Liars and Saints

 I'm looking forward to Mac Barnett's retelling of "Rumpelstiltskin." Jon Klassen has taken a pass--for reasons unclear--and the illustrator is Carson Ellis. Barnett has a way of making his narrator into a character. In "Billy Goats Gruff," the narrator  confides that he actually lives near the troll. "I've heard that the troll is in the swampy Netherland. If he is happy--I cannot say. I don't visit; there are too many mosquitos." The same kind of trick is at work in "Rumpelstiltskin." For example: "The maiden had a father who was always chatting. He wasn't a bad guy, but he had a tendency to brag. Here, I'll give you some evidence...." Finally, I look forward to the beautiful interiors--the patterned floors, the wallpaper, the tapestries, and the rugs. The pub date is February 3rd. Meanwhile, this week, Elizabeth McCracken's newest book arrives.

  Today, people connect Sondheim's "Assassins" to January 6th. They see Sondheim's work as a kind of prophecy about white rage. That's correct--but the work is also just a series of great sentences. Where's my prize? They promised me a prize. What about my prize? I want my prize. I deserve a fucking prize. It's part of the gospel of Sondheim that syntax should match sentiment--form should match content. When the Count sings in "Night Music," he uses short declarations--because he is capable of thinking only in short declarations. That's also the case for the assassins. Syntax reproduces the feeling of a tantrum--with the repetition of "prize," you imagine someone picking and picking at a hangnail until the blood starts to spill off the finger. I just heard on the news Where the mailman won the lottery-- Goes to show--when you lose-- What you do is try again. You can be what you choose... From a mailman to a President. There are priz...

  One thing I did not expect was the scene in which septuagenarian screen legend Lesley Manville removes her underwear and stuffs it in her pocket. Her spouse goes down on her--as she murmurs about her "baby boy." When this is interrupted, Manville (Jocasta) mentions that she needs to handle a brief Zoom meeting with a *head* of state. "Don't knock on the door. Things might get heated in there...." "Oedipus" has everything I want from a play. It's a detective story. There was a terrible crime in the past--now, in the present, we're piecing together a hypothesis about what may have happened. As the investigatory work occurs, life also goes on. An office is stripped bare. A family dinner is launched (and then quickly torpedoed). Several outfits are selected, criticized, mocked, rejected, replaced. The "present tense" material is gripping enough, but then we have many troubling clues about the past. If Oedipus the infant was abandoned in...

 I have no idea how this occurred, but my kids have started playing together. After years of aggression, things have calmed down. This is like the moment in the Bible when Noah sends a dove out to look for dry land--and, finally, the dove returns with an olive branch. (Or something like that.) My favorite game to observe is "doctor." Susie approaches Josh with an array of symptoms--tummyache, sore throat. Josh is meant to put on a show of cool competence, but he has subverted expectations. Every time his wisdom is sought out, he gasps and throws up his hands. He becomes visibly panicky. End of scene. I could watch this a million times. The other game they play is "left to the right." Here, they throw their bodies around in a kind of latitudinal way, while chanting "left to the right." This is (apparently) hilarious. I think the games are silly, but then I consider how my spouse and I spend our time. Mostly, we watch clips of Aaron Tveit's bizarre dance...

  The reason "Some Enchanted Evening" works is that it uses sensory intelligence. It's a song about sensation and cognition. Some enchanted evening-- You may see a stranger... You may see a stranger across a crowded room... And somehow you know--you know even then-- That somehow you'll see him again and again. Having seen with her eyes, the heroine next hears with her ears. You may hear him laughing across a crowded room-- And somehow you know--as strange as it seems-- The sound of his laughter will sing in your dreams. A mysterious reaction occurs in the heart; this is logical material for a "bridge." Who can tell you why? Fools give you reasons-- Wise men never try. Then, a call to action: Fly to his side-- And make him your own-- Or, all of your life, You will dream all alone. It's so effective to end with the idea of dreaming, because this idea comes roaring back in the show's climax, "This Nearly Was Mine." ... "Now, now I'm a...

