Not a short story lover. But there are some that tell a longer story episodically. Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout is like this. The chapters stand alone.
I dove into Fight No More with the advice from a reviewer that this book of short stories (finalist for the Pulitzer Prize) was episodes in a longer story. It was, sort of. The writing is excellent. I could see the characters and their situations. But they did not engage me. All the stories are dark, and all the characters have pain and suffering in their past lives: The Holocaust, familial rape, drugs/alcohol, internet porn. Naturally this leads to pain and suffering in their present lives, though you do hope that Lexie and Jem escape. Not likely.
If you like the short story genre, this book will be a good read. For me, it was a good bedtime read because most stories are short. Plots are not “resolved”, but neither is life. These are well made YouTube videos: on and off. Millet is a prolific writer and I’ll try one of her novels for comparison.
“The twelve years that are the conventional designation of the Reconstruction period, from 1865 to 1877, teem with associations and developments that seem regrettable, if not simply baleful.”
Massive tomes have been written about the history of the Reconstruction. Guelzo pockets it into 130 pages, if you choose to ignore the supplements. It’s a wonder that the U.S. survived as a nation. Guelzo’s narrative is concise, but not snappy—it’s a bit of a tough read because so much is crammed onto every page.
The best predictor of the future is the past. So, we read history, understanding it is one person’s interpretation of the past. So much of what we see today flows from those 12 years of chaos. Andrew Johnson, Lincoln’s Vice President proved to be the antithesis of Lincoln. He was a Southerner from Tennessee. His direct actions overrode Congress’s attempts to set up an orderly transition from war to productive peace. Instead, former Confederate officers stepped into positions of power and eventually drove out the “Carpetbaggers” from the North. Johnson was impeached in March 1877, but the measure did not pass. In November, Ulysses S. Grant was elected, a flawed man with no political experience.
The Supreme Court took advantage of weak executive and legislative leadership, carving new powers for itself. They became the arbiter of efforts to bring North and South together, more often driving them further apart. In 1883, the overturned Sumner’s Civil Rights Bill, a deed not rectified until Lyndon Johnson’s presidency.
Though southern blacks were almost immediately elected to new legislative bodies in the South, they proved unable to formulate and negotiate favorable legislation. They were too poorly educated and underfunded. No charismatic leader arose from among them who could have led a more effective effort. Slavery proved no training ground for politics.
Guelzo, in the end, endorsed the theory that the U.S. would have fared much better if the rebellious states had been held and managed by the victorious North until arrangements were made for the integration of the former slaves and the infrastructure rebuilt. Instead, we proved true to our American need to “get it done” and left the South in shambles for both freed people and whites.
I was enlightened by Reconstruction. It deserves a second read, but not for a while…
How do you categorize a novel in which the protagonist mostly listens and observes the actions of others, not judgmentally, almost like a psychiatrist who has no control except her ability to stay or leave?
Transit episodically tells the tales of people who surround Faye, the protagonist, a writer. The book opens with a spam email from an astrologer informing her that an important transit of the planets will save her from the feeling insignificant.
"What the planets offer, she said, is nothing less than the chance to regain faith in the grandeur of the human: how much more dignity and honour, how much kindness and responsibility and respect, would we bring to our dealings with one another if we believed that each and every one of us had a cosmic importance?"
Faye purchases the chart, then proceeds to act insignificantly throughout the book. Her encounters with her realtor, who helps her purchase a flat in London, her remodeler, her abusive neighbors below, her former lover, her fellow writers, her children, her cousin—all of whom seem to have some cosmic importance, reveal Faye’s Zelig-like ability to avoid confrontation, much less make an impression. Her role is to allow them to reveal their stories, one chapter apiece.
Transit is short and crisply written. I enjoyed it and recommend it.
Teraphilia means love of a monster. Ryan Meyer likely enjoys this condition and writes poems to the monster under his bed that he wished would come out and play. In Dear Demon, he concludes,
“Crawl out from under my bedframe
Whenever you feel safe enough.
