→ May 26, 2023
→ By

The Show.

The Show was doomed before it ever hit streaming. Scheduled for release in the fall of 2020, when theaters were closed, it has one of the least search-friendly titles you’ll find. The sort-of sequel to a little-seen collection of short films called Show Pieces, this full-length film was written by Alan Moore (Watchmen, V for Vendetta) and stars Tom Burke as a mysterious man on a mysterious quest that turns out to be far, far more mysterious than he or any of us expected. It’s weird and unbalanced and doesn’t tie everything up in a neat little bow, but it is a blast. You can rent it on Amazon, iTunes, etc.

Burke plays Fletcher Dennis, a man who travels under many pseudonyms and arrives in Northampton in search of a man named James Mitchum who, it turns out, died the night before Dennis’s arrival. Dennis is far more interested in an item that Mitchum was wearing than in the dead man himself, but his search for answers leads him to chat up a woman, Faith, who nearly died in the same hospital where Mitchum kicked it; hire a pair of preteen private investigators; talk to an amiably stupid bouncer from the nightclub where Mitchum was last seen; and eventually learn about a pair of long-dead comics who were one of the most popular acts in the UK for decades. While all this is happening, something is going on in his dreams and Faith’s, where both of them appear to be going to the same nightclub, and Dennis learns more about the item he’s searching for and the duplicitous man who’s hired him to do it.

The Show is wonderfully weird, trippy and madcap and clearly the work of a man unafraid to abide by normal plot conventions. It’s a movie better experienced than pondered, especially since several things don’t quite add up in the end – literally the end of the movie, for one – and others might make more sense if you’ve seen some of the related shorts in Show Pieces, which I have not. The film bounces gleefully across genres; when Dennis is talking to the two child detectives, the film goes black and white, and one of them narrates the action, out loud, to Dennis, as if he’s not there and it’s a noir film with a voice-over. (The two kids have the film’s best sight gag as well.) Fletcher himself is a nod to the British comic strip character Dennis the Menace, wearing the latter’s trademark jumper even though it’s an anachronism, with Burke playing the character with a perfect combination of guile and bemusement.

It’s also consistently funny, from great one-liners (“I see dead people.” Pause. “You work in a hospital.”) to running gags to visual humors and more. The dimwitted bouncer, Elton Carnaby, is the film’s best running joke; he can never seem to make up his mind – if his first answer to a question is “yes,” you can be fairly sure the actual answer is “no,” and he’ll get there eventually. Becky Cornelius (played by Ellie Bamber, who I think is going to be a huge star) lets a room to Dennis, and is about the most hilariously inept flirt you’ll ever come across. The gags don’t all land – the musician known as Herbert Sherbert, who dresses as a young Hitler, feels too obvious – but the sheer quantity of them and their placement all over the film, even in graphics and background shots (like the nod to Monty Python) make up for it. I’m pretty sure I’d catch even more of them if I watched the film a second time and paused to examine some of the flyers and newspaper headlines I didn’t see the first time through.

It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea, and I could see a criticism that The Show isn’t really about anything – but that’s the nature of noir, or neo-noir, or perhaps we should just call this “hysterical noir” and stop with the labels? It’s just a fun story from a fertile, peripatetic mind. And I didn’t even mention Alan Moore’s own absolutely wonderful appearance in the second half of the film, with an utterly memorable hairstyle and a whole song and dance (okay, mostly song) number. I was hooked early on when it just seemed like a neo-noir film, but the sheer imagination of it all kept me on board till the ambiguous ending. Here’s hoping Moore gets to create the follow-up series he wants to make.

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→ May 20, 2023
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Stick to baseball, 5/20/23.

I had two new posts this week for subscribers to the Athletic – a minor league scouting notebook on prospects with the Brewers, Pirates, and Phillies; and a draft scouting notebook looking at Max Clark, Dillon Head, Mac Horvath, and more.