  I tend to see a gap between my own life and the life of the Washington Post (or the NYTimes). Here is my personal list of the literary highlights from 2025. *STUPID TV, BE MORE FUNNY. "The Simpsons" is widely seen as the single greatest show in the history of TV, and that's mostly because of its astounding debut (years one through ten). I see my family in this show--but I also see my neighbor, my former colleague, my husband's nemesis, my Internet fixation, my mentor. How can one show--just one show--have space for Ned Flanders, Edna Krabappel, Mayor Quimby, Comic Book Guy, and Bleeding Gums Murphy? Not to mention Fred (of the Quimby dynasty), Grampa Simpson, Moe, Krusty, Rev. Lovejoy, Helen Lovejoy...The list goes on and on. No TV is more important to me than "Scenes From the Class Struggle in Springfield," "Bart vs. Thanksgiving," "Radio Bart." "Stupid TV" is the intelligent, well-researched, impassioned "fan letter...

 Like many others, I followed the Charlie Kirk/Kristin Chenoweth story with wide eyes. Had Kristin seen a route to a Kennedy Center Honor? "If I sympathize with a right-wing zealot, Trump might reward me...." Although I do think a fair amount of Machiavellian plotting happens in Kristin Chenoweth's head, I don't buy the Kennedy Center hypothesis. Clearly, she just wrote something dumb online. I do think an interviewee should be able to say, "I said something dumb. My mistake. Going forward, I won't express support for Charlie Kirk." This sort of statement should be possible--and the country should then move forward. As a Kristin Chenoweth apologist, I have spent my holiday season enjoying KC's "Christmas Island," as well as "Marshmallow World" and "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Kristin has said, "If you're making a career in the entertainment world, just remember there are no rules, no limitations." And ...

  I really enjoyed "False Idols," a kind of sequel to SVU's Alice Munro story. In "False Idols," Jemima Kirke is very clearly playing the artist Amanda Palmer, who trafficked young women for her husband (Neil Gaiman). The women were then assaulted by Gaiman. Kirke writes fantasy novels about idols (gods)--and she herself is a god to her readership (which includes my dear Amanda Rollins). But Kirke is a *false* idol--she is, in fact, a monster. In the real world, Palmer has tried to portray herself as a victim; at times, she seems to use Neil Gaiman's case to attract attention to her own work. SVU handles this in a clever way; having been found guilty, Kirke asks to make a "statement." The judge shrugs. As Kirke begins to talk, she notices that the courtroom is empty. A fine performance, in a strong episode, in a satisfying half-season.

  I'm on the record with my reservations about "Ragtime," which too often asks its leads to "park and bark" generic, tedious ballads. It also uses a puzzling structure--the moment for the "I Want" number is actually occupied by Evelyn Nesbit, who does a forgettable dance and then disappears for approximately two hours. All that said, I'm a fan of "Journey On." I'm a fan for a few reasons. First, the setup. Father is a bored, wealthy suburbanite who wants an adventure--so he volunteers to help Admiral Peary on a trip to the Arctic. What he fails to see is that the real adventure--the story that will captivate Americans in 2025--is the story of Mother back in New Rochelle. People are interested in how American women moved through the 20th century. People don't really talk about Admiral Peary--now--in 2025. I also like that Tateh speculates about Father. Because Father is sealed off from his own soul, Father isn't going to tell u...

  One of John Cheever's great stories, "The Five-Forty-Eight," draws a kind of map that other writers can follow. Specifically, Matthew Weiner ("Mad Men") and Adrian Lyne ("Fatal Attraction") owe a debt to Cheever. In "The Five-Forty-Eight," a married executive, Blake, sleeps with his secretary, Miss Dent. Then, he discovers that her presence is distracting, so he fires her. Wrong move. She is emotionally disturbed; she begins stalking him. Eventually, Miss Dent leads Blake (at gunpoint) onto a train. In Ossining, she literally forces him to eat dirt--then she walks away. "Sometimes it seems to me that if I were good and loving and sane--oh, much better than I am--sometimes it seems to me if I were all these things and young and beautiful, too, and if I called to show you the right way, you wouldn't heed me. Oh, I'm better than you, I'm better than you, and I shouldn't waste my time or spoil my life like this. Put your fa...

 Of course the members of his family wore matching Halloween costumes.  They were the Munsters. They passed me without acknowledging me -- right by the spookiest house on Walton Ave. I felt a blast of wind -- just like the wind that precedes the first and only meeting of Lalo Salamanca with Howard Hamlin, in "Better Call Saul." Facebook says that my frenemy's family has visited the newly restored art gallery at Princeton -- visited almost within a few minutes of the grand reopening. I bet my frenemy's son was respectful and attentive. I did notice, on Halloween, that my frenemy had full-time help; a member of the extended family had been conscripted for the childcare wars. Goddammit. By contrast, my own children ran wild in the streets, and my daughter took three (three!) opportunities to (cheerfully) dump her candy onto the sidewalk. It's fine. My candidate won a spot on the Board of Education. My frenemy's candidate was caught in a racialized scandal involvi...

