Liars and Saints

 For a long while, I lived in Fort Greene; now, almost everything that existed then no longer exists.  An exception is the Greenlight Bookstore, which seems to get more and more popular. I put a great deal of trust in clever branding, and "Greenlight" is an ideal name for a bookstore. It echoes "City Lights" and the "light of knowledge"; it alludes to its neighborhood, with its first syllable. Almost anytime I visit Greenlight (or one of its competitors), I am reminded of my old teacher Amy Bloom, who was emphatic when arguing that reading should be a pleasure. There is no shame in "genre" fiction; Bloom was especially outspoken about Val McDermid, PD James, and Donna Leon. She also demanded a sense of humor--whether on the surface, or lower down, "among the weeds." With Bloom's thoughts in mind, I recently chose "The Examiner," which is a silly (and smart) tale of murder in an academic setting. I'm so pleased that Gre

  Here is the Alice Munro timeline. At nine years of age, Andrea Skinner is sexually assaulted by her stepfather. She almost immediately tells her own father and his new spouse--and they do nothing with the information. Skinner's stepfather begins a years-long campaign of verbal harassment. In her teens, Skinner struggles with bulimia; later, she can't finish college. At 25, she shares her traumatic memory with her mother, Alice Munro. Upset by "infidelity," Munro briefly leaves her spouse. But the separation is inconvenient; she returns. She blames her daughter for having acted as a "Lolita." Around ten years later, Munro speaks with the NYT and describes her marriage in glowing terms. This is sickening for Skinner, and she takes legal action. Her stepfather admits, in writing, that he is a sexual predator, and he gets a light sentence. Because of Munro's literary reputation, the court case is kept a secret (or something very close to a secret), That

  "The Frindle Files" has three memorable characters, and the first is the spirit of E.B. White. Yes. In a way, this is a novel that resurrects White. We learn that White actually studied with Strunk; years passed, and in his "eminence grise" phase, White revisited Strunk's work. White then made some edits, and "The Elements of Style" became a bestseller. A second character, Allen Nicholas, teaches middle-school English, and he seems to have an unjust hatred of computers. The mystery of his hatred, or pseudo-hatred, forms the core of the book. Finally, we have one of Allen's students, who decides to crusade on behalf of computer-loving children everywhere. This kid is wide-eyed and extremely relatable; he does an awkward dance with a lampshade, which is caught on camera. He thinks obsessively about coding; even in social situations, he finds that his thoughts drift toward "binary questions" and programming errors. The way these three char

  My son's behavioral coach has a certain style, which I call "street smarts." Sometimes, we're all getting sucked into a vortex of bad behavior. The children are fighting about something--say, access to a crushed, filthy bottle cap. There is a strong wish to use reason, appeals to logic--and this never, never works. The coach just suggests a sing-song tone and a change of subject. Change the setting! She is ruthless, in this way. Also, I find I have an idea of who I "should" be, and this is tiresome. I should be someone who wants to attend the "parent social hour" after Back to School night. I should be someone who schedules FaceTime with my children if I'm away on a trip. The behavioral coach says, "That's all nonsense. Don't go to the social hour, and don't plan FaceTime. A FaceTime session with Papa is just confusing, if you're three years old. And do you want to talk to all those awful parents when you don't *have*

  Allen Say won acclaim--and a Caldecott--for his beautiful story, "Grandfather's Journey." One feature of that book is that it does not shy away from describing the stupidity of war; Grandfather survives the bombing of Hiroshima, but after rebuilding his life, he "never keeps another songbird." Say looks at war once again in "The Bicycle Man." This is about a memory from Say's own childhood. The war in Japan has just ended; Say is a little student in a school made of gray wood that "creaks like a ship." The school is on a tall green mountain, and when the winds blow, the trees make "the sound of waves." As the story begins, little Say is practicing sportsmanship; no matter who wins an interscholastic foot race, "we're here to have fun." It's in this context that an American soldier arrives. Time stands still. Is the soldier a threat? Is it possible for everyone to maintain a sense of calm? This is a subtle, ma

The Times observes that 1999 saw the birth of both "The Sopranos" and "Law and Order: SVU." It also points out that the true star of 99's graduating class was "Freaks and Geeks." Although "Freaks and Geeks" ended early, it influenced TV through shows that can be seen as tonal "spin-offs": "Girls," "Somebody Somewhere," "Louie." (The critic doesn't mention "Better Things," but I would add "Better Things.") Correctly, the "Times" notes that F&G is *not* a show about losing, but about persevering *after* loss. If you're going to tell a story without a major gimmick, then you really need a well-defined point of view, and F&G has this. Several tiny moments show us who we are. We are all creatures who put on a brave face despite various aches and pains. Here are a few memorable scenes from F&G: *A mother plans to hand out Halloween candy with her adolescent da

 On Monday evening, I met Jonathan Groff; he was charming and seemingly "normal," and I mostly remembered to pay attention and act like this was standard chit-chat. The brief audience gave me an opportunity to ask a question I'd been saving, i.e.,  Which will be your next Sondheim protagonist ? And Groff gave the answer I had sort of anticipated: Georges Seurat. Here is what surprised me: Groff has a rather elaborate vision for his (hypothetical)  Sunday in the Park  revival. His co-star will be Lea Michele--because, like Georges and Dot, Groff and LM have a complex bond that has been broken and re-made and re-re-made over many years. (LM had an unrequited love for Groff, but unlike Dot, LM didn't really have "a shot." That's because Groff was, and is, gay.) Additionally, Groff wants to take the production to Central Park--the site of his triumph in the musical  Hair.  I'm not sure a piece as delicate as  Sunday  can survive an outdoor production; I&

 One strategy David Chase uses so well is misdirection. We are frequently led to expect one event, only to learn that something different is in the blueprints. A standout example: Johnny Sack gets involved in a mob war. He drives home to discover that the front door is open. The obvious conclusion is that an assassin is lurking, waiting; we're going to see a bloodbath. Instead, the truth emerges: Johnny's wife has left the door unlocked and scurried downstairs, to eat candy bars in private. The stress of mafia dealings has led her to overeat in secret; her public story is that the long-term effect of pregnancy has created her weight gain. We also witness the simmering tension between Carmela and Furio. Surely, this will lead to shtupping; after all, Tony himself rarely resists temptation, hour after hour. Carmela uses her son as a pawn; dragging him along on a "Furio date" means that the event isn't really a date. Carmela dances passionately with Furio, in public;

  Elizabeth Strout's new novel is overstuffed and maybe structurally unsound, but it's still powerful. It's about a collection of troubled people. One, Pam, is an alcoholic who hides her habit by drinking in the old "servant's cubby" in a Manhattan apartment. One day, she is cowering there, with her vodka bottle, when her husband wanders into the adjoining bedroom. He has brought his secret girlfriend--and a blow job ensues. Pam listens in horror; she almost drops her bottle. Elsewhere, a man privately dislikes his wife, an Episcopalian minister, because she is just slightly narcissistic. When the wife gets negative feedback from a church elder, her work changes, but also (oddly) her marriage changes. A third story concerns a woman (Isabelle) who has an opportunity to leave her nursing home. Her ambivalent daughter has offered up a plane ticket: Isabelle can fly across the country and live in an actual house, in California. But Isabelle has a friend in the nur

  People are more emphatically themselves, at Halloween. In Maplewood, the season means that one parent will publish a shrill post on Facebook: "Hey! Enough with the artificial spider webs! They're bad for the birds." Another parent will write: "It's this kind of liberal hysteria that will help to ensure that Trump gets elected in a few months." A third worries that certain decorative choices are too scary for little ones. This writer has actually photographed a neighbor's display--its theme, "demon ghoul babies"--and then labeled the photo "unacceptable." My husband gave me a small bobble-head figurine; it's Chucky, from "Bride of Chucky." The doll carries a knife. My daughter then smuggled the Chucky into school; I imagine the prop inspired some fruitful conversations. My own great desire this season--a chance to see "North by Northwest" on the giant screen, at Manhattan's Paris Cinema--was thwarted. Chil

