeds Salvy; Salvy does the cleaning.  A part of me thinks Salvy could just have a few "tubby years" -- where we all don't worry about dieting -- and Josh will learn not to throw his food around (eventually). And then an ideal canine weight can be achieved. But maybe I give in too easily. For curious minds: Salvy himself seems unconcerned about the weight gain. If it's hot outside, Salvy will plop his belly on the cool surface of the tub, and he'll stay there for many hours. He won't confine himself to solids; milk and bacon-grease also...

 "Younger" continues to tread water until the inevitable Liza/Charles reunion. But, this past week, it did its treading gracefully. The script--written by a charming, older gay man--has Liza in a tangle with Quinn. Quinn, a Vassar alum, could maybe be tapped to win a "Vassar Spirit" award; the prize had been intended for Jane Fonda, but "last night, she was arrested again." I welcome any chance for Quinn to shine. She embraces Liza and says, "Oof! Your breath tells me you've paid a visit to a food truck! Iron stomach!" And later: "Onions....They keep a food truck in business...." Quinn decides she will accept the Vassar prize, but not before showing off obnoxiously at a "foreign rights meeting." She brusquely issues commands in several languages--German, Italian, Japanese--then shrugs. "All those boys owe me some favors...." Of course my favorite moment is when Quinn levels with Liza. "I'm not the monste...

 One gift Kevin Henkes has is that he doesn't talk down to children. He recognizes that life is complicated, and he doesn't try to simplify things that can't be simplified. In "Penny and Her Marble," Penny discovers a small treasure on a neighbor's lawn. A blue marble! It can't belong to the neighbor--Mrs. Goodwin--because she's too old for play-time. So Penny snatches the marble and rejoices. Later, though, Penny's conscience grows active. Has she committed theft? Penny spots Mrs. Goodwin on her lawn....maybe in mourning for her marble? Penny can't eat; the peas and oranges on the table seem to be angry marbles, antagonizing her. Penny dreams that the blue marble in her dresser swells and swells, and finally breaks its prison bars, like the tell-tale heart. In the morning, Penny runs the marble back to Mrs. Goodwin, who shrugs. "I put it there so a child would take it. Enjoy your marble." I guess the "lesson" is: Communicat...

 In Sondheim's "Company," Elaine Stritch is just an old alcoholic, sitting on the sidelines, mocking everyone else. She realizes this isn't a great way to live and--famously--she turns her bazooka on herself: Here's to the girls who just watch... Aren't they the best? When they get depressed, it's a bottle of Scotch... Plus a little jest. Another chance to disapprove, another brilliant zinger! Another reason not to move! Another vodka stinger! I hope not to be Elaine Stritch, but life on the Back Road (a road I share with several outspoken families) .....makes empathy difficult. The Human Comedy is always on air.  Recently, the wealthy citizens on the Back Road's e-mail list wanted new "safety" signs for the perimeter of the road -- and one (female) resident dared to ask if the signs could be aesthetically pleasing. This led to a storm of man-splaining. "You raise a good point, but...."  One man forgot to invent a pretense-of-friend...

 Today, I'm celebrating the writer and artist Paul Zelinsky. I've written before about Zelinsky's terrific "Rumpelstiltskin," but (today) I'd like to spotlight Rapunzel. In "Rapunzel," Zelinsky gives us beautiful Italian interiors, and snapshots of something that seems to be the Tuscan countryside. We see a young maiden with perfect, creamy skin and flowing blond hair, and she wears fabulous frocks. By contrast, her oppressor, the Witch, has papery, wrinkled skin and crazy eyes. (Zelinsky seems to get special pleasure from drawing ghouls, and his insane Witch makes me think of his equally frightening Rumpelstiltskin.) Maybe my favorite "Rapunzel" image has the Witch snipping off the maiden's hair; the maiden covers her ears and shuts her eyes, blocking out the world. You can feel her sense of horror. Finally: Did you know that Zelinsky did the pictures for "Dear Mr. Henshaw" and its sequel? I'm including, here, Zelinsky...

