Cinema in Quarantine: Dr. Strangelove

Director Stanley Kubrick lets us know immediately the type of film experience we’re getting into with his 1964 satirical comedy, Dr. Strangelove. First, a text crawler at the behest of the US Air Force explaining how the events depicted in the film couldn’t really happen, and second, an extended collection of scenes of an airplane refueling another midair with a decidedly sexual theme. The effect of this introduction is clear: we are about to see a crude, outlandish mockery of governmental situations.

The mockery goes on to take several forms throughout the film, playing often upon character names, generalities of hawks, doves, Russians, and Germans (among many others), and a stubborn obsession over bodily fluids. That said, Dr. Strangelove will not be every person’s kind of comedy. The Cold War was a very serious situation; not everyone will see the humor in making it ridiculous. Communism and Nazism aren’t light-hearted topics, nor are mutinies, hydrogen bombs, loss of life, or suicide. Kubrick is able to sidestep the seriousness of these issues by focusing not on the issues themselves but rather the poor decisions that led to them. The theme here isn’t necessarily about the evil men do, it’s about the stupid, the confusing, and the outlandish, and we can feel fine laughing about these things.

The narrative, driven by ongoing tension between American and Russia over nuclear weapons superiority (and any ‘gaps’ between the two nations’ perceived might over the other), is fairly straight-forward. An Air Force general goes rogue, sets in motion a nuclear attack on Russia, and the president’s cabinet bumble about trying to thwart the attack while maintaining diplomacy with the Russians. The character Strangelove (one of Peter Sellers’ three roles in the film) is minor but memorable as an advisor to American president, Merkin Muffley (also Sellers). Suggesting previous Nazi association, Strangelove’s behavior involving a maniacal right arm and constant verbal lapses into “Mein Fuhrer” provides not only comedy but tongue-in-cheek stylistic homage to German Expressionist cinema.

The Air Force Base, which sets the story in motion, is initially a very confused environment. General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) suddenly ordering a nuclear strike and blathering on about fluids; is this guy for real? Yes, he is, and no, he won’t recall the code he’s just authorized, so a retaliatory attack on his base commences. Here we see the newsreel look of active battle juxtaposed with extended scenes of the Royal Air Force executive officer Lionel Mandrake’s (also Sellers) uncomfortable reactions against the paranoia of General Ripper and later, a comically dim set of interactions with a Colonel “Bat” Guano, a phone booth, and a coke machine.
Arguably the most stylized setting in the film, the War Room is composed of a giant oval table which seats the president’s cabinet and dignitaries and over which hangs an enormous board map of Russia, complete with lights and other strategic features. Size is definitely key, and the board is often acknowledged as a powerful tool that should be kept secret at all costs. The comedic performances of the war room are dynamic and constant, fluctuating back and forth between the monotone President Muffley and General Buck Turgedson (George C. Scott). 

"He'll see the big map!"

Hawkish Turgedson’s character exists to egg on the entire attack, and comes off as both logically stoic
and giddy at the prospect of dropping a warhead on a Russian target, but Scott’s portrayal of the general-- tone of voice, facial expressions, and gestures-- steals virtually every scene until Strangelove arrives. It’s been noted that George C. Scott was not pleased with the performances of his that Kubrick chose to use in the film, but it’s no understatement to say that nonetheless, Scott as Turgedson is a huge part of the film’s success.

The B52 plane piloted by Major “King” Kong (Slim Pickens) is the most light-hearted of the settings, and relies on music (When Johnny Comes Marching Home), close shots of the technical aspects of the aircraft and its gear, and Pickens’ gentle western drawl to color the experience of  something serious that becomes funny. Bombs are not funny; dropping a bomb on a country is not funny, but Kong and his crew make it so. The film’s famous conclusion takes this concept a step further by returning sexual innuendo to the final act as Kong rides a warhead out of the plane and onto Russian soil. We are somehow left feeling satisfied with such a resolution simply because the bomb and the entirety of international diplomacy have been treated as jokes, mishandled by a crew of incompetents.

Should politicians and generals be mocked if they’re shown to be incompetent? Kubrick thought so. The book Red Alert upon which the film is based does not take a comic approach to any of the events depicted in the story, but posited two serious thoughts that Kubrick chose to include: “You say, ‘War is too important to be left to the generals?’ Well I say war is too important to be left to the politicians!” Despite such bravado, neither make a very convincing argument in the film, which is clearly what Kubrick set out to show us in the first place. How might Stanley see things today? I’m not sure I want to know . . . 