My guests on the Keith Law Show the last two weeks have been Max Bazerman, discussing his new book Complicit: How We Enable the Unethical and How to Stop; and Russell Carleton, talking about his upcoming second book The New Ballgame: The Not-So-Hidden Forces Shaping Modern Baseball. You can listen and subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Just a reminder you can also find me on Spoutible and Bluesky as @keithlaw.

And now, the links…

  • The science behind reverse osmosis filtering was unclear, until a paper published in April upended the previous model and opened up the possibility of new membranes that make filtration, including desalination, more energy-efficient.
  • A conservative “foundation” recruited fifteen men at a Poughkeepsie homeless shelter to pretend they were veterans kicked out of a hotel to make room for migrants coming up from New York City. The plan fooled state Assemblyman Brian Maher (R), who fed the outrage machine until he had to admit he’d been had.
  • Bryan Slaton has resigned his post in the Texas legislature after it emerged that he’d behaved inappropriately with an intern. The Republican once introduced legislation to ban children from attending drag shows, claiming it was some form of grooming.
  • I agree with everything in this Mary Sue post about the disappointing S3 of Ted Lasso, which has none of the things that made the show good in its first two seasons. But at least the episodes are longer!
  • The Arab League has quietly reinstated Syria, more than a decade after the nation and its murderous dictator President Bashad al-Assad were expelled for violent reprisals against protestors leading up to the country’s 12-year civil war.
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→ May 9, 2023
→ By

Return to Seoul.

Every year, I scan the list of films submitted by various countries for the Best International Feature Film award, looking for entries that are already available online when the list is complete around December, and then tracking the 15 films that make the annual shortlist. Some of those don’t become available until well after the Oscars, something I will never really understand since it seems like films like those lose the opportunity to cash in on the brief moment of added publicity. Cambodia’s submission this year, Return to Seoul, became available to rent digitally in mid-April, allowing me to catch up with it after it never played in a theater near me. The film, which is in French and Korean, made several critics’ lists of the ten best movies of 2022, and would have made my top ten as well. It’s an exceptionally well-done and moving look at a woman’s attempts to connect with her biological parents in South Korea, only to find that everything involved in the journey is more complicated than she anticipated. (You can rent it on Amazon, iTunes, etc.)

We meet Freddie (Park Ji-Min, a first-time actor) at four different points over about ten years, on separate trips she’s taken from France, where she went as an infant with her adoptive parents, to South Korea to try to locate and meet her biological parents. The first trip is an “accident,” or so she tells her parents, as her flight to Tokyo was cancelled, and she ends up connecting with some locals, one of whom speaks French. They go out on the town and eventually she learns from the French speaker that her only way to get information on her biological parents is go back to the Hammond Adoption Center, which arranged her adoption 25 years earlier. Her father is very interested in reconnecting with her, while her mother declines multiple requests from the adoption agency until she relents several years later. At first her father and his family want her to join them as if nothing happened, even suggesting she move to Korea to live with them, but even that relationship, where Freddie’s disinterest seems so clearcut, evolves in subtle and surprising ways.

Those two stories intertwine with Freddie’s own personal one, as we see her interacting with friends and struggling to find her own identity as someone who was visibly different from her adoptive family, yet doesn’t speak Korean and has no natural affinity to the place or culture of her birth. The script touches on themes of nature versus nurture, cultural alienation, and identity, without resorting to preaching or overly simplistic connections (such as blaming any of Freddie’s behavior on the fact that she’s adopted). It avoids easy explanations or pat resolutions, and neither parental storyline ends happily or unhappily – much is left ambiguous and it’s clear that there would be quite a bit left to both stories if the film had continued.

This is the second film by writer-director Davy Chou, after 2016’s Diamond Island, and he has said in interviews that he based this story on the life of a friend who was adopted from South Korea by French parents, as well as his own experiences as the child of a couple who fled Cambodia for France during the former’s civil war in the 1970s. He cast Park after meeting her through a friend, and she is a revelation here – it’s hard to believe this is her first professional acting role, as Freddie displays a gamut of emotions that all paper over a fundamental loneliness that defines her character. The emotional impact of the film, especially the scenes where Freddie meets her mother and some of her interactions with her father, depend almost entirely on Park’s portrayal, and she delivers with the right amount of emotion and expression. It’s a moving experience that leaves you wanting just a little bit more about Freddie, even as it ends on what seems like exactly the right note.