 The film critic Chris Ryan talks about a "heat check" performance: work done by an actor who gets only four or five minutes of screen time, but who steals the show. One example is Philip Seymour Hoffman, in "The Talented Mr. Ripley." It seems to me Maggie Smith does "heat check" work in "Richard III." This is something I recall in vivid detail, from high school. Smith is the Duchess of York, mother of Richard. She is upset because Richard has just murdered one of her other children. To some extent, she is responsible for this turn of events; after all, she is the parent. If she felt nothing for Richard, she might simply walk away. But--since she has some "family feeling" for her kid--she gives him the gift of her time. He won't listen, because he is a silver-tongued monster. And yet she asserts herself: Hear me a little, for I will never speak to you again. To war, take with you my most grievous curse. On Richmond's party my pr

  I'm vulnerable to ads, especially ads for TV shows. Again and again, I think I've stumbled on a major entertainment offering, because this is what the breathless trailer tells me. "The Penguin," "Salem's Lot," the reboot of "Perry Mason." Again and again, the product is *not* the item in the ad. So I feel for Homer Simpson, who becomes confused by a large animatronic character called "Lard Lad." The Lad holds a Colossal Donut, larger than an actual building--and Homer mistakenly believes that any card-carrying human can *purchase* a Colossal Donut. Chaos ensues. Many Halloween shows think solely about how to frighten the viewer, but John Swartzwelder, of "The Simpsons," makes a comment about America. Homer *seems* to learn a lesson about consumerism, and empty calories, but at the end of his segment, he forgets every moral and endangers his community. The reason for his foolishness? Lard Lad has a new sign: "Now With

  When the barber asked about "style influences," for Susie's hair, I thought of Greta Gerwig. I idolize Gerwig (despite disliking "Barbie"). I especially like how Gerwig describes Virginia Woolf: "I love her writing, but also -- she was included in the canon because she was just  better  than other writers." Also, Gerwig's ferocity inspires me. When she started at Barnard, she planned to pursue training as a paralegal, because she knew that any project outside the realm of the arts would not have any kind of meaning for her. She was realistic about what she wanted. It's not clear to me what Susie thinks of Greta Gerwig. I do think Susie has certain directorial visions. I admire my daughter most when she is obsessively rearranging the Halloween decorations outside; nothing will deter her from her mission. Also, I'm fond of hearing her plans for a costume; though it can drive me batty to learn that there are yet more revisions in our future,

 Alex Murdaugh had a son, Paul, who kept getting involved in suspicious deaths. Paul's friend died; the event was staged to resemble a hit-and-run, but questions lingered. Paul's housekeeper died--not at home, but at work, having fallen down a set of stairs. Paul guzzled alcohol, then drove his peers around in a boat. When a crash resulted in the death of one friend, Paul pressured witnesses to say that the identity of the driver was just too foggy. ("Who could possibly remember?") At the same time, Paul's father, Alex, was committing his own crimes. He would take on legal clients, then steal their winnings, to fund his own oxy addiction. Additionally, Alex would parade around in the uniform of a Confederate soldier; this may not be a literal crime, but it's at least a *spiritual* crime. These were terrible people--doing terrible things. Eventually, Alex concluded that Paul's misdeeds might lead to unwanted questions about oxy, about financial misconduct.

 I had a crush on Gavin Creel from 2009 onward. I saw him in "Hair"--a musical I disliked--and I would listen, again and again, to "Let the Sunshine In." On Broadway, a haircut can be a dramatic event--and the trimming of Creel's character's hair, right before the show's upsetting climax--now makes me think of a similar effect that Victoria Clark used in "Kimberly Akimbo." Creel grew up studying the recordings of Whitney Houston, and he released a naughty pop album, "Goodtimenation," that I played constantly. I often dismiss, or half-dismiss, musicals, but "She Loves Me" is a perfect piece of writing, and Creel's performance (alongside Laura Benanti and Jane Krakowski) is charming. Because the production was captured on camera, you never have to wonder what to do if you're alone for a few hours. You always have the option to make a cup of herbal tea and watch Gavin Creel in "She Loves Me." This nation might