 Some of Elizabeth McCracken's new material ("The Souvenir Museum") went over my head.....but how do you beat this opener? "Who died and made you boss," Sadie asked Jack, and he answered, "Nobody. Everybody. How do you make somebody boss when you're dead, anyhow?" Not *everybody* was dead, just a handful of significant people. Sadie's parents; Jack's sister Fiona; most recently, Jack's nephew, blond Thomas of the passions, who'd gone to study piano in Poland and had stepped off a building at half past ten in the morning. He was twenty-seven..... I really like the first line, which must strike a chord with anyone who is married. Jack could try to understand why Sadie is frustrated, but instead he becomes just as juvenile as she is. "How do you make somebody boss when you're dead, anyhow?" I also like the way that suicide is handled: "He'd gone to study piano in Poland and had stepped off a building at half past...

 Salvy had a winter romance. He met a neighboring dog named Shep, and they spent days and days together. They had play dates. On walks, Salvy would drag me toward Shep's fence, and Salvy and Shep would regard each other over the barrier--like the estranged lovers in "Miss Saigon." ("There's no room on this chopper!") All went well, until Shep's sheep-herding instincts became a problem. Shep viewed all pedestrians as wolves--threatening his sheep. And Shep became more and more aggressive. He could knock over his own owner, in an effort to get at the "wolves." So Shep is now at reform school, four days per week, with overnight stays. The counselors are working to reshape his spirit, to give him new skills for suburban life. I expected Salvy might go through a period of mourning, but he has instead courted a new neighboring dog, and dates have already occurred. This feels a bit unseemly to me, like the widower who remarries within three months of ...

 Howard Ashman knew to begin with a big declarative number ("Little Shop"), followed by an "I Want" song ("Skid Row")..... In "Beauty and the Beast," Ashman famously combines two songs in one. We get the scene-setting ("That bread! It's stale! Those fish! They smell!") ......mixed in with the "I Want" ("For once.....it might be grand.....to have someone understand....") Ashman's final scene-setter is a triumph--"Arabian Nights"--though it has changed a bit over the years. It has changed because, in the early nineties, people were sometimes un-PC. The team involved with "Dear Evan Hansen" has been brought in to clean up some of the allusions. That said, "Arabian Nights" is as playful as vintage Ashman: Come on down!  Stop on by! Grab a carpet and fly.... To another.... Arabian night..... How could anyone resist?

 I think maybe Tomie de Paola's best book is "Bill and Pete." It's a book that doesn't preach; it's just about the fun of storytelling. An Egyptian crocodile needs "a toothbrush." His mother takes him to the pharmacy. We're led to think we're reading about ourselves; we have moms, too, and pharmacies! But books provide *doors* as well as *windows* .... sometimes, books lead us outside ourselves. And so the "toothbrush" the hero acquires is a small bird, with a skillful beak. The crocodile, William Everett, loves his new pal, but he struggles at school. How can he write his name, "William Everett" --? The bird has an answer. The way to spell "William Everett" is "B-I-L-L." In the last story, our heroes do battle with a bad guy ("Bad Guy") who wants to turn Bill into a suitcase. Lock-picking and ambush techniques are employed. It's clear De Paola is just enjoying himself; he adds gray curls ...

 If you haven't read Anne Lamott's books, I just want to make a pitch here. I recently tore through the newest collections of essays, and I miss them already. I miss the direct connection Lamott can make with a reader. This person's general approach is to take moments of deep pain or embarrassment and narrate these moments, as clearly as possible. At her best, she resists bromides. (She is not always at her best.) Her point seems to be: Whatever pain you're enduring, it's not unique to you. This--alone--is a comfort. Lamott writes about an alcoholic friend who plowed her vehicle into a family (and now must live with the knowledge that she is responsible for a few deaths). Lamott also writes about a suicidal acquaintance--about the wish to help, the feeling of powerlessness, and the struggle not to "blame" the acquaintance after the suicide has occurred. It's easy enough to find meaning and sustenance when there are new babies in your life , Lamott writ...