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→ May 7, 2023
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Stick to baseball, 5/6/23.

For subscribers to The Athletic, I posted a ranking of the top 50 prospects in this year’s MLB draft, and had a draft blog post earlier in the week that looked at Paul Skenes, Dylan Crews, Kyle Teel, Jake Gelof, and Alex Mooney. I also did a Q&A at the Athletic to talk about the draft.

My guest on the Keith Law Show this week was Will Leitch, whose new novel, The Time Has Come, comes out on May 16th (pre-order here), talking about this book and his last one, plus a little about the Cardinals and just our general banter. You can listen and subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Over at Paste, I reviewed Earth, one of the hottest new games of this year, one that reminds me a lot of Wingspan but with more of the engine-building.

I’m on Spoutible and Bluesky now, both as keithlaw.

And now, the links…

  • Longreads first: New York looks at Richard Walter, a self-appointed criminal profiler who testified in multiple murder cases despite a lack of credentials and increasingly tall tales about his resume. National media coverage of Walter and his so-called “Vidocq Society” helped elevate his profile (no pun intended) and allowed him to continue pulling his con for two decades – even to this day.
  • The Health and Human Services Department has warned hospitals that deny women abortions when they experience medical emergencies that they are violating federal law.
  • More than half of the early adopters of Twitter Blue have already unsubscribed. It’s almost like the guy running the place lacks a business plan!
  • I can’t even keep up with the tide of Clarence Thomas corruption stories, but here’s one I caught that doesn’t seem to have received enough attention – Harlan Crow said that tenant protections hurt his profits, and Thomas voted twice to end them.
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→ May 4, 2023
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Music update, April 2023.

Whew, that was a very strong month, or maybe I’m just finding more music every time I do this. I actually cut a few tracks (two were from Deeper and Beach Fossils) and we’re still at 26 songs and 100 minutes. Anyway, you know what to do.

Dexys Midnight Runners – I’m Going to Get Free. Yes, that’s the same band that produced “Come On Eileen” forty years ago, and I feel reasonably certain this is the best thing they’ve put out since then, a jaunty, bouncy, incredibly catchy track that recalls the same throwback sound they rode to the top of the charts when I was still in elementary school.

Speedy Ortiz – Scabs. Welcome back to Sadie Dupuis and company, who’ve been gone way too long. This is their first new track since 2018 and has the same sort of dissonant and off-kilter melodies that have made them one of my favorite artists of the last decade.

Pynch – Tin Foil. This British alternative act is about to release its first album, and I love the smartass lyrics within this post-punk envelope that sounds like Wire mixed with the Twerps. The line “I’m saving up for the apocalypse/Because there’s gonna be deals” still makes me laugh every time.

WITCH feat. Sampa the Great – Avalanche of Love. WITCH were pioneers of what is now called Zamrock, but hadn’t released any new material since about 1985. It turns out the band have been recording a new album, with this second single featuring their fellow Zambian Sampa the Great on vocals.

Blondshell – Salad. Sabrina Teitleman, who records as Blondshell, has been tabbed the next big thing by a number of publications, and just released her debut album under this moniker (The Guardian posted a rave review). It’s full of angsty, often indignant tracks about bad relationships and the misogyny of modern society; the lyrics and the melodies are pretty inconsistent in quality, but when she peaks, as she mostly does here on “Salad,” it’s really compelling and separates her from the huge class of female singer-songwriters mining similar thematic territory.

Pinkshift – to me. This Baltimore band released its debut album in October and return now with this one-off single, which sounds like Hole mashed up with some My Chemical Romance and a doom-inspired drum line.