There’s no need to feel afraid:
I won’t bite.”
And in The Boogeyman Lives, Meyer tears down our image of this ogre and ends with,
“Most of all, he isn’t human, he isn’t
A metaphor for your Earthly fears.
He is much, much more than that.
He does in fact wait for you,
Underneath your bed.”
Embracing the macabre, Ryan makes every poem a slice of the dark side, the unknown and unknowable, leaving us closer to the subject but still in the dark. Because this is where the fun is for those who enjoy the unearthly. The poems, written in free verse, lend themselves to reading aloud, some even conjure up a group around a campfire, anticipating a good scare.
Meyer’s descriptions conjured memories for me. The Gusts of a Tempest brought back the pond on the farm.
“This silence grew louder during
Our pause, settling around us like silt
At the bottom of a pond…”
Anyone who ever walked in pond muck never forgets--and to compare silence to the silken terror that envelopes your feet and legs gives it such strength. In He Looked Like Me, we “shrug off anxieties...like a rain poncho”. In Sour, a woman “lets her inhibitions slide down the surface of the bar”. The poems are full of graphic word-images.
I am not a poet, nor a student of poetry, so cannot critique the literary qualities of Haunt. But I am a reader and enjoyed most every poem, thinking of where they could live again as a Halloween greeting card, or paired with an illustration or as the inspiration for a film. Some of the poems will haunt me.
The Lyric seats 3,563. Fortunately, our seats were closer than those at the Paramount in Aurora. I’d never seen Superstar. It was interesting to see so many attendees my age who were there for love and nostalgia, and the young and very young who were there because this musical is timeless. No need to cover the book. We know the story. The telling was mesmerizing.
There is no dialogue, only song and orchestration. The cast was “beige”, a few white, and the rest black and tan. Likely, this is authentic for the eastern Mediterranean setting. Costumes, except for Herod, were “beige”, most looked like old workout clothes. The set worked wonderfully for the all sorts of scenes: crowd, groups and solos. The ramp coming from stage rear at an angle was used for entrances (King Herod with gold cape 50 feet long) and exits, and as a dining table for the last supper sequence. The tableau was an homage to da Vinci’s The Last Supper.
The music combines rock and roll with jazz, funk, and lyrical ballads ("I Don’t Know How to Love Him"). As usual, every performer and every instrument was miked, which gave a sameness to the sound. The lyrics are difficult enough to understand because they are sung quickly. And, when there was a crescendo of voices and orchestra, the person running the sound board did nothing to modulate the mikes – deafening. I would have benefited from reading the libretto prior to the performance. But it did not dawn on me that understanding would be so difficult.
Overall, I enjoyed the performance. Now, I’ve seen every Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. Wasn’t on my bucket list, but great fun.
Yes, we did it again – saw our favorite musical. It’s an hour drive west to Aurora, IL with little or no traffic. Therefore, Saturday or Sunday matinees are our only options. This was the Saturday matinee on St. Patrick’s Day, so a good plan to be away from Division Street bars and drunken amateurs.
The Paramount Theater opened for movies in 1931. In addition to “talkies”, it also offered vaudeville, concerts, sing-a-longs and circus performances…all inside Illinois’ first air-conditioned building outside of Chicago. Acoustics and sight lines were so well designed there was not one bad seat in the house.
The theater served the community for 40 years. Then, like many grand, old movie houses, it fell into disrepair. In 1976, restoration began, as part of the revitalization of Aurora, which had lost its cache as a good place to live on the Fox River. Today, it is a beautiful venue, and Aurora has grown to the second largest city in Illinois. Where city theaters are seeing their subscriptions decline, The Paramount had 36,000 subscribers to it 1888 seats. Well done, all!