Tales from the Crypt: Yellow

New favorite episode, ya'll. When I heard what it was about (thanks, Donald), I knew I would like it, but I didn't think I'd love it. I did, a lot; so will anyone who enjoyed Paths of Glory.

Yellow. Directed by Robert Zemeckis, written by Gilbert Adler, A L Katz, Jim Thomas, and John Thomas (screenplay). Starring: Kirk Douglas, Dan Aykroyd, Eric Douglas.

So what they did, basically, was to take the most unappealing character from Paths of Glory (lieutenant Roget, the yellow drunk that gets his men either killed, or court-martialed, and then executed) and make him the main character here as the yellow (read: cowardly) son of the general, who was probably patterned after the awful Mireau from the film. Eric Douglas plays the son; Kirk Douglas plays the father/general.

I can't decide if we (the audience) are meant to have sympathy for the son, Martin, because it's hard to. No Man Left Behind? Not in this dude's case, he's pretty much all for himself, repeatedly. And each time you might start to feel a tiny bit of compassion for him, he just does something else selfish and you're back on the General's side again. Which becomes weird when you realize what he ends up having in store for his own son's punishment (after the court martial) . . . saw that coming a mile away, but it was so gloriously fitting, not only for the Tales From the Crypt Series but for the very kind of portrayal the general was given, the character/motivation taken from General Mireau from the film and the show's homage to it (and maybe to a lesser degree, the implications of the dynasty of the Douglas Family)---there was only one way to end this. Which sorry to sound insensitive, was genius.

When you think about it, these shows all sort of deal with what happens in varying situations of selfishness---gold-digging, infidelity, cowardice, etc.; I think the message really is DON'T DO THAT.
This episode was done brilliantly and not without a little light humor: e.g., Sgt Ripper (!)---Lance Henriksen, (Bishop from Alien) repeatedly seeks the lieutenant's whereabouts from unfortunately expired soldiers, saying "damn," each time. And huge, HUGE ups for that opening scene, not only the battle action but I can't help thinking there's little nod to All Quiet on the Western Front, with a yellow flower instead of a butterfly? Nice.

ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT (clip)


One of my favorite badass scenes of all time, Colonel Dax in PATHS OF GLORY (clip)


YELLOW (clip)

King vs. Kubrick: The Shining.

I picked this up when I was 7.

This isn't going to be easy; I feel like I'm having to choose between my parents or something. I love Stephen King; I love Stanley Kubrick. But I think this "discussion" is a worthy one. And please feel free to tell me your thoughts on this, too, I'd love to hear where everyone else stands. Here we go:

The Shining, 1977, by Stephen King.

Events: Jack Torrance, a writer and former schoolteacher, takes a caretaker job at a grand and mysterious hotel in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. His five year old son, Danny, has a very special talent that allows him to see visions from the past, forecasts of events to come, and into the minds of others---and straight away Danny senses the hotel, The Overlook, is full of secrets and demons.

During their stay, some of the topiary hedge animals seem to move; the hotel elevator begins to operate on its own, and one of the rooms (217) has its own particular franchise on The Overlook's sordid past (REDRUM). These events are at first subtle and would seem almost harmless or hallucinatory were it not for Danny's special gift. From the first moment he learned of The Overlook, Danny saw this stuff happening, he knows that it's real, and he's seen how it ends over and over in his nightmares! Most of the reader's concern involves sympathy and fear for the child, thrust in the middle of events that would make a grown adult soil herself . . . this story is not an easy one to handle: nightmares, lights left on, nightmares, did that book shelf just move? Fire hose, bathtub, REDRUM! REDRUM! I had about three seriously ridiculous nights of discomfort trying to shove these things from my mind and think happy thoughts!