Chappaqua Wrestling – Need You No More. I assumed these guys were from New York when I first heard this track, but they’re from Brighton and do a sort of mashup of Britpop and ‘90s American alternative. The laconic vocals would usually bother me, but they contrast so well with the high-energy guitars behind them I’ll forgive the delivery.

LA Priest – It’s You. I loved Wild Beasts, and when LA Priest first crossed my radar after that band broke up, I was sure it was their former lead singer or perhaps a lost track from one of their last albums. Nope, it’s an entirely different artist, named Sam Dust, who just works in a similar musical vein.

DEADLETTER – The Snitching Hour. A ska-tinged post-punk act from London with a Yard Act-like approach to their vocals. Good luck getting the “Love thy neighbor” chorus out of thy head.

Altin Gün – Su Siziyor. Another great track from this Anatolian rock act, with heavy psychedelic vibes over a strong rock foundation, from their new album Ask (which should have a cedilla under the s). Strongly recommended for fans of Khruangbin.

Jessie Ware – Begin Again. I don’t tend to go in for “sophisti-pop,” and there’s definitely something carefully constructed about this track from Ware’s latest album (the empty lyric “Give me something good that’s even better than it seems” might as well come from ChatGPT), but man does this thing bang.

Arlo Parks – Blades. I can’t wait for Parks’s sophomore album My Soft Machine to drop on the 26th of this month, as her voice and lyrics sound as strong as they did on her Mercury Prize-winning debut but with a new direction in her music.

Jorja Smith – Try Me. Smith’s debut album Lost and Found made my top albums of 2018, but since then it’s been all EPs, collaborations, and one-off singles like this one, which showcases her incredible, sultry voice over a jazzy drum-and-bass backdrop.

Romy – Enjoy Your Life. That’s Romy of the xx, who also has provided vocals on Jamie xx’s standout track “Loud Places.” She’s been teasing her solo debut album for at least three years now, with no new news about its release, although between this and last year’s “Strong” I have to think a full-length LP is coming soon.

Hatchie – Dream On – Country Girl. Another bonus track from the deluxe edition of last year’s Giving the World Away.

The Beaches – Everything is Boring. This track from the Toronto quartet reminds me a bit of the Aces mixed with the California pop-punk vibe of artists like Bleached.

MUNA – One that Got Away. This trio dropped their third album last year and are already back with this pop gem, which has a little Human League to the music. (I’m old. Sorry.)

The Japanese House – Sad to Breathe. Another lovely track from Amber Mary Bain, with a balladesque beginning that leads into a soft electronic track, all of which shows off her vocals. I’m very here for singer-songwriters who actually let it rip a little on the microphone.

Bloc Party – High Life. Kele Okereke and company appear to be taking a victory lap on this celebratory track, their first since last year’s Alpha Games, which in turn was some of their best work since “Banquet.”

SENSES – Drifting. The debut album from this British band feels very post-Britpop, and while I wish this song had some more lyrics, the one line they repeat does get stuck in my head.

The DMA’s – Everybody’s Saying Thursday’s the Weekend. This Australian band has had quite the career track already, starting out as an Oasis-like rock band, then veering into electronica on their last album, now trying to find a sort of middle ground that’s more towards their rock origins but with some electronic elements and a more mainstream feel. I don’t think they’ll get back to the heights of “For Now” (which was #76 on my top songs of the 2010s), “Too Soon,” or “Dawning,” but the new album is solid enough.

Teenage Wrist – Sunshine. I don’t know what to call the sort of ‘90s alternative music that appeared in the wake of grunge and leaned more into that genre’s noisier elements à la shoegaze – shoegrunge? Okay, that needs work. I especially think of bands like Hum, who seemed like they were going to be huge after “Stars” became a massive alternative radio hit and captured something about that moment in music as pop’s hold on the commercial market was crumbling. Teenage Wrist have been around for about a decade, and this track has just that sound to it.

Siracuse – Saviour. If you played this for me and told me it was from 1993 from a Mancunian band that opened for the Charlatans, I’d believe you. Anyway, Siracuse is from Cheltenham, and I don’t think they were even born when Some Friendly came out. I’m old, in case you didn’t catch that before.

Rival Sons – Guillotine. Rival Sons do an unapologetic riff on ‘70s classic rock, avoiding the straight derivative nature of knockoffs like Greta van Fleet in favor of a broader approach that, here, sounds more like Audioslave covering Led Zeppelin.

Divide and Dissolve – Blood Quantum. Divide and Dissolve – D&D, I suppose, although that acronym may be spoken for – are new to me but have been recording since at least 2017. They’re an Australian-based doom metal duo comprising a saxophone/guitar player from the US who has Tsalagi and Black ancestry and a drummer of M?ori and white heritage, and those diverse backgrounds are reflected in their song titles and their occasional lyrics.

Godflesh – NERO. I’ll never forget the CMJ review of Godflesh’s seminal debut album Streetcleaner, which read in part, “Godflesh knows what scares you.” That LP, released in 1989, defined the genre of industrial metal and remains a landmark in extreme metal in general, with “Christbait Rising” still their best track. They’re still going, even around a seven-year breakup and now a six-year gap since their last album, with number nine, Purge, due to drop next month. Singer/guitarist Justin Broadrick is back to his death growls, but it’s the grinding gears below the vocals that really shine here.

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→ April 29, 2023
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Stick to baseball, 4/29/23.

I’m writing this from the press box at Alex Bos Stadium in Baton Rouge, so I’ll have something up on Dylan Crews and Paul Skenes on either Sunday or Monday, depending on whether I bounce to another game on Saturday with rain scheduled here. I’ve had two posts up in the last two weeks for subscribers to The Athletic, one a Q&A with our own Nick Groke about Brewers prospects, and a draft blog post covering some Virginia and California prep prospects plus general thoughts on the top 15 or so names in the class.

On my podcast this week, I spoke with Elizabeth McCracken, author of 2022’s The Hero of this Book and 2018’s Bowlaway, about the former of those two books, the craft of writing, and being short. The week prior, I spoke with David Grann about his new book The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny, and Murder, whichI enjoyed so much I bought a copy for my dad for his birthday last month. You can listen and subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.

And now, the links:

  • A non-binary high school student at Nashville Christian School wanted to wear a suit to their prom, rather than a dress, but the school banned them on dress code grounds. A local business stepped in to hold a prom just for them. Support AB Hillsboro Village if you live in that area.
  • West Texas A&M University faculty scheduled a no-confidence vote in school President Walter Wendler, who banned a student drag show because it conflicted with his personal religious views. The no-confidence vote passed with over 2/3 of the voters supporting it. Wendler is refusing to step down despite the non-binding result. The school faces a lawsuit over the cancellation, and a financial penalty would probably do more to get Wendler out of office than any resolution could.
  • Roadside drug tests aren’t accurate, yet courts have been using them regularly to convict drivers of drug-related offenses. That’s starting to change, slowly.
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→ April 27, 2023
→ By

Living.

Living was the last English-language Oscar nominee on my list of movies to see, since I’m not interested in seeing Avatar and the only other nominees of note I haven’t seen are three of the International Feature picks. Scoring nominations this year for Best Actor (for Bill Nighy, his first) and Best Adapted Screenplay (for Nobel Prize-winning author Kazuo Ishiguro), this adaptation of Akira Kurosawa’s famed Ikiru is a quiet gem of a film, with a tour de force performance from its star and some lovely dialogue supporting him. It’s available to rent on amazon, iTunes, etc. (Full disclosure: I have never seen Ikiru.)

Nighy plays Mr. Williams, a widower and an aging bureaucrat in in the London County Council in the 1950s whose job seems to consist primarily of pushing paper around, especially when it can be pushed to another department on another floor. He never declines a request, merely passing the buck (or quid, I suppose) to someone else. His staff includes the young Miss Harris (Aimee Lee Wood), the lone woman in the group; the eager, brand-new employee Mr. Wakeling (Alex Sharp); and a few other replacement-level men who show no desire whatsoever to challenge the existing system.

This is all upended when Mr. Williams receives a terminal cancer diagnosis, with just months left to live, and finds himself terribly dissatisfied with his life. His son and daughter-in-law show little interest in him as a person, and he doesn’t seem to have any friends. He has no legacy to leave, no one who will truly miss him, so after vanishing from work for several days, he decides to take on one particular project that has been presented to his department and kicked around the building that he can see to fruition: turning a bombed-out building into a playground. His attempts to live a little also bring Miss Harris into the picture, as he takes her to lunch once or twice, and to a film, in an entirely chaste relationship that she can’t understand and that his daughter-in-law, with help from the neighborhood gossip, assumes is something more prurient. The film jumps ahead around the midpoint to show his funeral, after which we see flashbacks to the last few months of his life and the way his family and co-workers respond to his death. Their words and their behavior don’t exactly line up, although this might be the most authentic part of the entire script.

This is Bill Nighy’s film. I’ve always enjoyed his work, and argue just about every year that his story is the only remotely acceptable one in Love Actually, in large part because he treats the film with the reverence it deserves – none. He was outstanding in the British mini-series State of Play, and even charming in the ridiculous The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. This is the role of a lifetime, and he gives a performance to match it. His Mr. Williams is restrained, so constipated in speech that he’s hard to understand, but it makes the moments of actual emotion so much more powerful, even though he’s still actually kind of hard to understand. (Turn the volume up. Just a tip.) Nighy is often at his best in patrician roles, even though that’s not his upbringing, but here he gets a more consequential role in which to deploy that high-born air.

The script takes its time hitting its points, which appear to mirror those of the original film (based, I admit, on my reading of the latter’s Wikipedia entry), including a long, slow buildup to the doctor’s visit that defines the whole movie. That works because the dialogue is so precise – every word seems placed there for a specific purpose, especially those that come out of the mouth of Mr. Williams, yet these words never come across as forced, or out of character. Ishiguro is one of the greatest living prose writers, yet even across his novels, his voice changes to suit the style and genre of the work. Living is his work without sounding like his work, and the result is that Mr. Williams’ grief and revelations and enthusiasm for his one last project come through as genuine.

Nighy became an Oscar nominee at age 72, which Collider says puts him in the top ten for oldest such first-timers, forty-two years after his first credited film role. This is too un-showy of a role to win the honor – I’m surprised he even got the nomination, given how quiet and unpretentious he is as Mr. Williams – but he was certainly better than the fat-suit guy and the Elvis impersonator. Aimee Lee Wood, who is one of the stars of Sex Education, also gives a lovely turn in a smaller role as Miss Harris, serving as the unwitting confidante and comforter to Mr. Williams, while Alex Sharp, who bears more than a small resemblance to Matthew Murphy of the Wombats, is perfect as the wide-eyed innocent who hasn’t yet been ground down by the do-nothing mentality of the office. I’m not sorry to see Ishiguro lose out to Sarah Polley for her adapted screenplay of Women Talking, but both were quite deserving.

For those who are still curious about such things, I’ve got this in my revised top ten for 2022, at #9, just behind Tár and ahead of La Caja and Nope. I still have to see EO, Close, The Quiet Girl, and Return to Seoul, all of which are at least now out as rentals.

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→ April 19, 2023
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A Girl Returned.

Donatella di Pietrantonio’s 2019 novel A Girl Returned (L’Arminuta) was translated into English by Ann Goldstein, the translator for Elena Ferrante’s novels, which seemed like reason enough to read it. That, and it was only about 170 pages, so if it was terrible at least my investment was small. It’s pretty great, though, reminiscent of the better parts of Ferrante’s work in themes and setting.

The title refers to the narrator, who learns at the start of the novel that she’s going to go back to her biological parents, people she doesn’t know at all because she’s been raised since birth by a distant cousin. That cousin was married but childless, so the couple adopted the narrator from her relatively poor parents, who also had a whole mess of children they couldn’t necessarily afford to feed. She gets very little explanation of why she’s going back, but her adoptive mother has taken to her bed and shown signs of illness, so the narrator thinks her mother might have sent her away while recovering, or might even be dying. It’s a shock to her system on multiple levels, as she moves from an affluent life with the people she thought were her real parents to a much less privileged life with people she doesn’t know and who are less educated and cultured than the cousins who reared her. As the novel progresses, we follow her attempts to navigate her new life, including having siblings for the first time, while she also gradually learns more of the truth about both of her families.

There’s a sparseness to A Girl Returned that emphasizes the narrator’s desolation. The prose and the descriptions therein both have the dulled colors of television and films from the 1970s, which also seems to telegraph the hazy nature of every adult’s memories of their teenaged years. Di Pietrantonio captures that feeling of helplessness from the age when you’re old enough to recognize the power of autonomy, but not quite old enough to get it. She’s completely trapped, with brothers who bully her and steal her food, with a mother who appears to have no affection for her, with a father who’s barely there, and with the teenager’s inability to see beyond the next few months. In her case, the light at the end of the tunnel is closer than she realizes, as she’s going to get a chance to move away to attend secondary school before the novel is out, but the combination of the change in circumstances and environments is so dramatic that she can’t see her way out of it.

The twists and turns that come the narrator’s way in this slim novel mean that she never has time to wallow in her misery, at least not on the page, before something else happens, good or bad. It’s all plausible, but the story is condensed enough to keep the novel moving well, even in the most introspective parts where the narrator is pondering how she ended up in this situation.

The result is a coming-of-age story in miniature, taking just a small amount of time, a bit more than a year in the narrator’s life, where a significant number of things ends up happening to her. It’s oddly lovely for a story that’s certainly not a happy one, posing huge questions about identity and family, even as simple as what it really means to be a mother – or what it means to be part of a family. The narrator keeps talking about her two mothers, as if she’s uncertain what to call either of them. The novel offers no answers, simply ending the way a memory does. It’s substantial for a novel so slim, enough to leave you wanting more.

Next up: Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley. I’ve never read it, or seen the movie, in fact.

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→ April 15, 2023
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Stick to baseball, 4/15/23.

I haven’t written in the past week-plus due mostly to getting sick, something that wasn’t COVID-19 but might as well have been for this stupid cough I’ve still got. I did get to a couple of HS games in the Boras Classic in Orange County this week and will write that up after I get to another HS game on Wednesday.

My own podcast returned this week with guest Ozan Varol, author of How to Think Like a Rocket Scientist and the new book Awaken Your Genius. You can listen and subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I did appear on two other podcasts this week – Sports Sometimes, with my friend Chris Crawford; and the board game podcast Meeple Town, with Dean Dunning. (Not Dane Dunning. That’s Calcaterra’s bit.)

You can also get more of my words by signing up for my free email newsletter, which went out again on this past Monday.

And now, the links…

  • Longreads first: This New Yorker profile of Pinky Cole and her fast-growing vegan burger chain Slutty Vegan probably isn’t as complimentary as the subject hoped it would be; if anything, it makes it sound like the quality of the food there is entirely secondary to the owner’s ambitions. It also highlights some of the challenges in bringing a broader audience to vegan food, given the latter’s reputation.
  • Texas Rep. Bryan Slaton (guess) introduced a bill to ban kids from attending drag shows and has ranted about LGBTQ+ people “grooming children,” so it was no surprise at all to learn that an intern filed a complaint against him, saying that they had an inappropriate relationship and he served them alcohol even though they were younger than 21. Slaton, who likes to post Bible passages on his Twitter account, also proposed a bill to give property tax cuts to straight, married couples who’d never been divorced. To their credit, two Republican lawmakers in Texas have already called for Slaton to step down.
  • All those conservative commentators rushing to defend Thomas and Crow? Yeah, a lot of them rely on Crow for their paychecks in one way or another, Ilya Shapiro, Jonah Goldberg, David French, and Charles Murray among them. Whatever you may think of the first three, if Charles Murray comes to your defense, you may want to ask him to pipe down.
  • Speaking of Goldberg, I did appreciate his longish essay in his Dispatch newsletter on how the rising generation of Republicans are becoming, in his words, jerks, taking their cues from Trumpism and the old-conservative God complex model of government (government should enact God’s will, and only we know what God’s will is). He argues that it’s not just bad for the Republican party, but bad for these kids as humans.
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→ April 14, 2023
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The Hero of this Book.