The secret to their success is producing Broadway caliber musicals way out in the suburbs. They tapped a financially secure market that does not want the trouble of getting to the city, surviving traffic, and searching for parking space. But they want good theater. We enjoyed Cabaret; not so much the trip to the suburbs and not so much our seats in the middle of the balcony. We are spoiled by our smaller venues in the city where you can see the performers, not just hear them.
It's been a while since I've reviewed for Picture This Post. This production was a serendipitous choice recommended by my friend, Jay Kelly, who handles the PR for Manual Cinema.
Irish novels tend to be a bit melancholy, with the local environment heavily influencing the characters. Not so much Dublin, but the small towns are like hives—closely quartered, each knowing the others’ business.
Thus, Nora Webster begins her life as a middle-aged widow, two children grown and two still at home. The story has no big climax, just the natural ups and downs of growing children, helpful family and friends, and a town that knows everything you do. Lack of privacy is Nora’s angst. When her husband was alive, she shadowed her life under his, with perfect contentment. Now, she is visible, a person of interest.
Skillfully woven in the background is the beginning of the Irish “troubles”. Catholics in Northern Ireland are beginning to march, demanding more representation and the cessation of British oppression. It’s clear that politics plays an important, but underlying role.
Tóibín does nothing to glamorize the lives of his characters. It’s the late 60’s, and Nora does not even have a telephone, an early reveal about her personality. But few complain about this, even though they become involved in relaying messages and substituting for phone booths. The community cares. And Nora develops a single life on her terms, both private and public.
The book is 375 pages that flew by. The writing is so solid, the characters so grounded and the plot, though not surprising, pulls you along. Highly recommended for a gentle summer read.
My friend, Betsy, and I enjoy edgy classical music – and this qualified. We put it in our calendars without much discussion and arrived at the theater each thinking the other had purchased tickets. Neither did, but we did squeak in when a few no-shows materialized. Northwestern is likely the best know school for performing arts in the U.S. Now, they have built a monument to their success and the generosity of their alums – the Ryan Center for the Musical Arts.
Handel’s oratorios are beautiful, but repetitive. The style is bel canto, with lots of embellishment to the scored music. Experienced performers usually create their own interpretations, but this production was students – and fine they were, with no additional embellishment. The only questionable casting was the role of Theodora’s lover, Didymus. This is trouser role for a mezzo. Her voice was fine, but her slight build conveyed no gravitas to her grim role.
Theodora was written for three acts. This production had two, and was over in less than two hours, including intermission. Just the right length before the repetition drove us crazy. A beautiful production with outstanding young performers.
Theo Ubique is the ultimate small Chicago theater at the NoExit Cafe. Seats 55; you can buy a dinner-theater package; drinks are served; servers are the actors; tickets are inexpensive; the store-front space is located right next to the el, everyone is friendly and welcoming. They produce outstanding musicals. Every inch is the space is used for entrances/exits, performance platforms, stage. For Sweeny Todd, a small group of musicians was tucked behind a scrim next to the bathroom. Music surrounds the audience.
We left the theater floating inches off the ground from such a splendid experience. The actors/singers were masterful. Sweeny was poignantly played by Philip Torre, an operatic baritone. He did not let his vocal power overwhelm the small space. Torre is solidly built, and as close as we were, that enhanced his vulnerability. The rest of the performers were of equal caliber. The production by Fred Anzevino, Torre, and Jacquelyne Jones (Mrs. Lovett) and the Musical Director, Jeremy Rane--all won non-Equity Jeff Awards. Well deserved. And the musical itself, written by Hugh Wheeler, music and lyrics by Steven Sondheim – one of the best ever produced.
This is our fourth year of attending the festival. Some pieces burned brighter, some exploded.
Nobody’s Home by Theatre Temoin & Grafted Code Theatre (U.K., U.S.)
We hear so much about PTSD – could it really be as bad as painted? Granted, there must be degrees, but this 50-minute piece featuring two performers as returned-vet husband and at-home, pregnant, wife, delivers intensity of feeling with a gut punch. Click here for Amy Munice's review on Picture This Post.