 Covid rained on our plans. We would have liked to attend an indoor seder, but you can't be indoors in a group if you don't have the vaccine. So we met our relatives early in the day--outdoors--for a Brooklyn pizza. When my shrink heard this, his heart stopped. "You can't have pizza for a seder," he said. I explained that we were all improvising. My own family tradition is Polish, which means fresh sausage. I spoke to my grandmother, in her nineties, and she advised me just to steam the sausage in a large skillet. She said, "You could also fry them lightly, but that's not needed. Just serve with mustard. Some people would want ketchup, too." My Jewish husband and I dreamed of an egg-hunt for our mildly-ambulatory son, but we settled on sitting together with a bunch of small toys. A mini-Rubik's cube, a snap bracelet, a bouncy ball, a neon plastic egg. I'm not sure how much Josh processed, but he did seem to like gnawing on the rim of one half...

 This week, “The New Yorker” has a long interview with the semi-reclusive John Swartzwelder, who wrote some of the greatest “Simpsons” episodes before retreating into obscurity many years ago: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-new-yorker-interview/john-swartzwelder-sage-of-the-simpsons The piece is terrific, and full of gems. “If you’re writing Homer, just imagine he is a large dog. Everything grows of out of that.” “Write a really bad first draft, and then the re-writing process is such a pleasure.” “Season Three was the best, because we had learned how to tell a strong story, and we hadn’t yet exhausted our material.” Swartzwelder’s remarks led my family to “Homer’s Enemy”--a classic episode from Season Eight. In this one, Homer meets a man called Grimes (a reference to Grimes from “The Easter Parade”--?) -- and Grimes just really wants to work hard. After once passing an exploding silo, Grimes lost several limbs, but intensive surgery means that Grimes can “breathe once more...

 Joe Biden wasn't really well-loved, for most of the duration of the primaries. If he had been more of a juggernaut, perhaps Buttigieg, Warren, Harris, Booker, and several others wouldn't have tried to attract the liberal-but-anti-Bernie vote. Biden ran a clumsy campaign; he would sometimes yell at voters, and his choice of insult could remind people of his advanced years ("You're a lying dog-faced pony soldier!") But luck was on Biden's side. The non-Bernie liberal candidates became a "circular firing squad." Klobuchar went after Buttigieg; Warren went after Bloomberg.  As Biden searched for a vice-presidential candidate, he showed some reluctance toward Kamala Harris, a figure known for ridiculing her own aides, and someone whose team once famously attacked Biden, then drummed up merchandise sales with tee shirts that commemorated the attack. ("I don't think you're a racist, but.....") Could Biden choose Stacey Abrams? He called h...

 I'm mostly dismayed by the current season of "Younger." The absence of Diana Trout is an almost insurmountable loss. Several plots just seem convenient to the writers; these plots could have happened in season one, or two, so they don't feel like a culmination. I'm thinking of Maggie in her work triangle, Josh in a silly sex situation, Empirical losing its sense of a mission. Blah blah blah. I still like Quinn; I like how she has shortened Liza's name to "Lies." I like how Quinn uses Charles's children as props; this makes me think of one of Laura Benanti's most famous roles, Elsa in "The Sound of Music." (Rich and powerful Elsa couldn't really be bothered to get to know the Captain's children.) I'm fond of "INKubator," "Queen of Queens" (a veiled semi-reference to Awkwafina's "Nora from Queens"--? "The King of Staten Island"--?), and, of course, "The F Word." And I ...

 National Poetry Month ended yesterday, but here's one more, by Jane Kenyon: I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . . I am water rushing to the wellhead, filling the pitcher until it spills. . . . I am the patient gardener of the dry and weedy garden. . . . I am the stone step, the latch, and the working hinge. . . . I am the heart contracted by joy. . . . the longest hair, white before the rest. . . . I am there in the basket of fruit presented to the widow. . . . I am the musk rose opening unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . . I am the one whose love overcomes you, already with you when you think to call my name. . . . Kenyon seems to be talking about God, or a God-esque thing. A spirit that can work miracles: feed the prisoner, contract the heart, fill the pitcher until it spills. There is a tension in the poem between abundance and starvation: having food and being a prisoner, having fruit and being widowed, having patience and being among dryness and weeds. It...