Elizabeth McCracken’s Bowlaway was my favorite novel of 2019, an intoxicatingly humanist novel that loved its characters in all their eccentricities. The Hero of this Book is her newest novel, her first since then, a brief but dazzling work of autofiction – a charge the narrator denies – as McCracken uses her gift to grapple with her grief after the death of her mother.

The narrator is McCracken, or it isn’t, or most likely it’s both, and she takes pains to convince us both ways, but regardless, her mother has died, and she has gone to London to revisit some of the places she’d been with her mother, and some new places, as she remembers her mother’s life and deals with her own grief. The narrator’s mother was a fascinating woman in the retelling, coming in just a shade under five feet tall, facing physical difficulties through just about her entire life, marrying a difficult man, and, as far as I can tell, getting her money’s worth out of life even with everything it threw at her. She sounds like a real kick.

The trip through London, which all takes place in a single day within the book, is part framing device but also parallels the peripatetic nature of memory, especially how your memories of a parent may span decades (if everyone involved is so fortunate). The narrator walks around London, Joyce-like, while dancing back and forth between the present and her memories of her mother, the way a painter might move around a canvas without apparent purpose, only for a complete picture to emerge once the painting is nearly finished. Her mother appears to have been an extremely interesting person, a Jewish woman raised in Iowa with a twin sister, often confused for someone from all manner of ‘exotic’ origins due in part to her vantablack hair. The portrait of her mother arises as an accumulation of these details, how she looked, how she walked, things she liked, things of which she didn’t approve. Her mother liked cats. She told the cats she loved them. She almost never told her daughter that. You should already feel the outlines of the character forming just from those three sentences. It’s a clinic on character development – and McCracken, who teaches writing at the University of Texas-Austin, throws in many little notes on how to write better characters, as well as other tips for the would-be author, even after telling readers not to trust any writer who does such a thing. (She also offers this wonderful, pithy quote that I haven’t been able to stop pondering since I read the book: “An unpublished book is an ungrounded wire.”)

McCracken’s own mother hated memoirs as well, and the author had promised her mum that she’d never turn her into a character in one of her books, so what exactly The Hero of this Book is remains an unanswered question. It’s fiction, so it can’t be a memoir; the details of the narrator’s mother adhere so much to the details of the author’s mother that, well, isn’t it a memoir? “A narrative composed from personal experience,” sayeth Merriam-Webster, which, if not the authority on the meanings of words, is certainly an authority, and the one with the best Twitter account. Then this book is a memoir. I prefer the term “autofiction,” although the narrator here not only rejects the term, but salts the soil beneath it with her scorn, saying it sounds like something a robot would write – if only she knew that ChatGPT was coming. Or perhaps she did. It wouldn’t surprise me.

That elusive quality is The Hero of this Book’s strongest feature – it is brief, and yet it manages to confound you in a delightful way. It doesn’t try to bounce between genres, but exists between them, occupying spaces you didn’t realize existed. With McCracken’s lovely prose, which once again shines with wit and heart (“I have no interest in ordinary people, having met so few of them in my life”), it’s a delight from start to finish. I have no idea what’s even in the running for this year’s Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, which will be announced in about three weeks, but I’ll be pulling for this one to win.

Next up: Percival Everett’s Dr. No, itself a Pulitzer candidate and a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle’s Fiction award last month.

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