 At the same time the hotel really gets going, tomfoolery-wise, Jack, who struggles with his own personal demons of Daddy Issues, failure, and alcoholism, begins to unravel. It's explained over and over in many ways just how meaningful and complicated Jack's relationship with Danny is, and as he tries to focus on his work, both hotel-related maintenance and his unfinished play, Jack finds himself having strange, angry resentment toward his family and becoming more and more obsessed with the hotel and its history. King said in an interview that many of the events in this novel were confessionals over feelings of anger and resentment a father (or mother) feels toward children, which can go hand-in-hand with feelings of intense love and adoration the parent also feels; it's a complex thing, but not invalid, you know? It's a pretty ballsy thing to do, not only writing about stuff that is taboo, parenting-wise, but then owning it honestly and admitting that it grew from actual feelings. Heavy. Jack Torrance in many ways is an extremely real character because of this, there are many chapters written from Jack's point of view and he's just as bothered and confused by it as we are!

Some might see this as a horror novel, and it is horrifying, but the most disturbing things are not the evil hotel or any of its twisted, rotting minions, but the almost casual subtlety of the evil, those moving hedge creatures scared me the same way the hotel room menu did in 1408: ("the menu was in Russian; the menu was in Italian; there was no menu,") and the documented descent of human beings who are flawed, but still people nonetheless. This is an extremely sad of bunch events, and it's the struggle that has real power here, not the end but the means to it that pack the greatest punch.

Writing: King has a genius ability to do two things in his novels, well, three if you count SCARING THE PISS OUT OF READERS, but that's actually not important right now. The first thing about King's writing that occurs consistently in all of his stories is the knack for telling and explaining things as if he is actually speaking it aloud, to you, personally (or making you feel as if he's your friend Steve, the storyteller). I don't know anything about Stephen King personally, have never met him, probably never will, but dammit, don't you feel like you know this guy? It's clearly due to the heart he pours into his characters, which of course, comes from his own, but seriously, I feel somehow connected to him just because of the way he writes, and that's probably the greatest compliment a writer can get.

Secondly: Humor and Sarcasm. Aces.

(Danny ponders a conversation his father had), " . . . but Mr. Ullman would probably do neither because he was a CHEAP PRICK. Danny knew that this was one of the worst epithets his father could summon. It was applied to certain doctors, dentists, and appliance repairmen, and also to the board of his English Department at Stovington, who had disallowed some of Daddy's book orders because he said the books would put them over budget. 'Over budget, hell,' he had fumed to Wendy---Danny had been listening from his bedroom where he was supposed to be asleep. 'He's just saving the last five hundred bucks for himself, the CHEAP PRICK."

(Jack is locked in the pantry) "Have to use your brain. The celebrated Jack Torrance brain. Aren't you the fellow who once was going to live by his wits? Jack Torrance, best-selling author. Jack Torrance, acclaimed playwright and winner of the New York Critics Circle Award. John Torrance, man of letters, esteemed thinker, winner of the Pulitzer Prize at seventy for his trenchant book of memoirs, My Life in the Twentieth Century. All any of that shit boiled down to was living by your wits."

Comparisons: All right, let's get to it. Is the novel better, or is the film better? The film (as you know from my past ramblings) is one of my very favorites, and is neater, cleaner, and obviously more visually and acoustically moving than the novel. But that doesn't necessarily make it better. I think the heart of the story was honestly about something bad happening to (mostly) good people, and you are only going to see that if you read the novel; the film has no love for any of the Torrances.

Whereas King's Torrance is clearly conflicted, Kubrick's Torrance seems to be destined for lunacy. He hardly shows any (sober) emotion at all to anyone, if you don't count Nicholson's arched-eyebrows grin to Ullman after hearing the unfortunate tale of Mr. Grady et al. The relationship with Danny and Danny as a person altogether hardly matter in the film. ("Dad? I'm hungry." "Well, you should have eaten your breakfast." The end).

You don't sense any emotion between any of the Torrances because Kubrick hardly has them speak to each other; there is a lot more conversation in the book, maybe even a bit too much, but they at least seem to matter to each other or explain what they're thinking. King's Jack was an interesting guy, funny even, and we mourn his metamorphosis into Crazy-Overlook-Jack because we lose touch with the real Jack and we care about Wendy and Danny. Not so in the film. Kubrick and Nicholson's Jack was almost like a man caught in limbo waiting to become Crazy-Overlook-Jack, and as viewers, we find this Jack infinitely more interesting. Where Kubrick is motivated by isolation and insanity, King is motivated by humanity and tragedy. Two very different themes. And while I will always-always-always consider The Shining one of my very favorite films, I'm more of a writer than a filmmaker, and I almost think Kubrick should have credited it "inspired by" rather than "based on" King's original work. I do not get the feeling of closeness to Kubrick that I do with King, and I get the feeling that Kubrick kind of likes it that way.

