The Weekend Special

Pieces are given up to three KATs (for fiction), Anunobys (for essays), or Brunsons (for random picks). As with restaurant stars, even one KAT, Anunoby, or Brunson indicates a generally positive review.

🏀 Fiction

“The Readers” by Ben Lerner. Two KATs. frame, friend, Frankenstein. Lerner’s first piece for the magazine in a few years is connected to his NYRB piece recounting his open-heart surgery, which was billed, unusually, as nonfiction. This story is a sort of recounting of the pains of removing that cloak, and its effect on the Lerner character’s transference relationship with his therapist, who refuses to read the piece. There is a sense that this therapist stands in not only for Lerner’s mother (also a therapist) or his reader (there’s a recurring thread about what has and hasn’t been disclosed), but indeed for the very idea of fiction, who he approaches with bared palms but is rebuffed by for his own good; this push and pull between sense and ambiguity is at the heart of all his writing. Lerner’s way of braiding complications – we learn, toward the very end, that the therapist’s child may have had her own heart condition – is, as it’s ever been, phenomenally potent (and hard to write about without defusing); this never quite feels like a new angle on the Lerner project, which is the only thing narrowly keeping it from that third KAT; he waits to crash the post, for now.

🏀 Weekend Essay

“A Diehard Drinker Accidentally Quits” by Sarah Miller. One Anunoby. sunset, susceptible, surprise. Miller is an acquired taste, but I greatly enjoy her husky Gen X disaffection. This A.A-certified if not gold-star-twelve-step-compliant sobriety narrative (the title’s “Accidentally” is a complete red herring, and oddly reminiscent of a certain breed of YouTube clickbait) is not especially novel; this is a piece to read for its voice, not its story. She delivers voice in spades. AJ Daulerio’s indispensable Small Bow, a recovery newsletter, has published Miller a few times; he also publishes readers’ testimonies, which make it clear that Miller’s journey has been traditional and her cognitive distortions are commonplace; even the places she wants us to think she’s diverging from A.A. are very much in line with the standard A.A. experience. Daulerio even accidentally gave a prompt five days ago that perfectly mirrors the conclusion of Miller’s story. It seems tough to rag on a piece for trying too hard to make its story seem interesting, especially because Miller does keep the reader invested. But there can be cross-purposes between a framing that’s healthy for the writer and a framing that makes the piece maximally gripping. Miller might beat herself up, but you can’t liquor.

🏀 Random Pick

“Such a Stoic” by Elizabeth Kolbert. (February 2, 2015). Two Brunsons. pickle, pitcher, piece. That opening anecdote is so great it hardly needs to relate to the piece at all, so Kolbert’s tie from it to her discussion of the morally compromised moral philosopher Seneca – he defended Nero’s motivations to the Senate, one of many instances of his defense of the man – is, though not exactly direct, close enough to function. From there, she discusses the backlash to the Seneca backlash, led by Prof. Emily Wilson, who’d eventually become far more famous for her translations of Homer. Seneca, one of the all-time biggest promoters of indifference, was still quite a whiner; his political indifference may have helped him quiet any qualms about supporting Nero’s grotesque, insane, and murderous regime, though his presence certainly also reined Nero in. (Does one get any degree of moral absolution for keeping an evildoer from doing extra evil? It’s a pertinent debate!) His plays may also serve as a way of slyly critiquing the regime he helped sell, though this point might be more convincing if Kolbert didn’t have to rush to wrap her piece up. (The literary criticism portions don’t amount to much, and it’s clear Kolbert is mostly here for the anecdotes.) Kolbert would, soon after this was published, become the house environmental correspondent and quit the more esoteric assignments; too bad.

🏀 Something Extra

Girls Girls Chance Chance Music Music, recently closed at the Vineyard, fucking destroyed me – I left with the full snot-streaming-out-of-nose experience, which lasted through most of the subway ride home – and I’m not sure I can even fully explain why. It’s yet another Wolveslike, though these four girl-passing youngsters are various sorts of genderqueer, exploring their identities and relationships through the length of an experimental music camp. The gloriousness of the music helps – even the most hardened audience member has to admit to the beauty of that aspect – and while the plot is, sometimes awkwardly, as incident-laden as a full novel, there’s still a sense of each scene unto itself that helps things from growing clotted. (The show reminded me of last year’s Initiative, but stuck the ending, locating its heartbreak somewhere more true.) My partner found the writing hackneyed and false; even as I fell for it, I can recognize that the show’s poetry won’t be for everyone. Still, the astonishing central performances – Naomi Latta, channeling a young Marlon Brando, and Hillary Fisher, nailing the mask of friendliness atop terror – more than sell it. The lack of buzz for this production is a shame; it was monumental.

The Family Dog (running through the 30th but sold out) is another Clubbed Thumb Summerworks smash riffing on Christopher Durang, this one more fully polished, if far less delirious, than the earlier Derangements. A tight, traditional family drama is continually interrupted by a dog who is, and is also played by, a man. Absurdity interposes itself, and the show manages to have it both ways: Sweeping/wild and grounded/immediate. The cast is tight; Jennifer van Dyck is first among equals.

Death of a Salesman was good. (K Todd Freeman can do no wrong.)

Kenrex was fine.

Sunday Song: