Liars and Saints

  One enduring mystery (for me) is what Patricia Highsmith may have meant by her title, "The Talented Mr. Ripley." It seems debatable that Tom Ripley is talented. He leaves an obvious bloodstain on a heavily trafficked staircase -- after a crime. (He gets lucky because the landlady concludes that the blood came from a mouse. The landlady blames the cat.) Tom does not check that he has locked his door before (eerily) dressing as his friend and speaking in his friend's voice. And Tom neglects to change out of a particular pair of ostentatious shoes before meeting Freddie Miles; the shoes tell Freddie that Tom is weaving an elaborate lie. In any case, Tom seems to be slightly *more* talented than the people around him. He can write Marge's book -- when Marge herself is an obviously bad writer. He can quickly reproduce Dickie's paintings, without training (though Dickie thinks of himself as an artist). These are wonderful, pitiful characters. Marge loves Dickie (thoug...

  I landed a job; I'm so relieved. I had not thought about how much this means to me. How nice it is to spend some time with a listless student, discussing the use of figurative language in "The House on Mango Street." How nice to hear from another parent: "My child says he couldn't invest one more hour in his essay, because he was upset about his uncle's death. But, between you and me, that's bullshit." How nice to read certain canonical student words: "Sorry this is so late!" (And to think of an immortal line from Beverly Cleary's novel, "Muggie Maggie."  If you're truly sorry, then why is this a recurring behavior? ) I celebrated with pizza, and with a new, apparently trashy novel, "Listen for the Lie." Things are looking up.

  A novel that knocked me over, in my youth, was "A Certain Justice," by PD James.  In that one, Venetia Aldridge, a brilliant criminal lawyer, has many, many enemies. She ruined a family by helping a rapist to evade charges. She refuses to defend a colleague's delinquent brother, etc. When PD James is in the "Justice" phase of her career, she is having enough fun that she can boldly announce, in her first sentence, "Aldridge is going to die." That cheeky narrative voice is part of the pleasure. It seems to say: "I can break the rules. I know what I'm doing." I think, today, the best "James successor" is Anthony Horowitz. I think Horowitz shares James's delight in writing. For example, look at his titles, which combine killing with a narrative or a grammatical device: "A Line to Kill." "The Twist of a Knife." "Close to Death." The new Horowitz novel describes a group of neighbors on a shared bac...

 We're planning to attend a dinner--and demands for a ceasefire are happening on various campuses. It's possible that the topic of Gaza will surface at our dinner, and it's highly unlikely that everyone at the table will share just one view, exactly one view, on Gaza.  At the same time, my daughter is demanding a particular kind of bracelet; the bracelet actually tortures her, because it can get so tight that it cuts off the circulation to her hand. But, in the moment, she can't access the memory, and she just wants the damn bracelet. The "superbill" for today's doctor visit is allegedly ready for the insurance company, but this seems debatable. One spouse is prepping for months of "reimbursement" warring. The other spouse thinks that the doctor might (helpfully) intervene. He asks the doctor's receptionist for "filing advice." The receptionist says, "I have no advice." Optimistic Spouse dislikes this response, so he forge...

  A friend has useful advice: "Know yourself, and cope." The advice isn't just: "Cope." It's this: "Recognize that there are some particular tar pits that you--and you, especially--tend to wander toward. And *then* cope, bearing in mind your own set of limitations...." My son's school sometimes complains about the diaper situation. There is a fair amount of ignorance and grievance at the school, and no one but my spouse has access to the same nuanced case history that I carry around in my head. The diaper issue can snowball--so that now, if I get an ambiguous note about a "potty accident," I freak out. Recently, I had a small triumph. I felt myself wigging out, and I knew where the spiral was headed--and, oddly enough, I chose to *act* on this knowledge. I pushed back, gently. I asked some clarifying questions. The matter was quickly resolved. My daughter is her own person--my husband has reminded me of this--but, still, I see my own ...

 Each week, I take my child to occupational therapy, because an authority figure once made this recommendation--and, after all, my son seems to enjoy the recurring session. He exits with a smile; the therapist says, "He is really maturing, emotionally, and, today, he stuck some stickers on a sheet of paper"; we all drive home.  Yesterday, a *new* expert dropped an "OT" bomb. "The practice can, in fact, be counterproductive. Too many occupational therapists want to make the world  comfortable .  Let's modify this....Let's purchase that special chair.....  But, in truth, the world is a challenging place. You want your child to  find comfort *in* discomfort ...." As my head began to spin, I recalled "The Simpsons," and its observations about adult idiocy. At the start of Season Four, Homer and Marge believe they are doing what is best for their kids, by sending them to "Kamp Krusty." But the camp is, in fact, "a Dickensian hor...

 In his most recent book, Andrew Rannells writes about heading (solo) to a performance of "Follies," wishing "to have my heart broken by Bernadette Peters." I know what he means. Peters's character--Sally Durant Plummer--has a special place in my own inner landscape.  One kind of musical theater heroine tells the audience exactly what she wants: I'm thinking of Maria ("I Have Confidence"), Dolly ("Put on Your Sunday Clothes"), Marian ("My White Knight"). Certainly, Sondheim was capable of writing this kind of character: I'm thinking of Momma Rose ("Some People"). But Sally, in "Follies," doesn't fit the mold. Sally's "I Want" moment--when we expect her to be candid and articulate, i.e., "I'm not throwing away my shot"--is actually a song called "Don't Look at Me." And--though she is a stranger to herself--she suggests to us that her great, unexamined wish is t...