The Red Bastard: Lie with Me (New York)
"Body and Motion Theater" defines the buffoon, "a character living at the fringe of society, daring to say what others won’t. Many times the one to tell us a painful truth while the rest prefer to live in a lie."
Oh lord, The Red Bastard did just that. He leads the audience down his seductive path until we all admit we are liars. After all, who really has read all the verbiage in the multiple "terms and conditions" which we agree to on a computer program or website? As he licks his fingers in tasty enjoyment of our admissions, we can’t wait to see him hoist another of us on his petard.
Eric Davis's performances are sold out year after year at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. No wonder, we laughed and laughed, even as he revealed our willingness to lie, lie, lie.
In the second half of the performance, Davis sheds his red garb and we lose the enchantment of theater to not-so-funny improv with several audience members. Next time, just more buffooning, please.
Drunken Half-Angel featuring Michael Montenegro of Chicago
Short vignettes feature a local genius of physical theater, Michael Montenegro. I loved the masks and puppetry, but found it disjointed. Here's Nate Hall's review from Picture This Post.
The Other by Gael Le Cornec (Brazil/France)
Hers is a story of immigration, separation, loss and insanity. The narrative is woven by shadow puppets, a doll that represents an abandoned child used as a puppet , and narration by Le Cornec. The story is powerful. If we were not reading about this every day, the performance might have more impact. For me, it was difficult to become involved when stories of children ripped from their parents are in our headlines every day. I'm jaded to this tragedy.
Shadow puppets are a difficult medium, requiring precise coordination between the lighting designer, the puppeteer and the large or small puppets. In this instance, the puppets seemed to be designed to appear childish and unfinished--like they might have been torn out of paper in a detention camp. The puppets became the medium to tell about beating and probably rapes suffered at the hands of the guards. further distancing reality. Unfortunately, the shadow puppet sequences were laced with technical problems, which distracted everyone. A talented performer, but the execution was spoiled.
The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha by Little Soldier Productions (Spain/UK)
Can you squeeze the whole of Don Quixote into an hour performance? Well, these three talented performers, accompanied by a Spanish guitarist (For no apparent reason, except that she plays a good classical guitar.) attempt to capture the essence of the masterpiece in silly scenes, mostly on a small platform stage. They are acrobats as well as actors, and use their bodies to become horses, houses, whores, heros. But it's likely that, like me, they never read the book.
The setup is a good excuse for lots of romping fun, including an audience-involving pillow fight. Aside from some good laughs, the magic did not happen for me. But my sister-in-law has studied Don Quixote, and she loved this much abbreviated version. I couldn't even make it through the Cliff Notes of Don Quixote. Perhaps it played better in Spain or the UK where the Don is required reading.
Onward to 2019 and more physical theater.
I thought A Little Night Music was not one of my top Sondheim musicals. Think again, after this production, I’m still humming tunes weeks later. Again, a small theater seating 195, with four musicians (piano, woodwind, violin and viola) center-back, with a cast of 15, all skilled singers. The operetta-like music sways with lyrical waltzes ("Night Waltz"), intricate harmonies ("Remember?") and ensemble numbers ("A Weekend in the Country"). The acting was excellent, to the point that when Desiree and Frederick sang "Send in the Clowns", I felt the poignant frustration of star-crossed lovers.
IMHO Mme. Armfeldt, the dowager mother, who becomes the catalyst for the lovers, was too refined. Over the years, this was a role played by the likes of Hermine Gingold and Elaine Stritch. In 1989, I saw Lila Kedrova in this role in London. She had the age, the panache, the humor, and the gravelly voice to embrace the role.
BoHo will win well-deserved awards for this show. They use all non-Equity performers. In Chicago, that still means the highest of talents who give their hearts to the audience for a pittance. As Ed and I left the theater, there was a BoHo staff member with a bucket for donations. Unbeknownst to each other, we each put in $20. It was that kind of evening. Thank you, BoHo.