That said, I wouldn't have either of them change a thing (how's that for diplomacy?)

Eyes Wide Shut

 Eyes Wide Shut, 1999. Directed by Stanley Kubrick. Written by Arthur Schnitzler (novel) and Stanley Kubrick (screenplay).
starring: Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, Sidney Pollack.

"A New York City doctor, who is married to an art curator, pushes himself on a harrowing and dangerous night-long odyssey of sexual and moral discovery after his wife admits that she once almost cheated on him." (IMDB).


So, here we are. At pretty much everyone's definitive for conventional pornography in mainstream cinema, right? All I heard about for years was how Stanley Kubrick was releasing a bona-fide porno, blah, blah, blah. PORN. And while we'll get to what I actually consider this film to be a bit later, I'm guessing it did change quite a few industry conventions (not the least being CG blockers); it's an important film. Almost everyone I talked to about this absolutely hated it. But almost everyone I talked to also were fans of Cruise and not Kubrick, (in 1999, anyway) and I think that makes all the difference. I loved it.


1. Stanley knows what he's doing. In terms of mise en scene (environments, locations, settings, etc.) I think he was (and still is) the best around. If for no other reason, watch this film for the lights and colors. Music also was great.

2. Stanley is crafty; he usually doesn't come right out and say anything bluntly, but many, many times he'll convey things visually, metaphorically that you have to really work hard *not* to notice. He could have said (of all his films) "This character is isolated; this particular space is all-consuming." There are so many interesting ideas in this film: Dr. Bill's inability to command or finish any sort of sexual exchange. Orange Walls (ala Ulmann's office or Mr. Grady's bathroom in The Shining) All those little yellow lights everywhere? They have to mean something; I'm going with virility or prowess, or whatever it is Kubrick is suggesting that Bill lacks. This is the most beautiful emotionless film full of meaning I've ever seen.

No, Bill, really. I'm totally into it. . . 

3. This film, while having kind of a lot of sex, wasn't erotic to me at all. Every review I read really hyped up the eroticism, and yeah, it's physically present, I guess, but completely cold, impersonal, and empty, therefore uninteresting to me. Like robots having relations with each other. For me, this was about marital discomfort from the very beginning. Bill and Alice have awkward conversations and he doesn't really even seem to know her or acknowledge her at all, at least the way she wants. It's hard to miss that look of utter boredom and disdain in her eyes during their love scene early on. The dialogues are extremely slow with many, many beats in between words. Characters' walking seems stretched out. Even when things are running smoothly, (doctor's office, interactions with the daughter, or virtually any other character), Dr. Bill brings nothing but uncomfortable tension. A few critics didn't like the thriller aspect to the film, but I think it was necessary; without it, this would just be one uncomfortable exchange after another---OH THOSE WEALTHY NEW YORKERS! AREN'T THEY JUST *SO* CRAZY AND #*$&ED UP? Who wants to see that?

LIGHTS! 

4. In terms of film vs. book, I'll take the film any day. The novel, Rhapsody: A Dream Novel, by Arthur Schnitzler, was first published in 1927 and in my opinion, was kind of boring. I'm sure it was quite a bombshell when it first came out, I'll give it that, but it really just proved to me that Stanley has the best knack, ever, for taking interesting or semi-interesting novels and turning them into unbelievable films.

5. If you are looking for any further reading on Kubrick or themes in Kubrick films, there is a really excellent book, A Cinema of Loneliness by Robert Phillip Kolker, that is very much worth checking out. It's unfortunately only current up to Full Metal Jacket, but many of the ideas translate to Eyes Wide Shut. (It also examines the themes of Penn, Scorcese, Spielberg, and Altman, so it's a fun, tape-your-glasses kind of film book to have).


6. Stanley is probably the best film director who ever lived, but the ending on this was a bit . . . unsatisfying. I don't know what would have made it better. Any thoughts?

Quite Possibly The Best Film Ever Made

Paths of Glory, bitches! 1957, directed by a 29-year-old Stanley Kubrick!