 John Cheever's extraordinary story "Reunion" is about a father and son. Three years before today, the father abandoned his family. The son can't "process" this; he needs to believe that his father has noble reasons for his actions, because a father is a father. Taking a last stab at parenting, the father agrees to meet his young son at the information booth in Grand Central Terminal. He has his secretary make the arrangement (or perhaps he has paid a friend to impersonate a secretary). He repeatedly alludes to his "club"; he says, "We just don't have time to visit my club." These allusions do the opposite of their intended job; they make the father look pathetic. What follows is a series of embarrassing moments in which the father dumps his self-loathing on waiters and waitresses. He fights with one about the drinking age. He has a tantrum, later, because he is told he cannot clap his hands in the presence of the staff. At another es...

  Like all of the rest of "Chess," "Someone Else's Story" is a generic, badly written song. It's so generic, it can be lifted from one character and given to another--and the transplant just makes people shrug. The idea is that, when we're viewing a neighbor's actions, we find it easy to give advice. But, when we try to offer counsel to ourselves, we can't see clearly. Long ago, in someone else's story, A girl with my name who looked a lot like me... Came to know a man and made a promise-- He only had to say, and that's where she would be. I hate this writing so much. "He only had to say, and that's where she would be"--? Is this English? The speaker no longer feels able to keep her promise, but the thought of walking away is terrifying. It's all very well to say, You fool... It's now or never... [But, by walking away...] I could be choosing no choices whatsoever... If you're performing this song, you can either ...

  In John Cheever's "The Sorrows of Gin," a nanny becomes impatient with John Cheever's drinking. So she goes to the little daughter, Susan, and suggests that family peace might be secured if Susan would occasionally dump John's many gallons of alcohol in the sink. Susan does this--but John wrongly concludes that the nanny is "having a tipple" (and another and another) while (ostensibly) working. A drunken child-minder! The nanny loses her job. I think of this when my child mimics his teacher. I'm trying to put ornaments on the tree. "Is that your best effort?" asks my son. "You're not showing YOUR BEST EFFORT." I consider Josh's teacher--and her recent lesson plans. One day, Josh half-colored a printout image of a bat. Another day, he colored a Pilgrim--but the printout was dated, so it made a reference to "the Indians." (The teacher had made a bold "X" through that last word.) I imagine the kind of se...

  "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving"--the tenth animated "Charlie Brown" special--seems drastically different from "Great Pumpkin" and "CB Christmas." While "Pumpkin" and "Christmas" both include many tiny vignettes, "Thanksgiving" focuses on just one story. A stranger comes to town. It's Peppermint Patty, a hurricane, an agent of chaos. Patti is a narcissist and a "user": she has little regard for others' feelings. When she finally understands that she has steamrolled and wounded Charlie, she doesn't apologize. She enlists Marcie to do the work for her. With passive-aggressive strategies, Snoopy responds to Patty. Snoopy ruins Patty's Thanksgiving vision with a plate of toast. Also, he doesn't *serve* the toast--he just throws it in Patty's face. In a final twist, it's revealed that Snoopy actually does know how to roast a turkey. He just doesn't feel like using this skill for P...

  "Chess" begins in a sort of coherent way.  Florence is a brilliant chess strategist--brilliant!--but Freddie, her Bobby Fischer-esque lover/colleague, does not appreciate her. Florence sees an opportunity to run off with a Russian, Anatoly, so she overhauls her life story. This is a bold move; she really did have some affection for Freddie! Fade to black. Act Two is harder to follow. Living in the UK, Florence has a great deal of sex and chooses not to think about how Anatoly has abandoned a few children. (Hard to swallow this. In "The Americans," when Philip Jennings is struggling within his arranged marriage, he still has feelings for his kids.) The Russians try to manipulate Florence. Though the Kremlin is considering a (literally apocalyptic) nuclear war, peace will reign if Russia can win an important chess match. Yes, the fate of the world is hanging on a chess match. If Florence can persuade Anatoly to lose-on-purpose, a geopolitical crisis can be averted. ...