If not the best film ever made, then definitely the best war film. I did a paper about this and La Grande Illusion, both World War I films, the title was, "No Band of Brothers in this Gentlemen's War." Everyone should see these films because I dare say that they're only secondarily about war, and primarily about humanity. That said, there is *no better sequence anywhere* than the dolly of Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas) walking down those trenches as the rounds are exploding, smoke is billowing, cannons are wailing, etc. It is hands down the most impressive, bad-ass thing I've ever seen in my life; I get goose bumps every time.

I think the best way to see this is not knowing anything at all about it beforehand; just trust Stan the man to get it done, okay? So I'm not saying a word about it. When people ask me about films, AFI Top 100-type films, they usually ask me if Citizen Kane is really the best film ever made. I say, Citizen Kane is a very good film, but Paths of Glory is better. You should watch it. Tonight.

Sound, Redrum, and Isolation: The Genius of The Shining

The Shining: 1980, directed by Stanley Kubrick.

"A family heads to an isolated hotel for the winter where an evil spiritual presence influences the father into violence, while his psychic son sees horrific forebodings from the past and of the future."

I love Stanley. I love the longness of his films, the creepy oranges, distinctive lights, how everyone faces some internal struggle, all of it. This film, horrifying as it is, is one of my favorites, ever. Disclaimer: I can't talk about King on this one, the book and film are just horses of different colors in my mind (and ne'er the twain shall meet, right?)

Normally if a film is good, I try to break it up and talk about narrative, technical elements, and theme. In this film they are all one and the same, really. The narrative is spiced with fear and evil, accentuated by isolation. (The Overlook Hotel is evil and makes Jack crazy. Jack is a writer who can't write. Wendy and Danny can't get out). The filmmaking exemplifies fear by drawing out scenes slowly and sneaking up from far away, using color, sound, and motion (The Overlook is shown many times to be a vast, grand structure. Characters are constantly going down halls, coming upon different surprises, most of them unpleasant. Oranges, yellows, and golds vibrate with danger. The simmering teakettle instrumental music mirrors Jack's own boiling point, the glissandos up and down the scales by strings echo Jack's psychological ups and downs. The steadi-cam behind Danny's big wheel shows not only the difference in size between Danny and the hotel, but suggests corners, twists, and dead ends like the hedge maze outside). I'm sure you all know what a steadi-cam is, but in case you don't: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steadicam 

They can't get out.

This film is what it is because they're isolated. If they were at some Howard Johnson somewhere, they'd just have to bust out and pound on a neighbor's door, but they are stuck inside the Overlook Hotel with no one but themselves and the ghosts (The Grady Daughters, The Woman in the Bathtub, Lloyd, Mr. Grady, Various Partying Guests, The Two Masked Men Engaged in (implied) Fellatio, etc.). That's scary.

The sounds: Danny's big wheel alternating between solid floor and carpet. Jack's tennis ball thumping against the walls and floors. The sound of the typewriter. Later, the axe slicing into wood. In the hotel, these things all take on ominous properties; they were done really, really well. Original music was composed by Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind. Bravo, gals, really.

Another thing the film does exceptionally well is foreshadowing. With a troubling story like this (Dads killing kids, etc.) you almost need to drop hints, or at least prepare the audience a little. From the very beginning, it's clear that there is one way this is going to end: BADLY. All the pieces are there.
1. Mr. Ulman explains to Jack the murderous story of Charles Grady; Jack seems absolutely thrilled (!)
2. Tony (Danny's imaginary friend) doesn't want to go to the hotel but won't say why. Shows Danny image of blood flooding from elevator.
3. There is a history of abuse (Jack injured Danny's arm while drunk).
4. The mention of The Donner Party as the family drives to the hotel (cannibalism)
5. Through his conversation with Dick Halloran, Danny discovers there is something bad at the hotel, specifically room 237.
6. As Wendy fixes lunch one day, a news program alludes to a "missing Aspen woman" who had been missing ten days after a hunting trip with her husband. Did he shoot her or what?
7. Danny tiptoes to his room to get his fire engine and apparently gets a disturbing look inside his father's mind, prompting him to say, "You'd never hurt mom or me, right?"
8. The blizzard. The phone lines down. The fact that no one else can get to them.