  Part of Cardi B's gift is an ability to look closely at her own character: Last time you fucked up, said I was done Fucked up again, I took you back, shit, I was dumb I held back for you, was really biting my tongue Should've fell back from you, instead,   I gave you a son I don't regret it, it's a blessin', just know I learned my lesson So stop with all that calling me and textin' All the times you say you was locked in Late-night sessions,   only thing that need to drop is your confessions *** ga, I believed you, don't know if I'm mad at me or you Once upon a time, I thought I needed you Even though I'm up, I always treat you like we even, dude See what special treatment do? Huh, I could've cheated too While anatomizing her marriage, Cardi B recognizes that she herself has been dumb. As her spouse misbehaves, Cardi B rewards bad moves "with a son." Cardi B is aware that she is better at her job, but she meekly hides the evidence. ...

 I have never attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, but I've borrowed from the playbook. In a way, my approach to parenting resembles an AA meeting. "First things first," I say to my son--as the bus approaches. "Easy does it." Neither Josh nor I really understand what I'm talking about--but the words seem to help. In the eternal potty-training war, my shrink offers an interesting mantra: "Joshua, if you do poop in the potty, that's like a special gift to me. But, regardless of what happens, I love you so much. Poop or no poop--it really doesn't matter." (This one requires some playacting. It soon morphs into its own weird shorthand. "No presh. Anything you choose is what I love." My son says this to me each morning, whether or not I myself have said it. It's almost like a little song he sings.) A behavioral consultant recommends daily affirmations--in the Jack Handy tradition. "I'm good enough....I'm strong ...

 Lily King has to be among the top writers of English-language fiction--among the top on any list--it's not debatable. "Writers and Lovers" is a modern classic, and, amazingly, its sequel is also outstanding. King is able to invent complex people and persuade you that they're real. She puts combustible personalities in one room. The characters are almost always working their way through a maze; the maze is almost always called Sex, Love, or Death. The stakes are always high. I think I love King's protagonist (Casey) so much because her world is my own world. In "Heart the Lover," we see Casey in college among nerds; some of the discussions are about David Hume. Casey thinks that structure is not always the most important element of a novel; her friend Yash disagrees. Casey: "What about images? What about voice?" Yash: "It's always structure." Casey: "WAR AND PEACE doesn't have an especially artful structure...." Yash...

 "The Dive Bar," by Katherine Heiny, is about Sasha, who writes YA novels. She is drawn to her boyfriend because he enjoys solving the kinds of plot riddles you encounter when you write for teens: How do I get the entire cast of characters onto an uninhabited island--without access to transportation--stranded for the entirety of Act Three (five to eight days)? Sasha is "the other woman," but this isn't a morality story. It's really about being dumb in your mid-twenties. Sasha's dear friend is drifting--but she can't acknowledge this. She signals her dawning sense of disapproval just by subtly, but emphatically, empathizing with the abandoned wife. "She must be feeling so terrible that she invested so many years, and so much energy--gave it all to this man, and he can't even try to to be honest with her...." There is probably a "friend breakup" on the horizon, but for now, Sasha will enjoy what she has. She and her buddy sample...

  It's amazing to me how carefully my husband chooses his words. "I can handle the Great Wolf Lodge for 24 hours," he says. "More than that might be difficult." What he means is that this is hell on Earth. The Lodge is designed to maximize profit (and not to hide the effort); it's heavily over-subscribed; long lines of angry children loop and twist and extend around corners. In a jaunty attempt at "branding," the CEO has decreed that all guests will receive free synthetic "wolf ears" affixed to a headband. This is meant to be playful--but really it means that you just see many, many beleaguered, overweight adults in cheap headbands. My nadir was a trip to Dunkin Donuts. I wanted coffee, but the payment system involved a "kiosk." You take your plastic "Wolf" bracelet and wave it at a machine--that said, there is a "tipping" option if you're feeling kind. The machine breaks. The vision of a coffee recedes. ...

  Another song I admire in "Spider Woman" is "Gabriel's Letter," which tells a full story in a few lines. I'm sorry to hear they've taken you away-- I'm sure you're innocent. You're such a good man. You must be innocent. These are loaded lines--if the "crime" is being gay, then Molina is not innocent. Gabriel is indicating that he isn't willing to think deeply, to challenge the system. And I'm sorry if I've never told you How grateful I am... For the movies, the talks, and the books-- The gifts to my wife and newborn child-- I'm truly sorry. Now things get tense. Is Gabriel really grateful? Or was Molina being overbearing--was the relationship uncomfortable? And finally I'm sorry for any pain I may have caused you-- I know what you wanted of me, but I'm just not that way. What a strange thing to be sorry for-- But that's the way it is, isn't it? I'm sorry. Simply sorry. These evasive, watery lines...

  After a long hiatus, Nell Scovell returned to "The Simpsons" with "Sorry Not Sorry"--an exploration of power and entitlement. Lisa has to complete a project, an explanation of "what inspires me." Her answer is the work of Gladys West, who invented GPS. Lisa writes a stirring rap--so creative, it causes Superintendent Chalmers to breakdance. But--having exceeded the time limit--Lisa finds that her grade is a B-. And she retaliates by publicly accusing Miss Hoover of being a hack. The situation escalates until Lisa is thrown into detention. "It's Miss Hoover who should be in detention," she says. And Bart points out that "Miss Hoover is a teacher, which is permanent detention. It's a life sentence." Trying to learn about her nemesis, Lisa follows Miss Hoover home from school. The trip involves several janky trains, a long interlude with a greasy triangle of pizza cardboard (a "sled"), and a final exchange with a cat. M...

 I have been listening to Tim Rice's shoddy work on "Chess." "I see my present partner in the imperfect tense!" By contrast, it's nice to remember Fred Ebb's crisp, clean writing for "Kiss of the Spider Woman." There's a cobblestone street And a little red door-- And three flights up is Marta... Waiting there is Marta... The speaker--Valentin--has limited access to his emotions. The only clue to the depth of his feeling is his choice to repeat a name: "Marta." And I still can see us lying together-- Laughing, smoking, lying together-- And that thought of being together Helps me through... Valentin's slightly awkward repetition of "lying together" mimics actual speech. He is fumbling for words. So I close my eyes And I hear her step And I know she's come to hold me-- So my senses stir... But it's never, ever her. It's just a dream of her. Having worked with Kander for many, many years, Ebb knows how to fit...

  When I visit my daughter's classroom, I imagine rapt listeners, quiet hands, calm bodies. Instead, one child is having a full meltdown; he is thrashing and singing, for reasons that seem unclear to everyone around him. I have dressed as a rabbit; I'm reading "My Garden," by Kevin Henkes. The kids are unimpressed. First of all, the narrator is nameless. What's with that? Also, I have a nervous habit of  kissing my daughter on the head--one child lets me know, quite clearly, that this is distracting. Finally, my daughter herself was hoping for "The Poky Little Puppy." Why couldn't I bring *that* one? The point of the "mystery reader" tradition is to share a bit of your family life--so I start to tell the kids about my daughter's garden. "Sometimes, when she gets up in the morning and leaves her bedroom, she looks down through the window and spots a bunny in the--" A beady-eyed child interrupts. "Her bedroom is on the seco...

 Chris Van Allsburg had a legendary run, scoring two Caldecott Medals ("Jumanji," "Polar Express"), tossing off classics ("Two Bad Ants," "Gardens of Abdul Gasazi," " The Widow's Broom"). In that span, he outdid himself with "The Wreck of the Zephyr." This is essentially a mystery story. Our detective arrives at the scene of the crime. A boat has deposited itself at the edge of a cliff; it seems impossible that waves threw the boat so, so high above the sea level. But this is the story narrated by certain so-called witnesses. Our detective digs deeper. An erratic, sketchy townsperson has a story that no one else is sharing. Once, a boy went out in a ship. A storm transported the ship to a magical land, where maritime navigators had special gifts. These navigators could actually command their vessels to fly through the clouds. The boy demanded to learn the secrets of this land. But he was impatient; he woke in the middle of...

 Ian McEwan's modern classic "Atonement" starts with a kind of Agatha Christie setup. There is a crowded manor; there are hidden agendas. Briony, the girl at the center of the events, believes that she sees a sexual assault. (What she really sees is just sex.) Because of class tensions, the wealthy people in the manor turn on an innocent young man. He is accused of a crime. The accusation ruins at least two lives. Suddenly, as in "To the Lighthouse," the camera pans out. We're in the midst of World War II--we move from one family's suffering to *cosmic* questions about suffering. The cosmic story does not diminish the domestic story. The two tales exist side by side. Something similar happens in "What We Can Know," McEwan's new novel. We're in a small drama; the year is sometime around 1999. Francis is a Philip Larkin-ish poet, a bully, a climate-change skeptic, a narcissist. He has written a poem--apparently in tribute to his wife Vivi...