Poor Danny. Not only did he have to get his neck all mangled by the old gal in 237, but through his shining, he had a front row seat to Jack's Bathtub Lady experience, his mother's getting trapped in the bathroom during the whole "Here's Johnny" segment, Dick Halloran's unfortunate collision with the axe, and then the chase through the hedge maze. Enough, already! I'd say he probably needed some temporary relaxation in the rest home like Eddie Van Halen (Hot for Teacher) when it was all over.

If you ever get the chance to watch the extras on this disk, do it. There is a documentary included, shot by Vivian Kubrick, and it's amazing. And while I thought Shelley Duval was perfect in the role of Wendy Torrence, the little documentary shows an entirely different side to what was going on during the filming and gives you an idea of what working with actors is really like . . . it's funny.


So, there you have it, this is my scariest film, ever. I saw it when I was seven; I'll never forget the sound of the woman's laughter when Jack sees her in the mirror. . . I don't think anything will ever scare me as much as this did (and does). But it's nice to be cinematically moved at the same time, don't you think?

See, books are very important.

Even to (some) Nazis!

The Reader directed by Stephen Daldry. This director has done other films like The Hours and Billy Eliot. Film was originally a novel written by a German law professor, Bernhard Schlink. I would very much like to read it.

First off, don't be fooled by Ralphe Fienne's name in the credits, he has very little screen time. Secondly, there is something quite unsettling to me about this story, which was obviously the point, but it was just queasy and strange, watching this fifteen-year-old kid sticking it to Kate Winslet. The fact that the character, Hanna Schmitz, later joined the SS didn't really have much shock value for me (I had no idea what this was about, going in) since I was already a little suspicious of the character's moral fibers, if you get me. Oscar-worthy? I'll say it definitely sits better than Sandy Bullock, but I got the distinct feeling that her going without makeup for the role and flashing her goodies around had a good piece to do with it. She wasn't playing an ugly person, and other than all the buggering and Nazi business, she didn't seem all that horrible, really. I feel like those were the only two things we actually learned about her. But then, BOOKS!

She couldn't read!

I suppose if I dig deeper, I could deduce that the kid fell in love with her, completely, but never really knew that she was only using him, first for sex, and then for reading. And then he lived his entire life trying to wrap his head around it, together with the fact that she became a Nazi. That's pretty heavy. I was kind of on the fence about the film for the first half hour or so, but once the reading started, once it became about BOOKS, I put down my cross stitch and actually watched, which honestly doesn't happen very often. It wasn't happy, and it didn't give me a good feeling at all, but it was interesting. Like that film Closer (Julia Roberts, Clive Owen, Natalie Portman, and Jude Law); I didn't like anything that was happening in the film, but I couldn't really stop watching it, either. This film was like that, but with books.

In other news, I've unfortunately had to discard two more from the September book stack. That makes us 0 for 3, thus far. What Will Be, the technology book? Was written in 1997. What a boner-kill. The Shack is out the door, too. The writing just really started to piss me off, mostly the dialogue, which I will also call a boner-kill. The thing that bothers me in much of the shitty literature I read is bad dialogue, which slays me; do the authors themselves speak this way? Because if they do, they must not talk very much, people would laugh them right off the curb. I get people who don't talk, not everyone is annoying like I am, but BLOODY HELL, MAN, you at least gotta listen!

During the extra footage in The Shining, Jack Nicholson gives a little interview to Kubrick's wife about how he approached the character of Jack Torrance. He said that at first, he wanted to do it as real as he possibly could, he wanted to act legitimately crazy, crazy the way he thought a crazy person would be. Then Kubrick apparently sat him down and told him that while he respected what Jack was doing, sometimes real isn't very interesting. A lot of Quentin Tarantino's dialogues are spectacular, I think, because he gets this. The banter and style in a Tarantino scene seem to be real, but much of what's actually being said is sometimes unreal, ("I used the same soap you did and when I finished the towel didn't look like no Goddamned maxi-pad!") but it's always very interesting.

There is a very fine line between real (believable) and interesting, and I think it's never more obvious when someone gets it wrong than in fiction. It's like you can tell when writers love words, or love what they're writing, because it comes across, clearly. I don't think the writer of The Shack loved or even liked words very much. (Pity).

In the meantime, I have been carrying on with a Joyce Carol Oates anthology of American short stories that I gave to my mother and then stole back from her house. Thank God I did; it has been like literary Vampire Blood.