Books by-the-month: March

As March arrives, bringing with it the promise of early spring, Women's History Month, and the festive revelry of St. Patrick’s Day. The literary world offers us tales of renewal, strength, and history. This month, we celebrate not only the invigorating green of the season but also the empowering stories of women throughout history. 

 

Daylight is adding up, about three minutes more each day as March progresses, give or take. Spring hasn’t arrived yet, but the plane is circling the tarmac. Welcome back, light! This time of year is The Great Unclenching, for when the light returns, something unclenches in us all. 

 

March offers the perfect opportunity to dive into novels that inspire and enrich. Here’s a carefully curated list of books that will fill your days with literary joy, perfect for curling up with during those first glimpses of warmth.

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March Theme: Women’s History Month

Women are amazing. Good Gd how we hate them. Let's uplift them instead.

1. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott 

Little Women remains one of the most beloved and enduring classics of all time. The story follows the March sisters—Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy—through the trials and triumphs of their adolescence and early adulthood during the Civil War. 

 

There is a certain magic in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women that no film adaptation—no matter how lovingly crafted—can fully capture. The silver screen has given us many beautiful versions, from the golden glow of the 1933 and 1949 classics to the heart-wrenching performances of the 1994 and 2019 renditions, but nothing compares to the original novel, with its gorgeous prose, recognizable characters, effortless warmth, wisdom, and its deeply personal intimacy. 

 

Alcott doesn’t just tell the story of the March sisters—she invites us into their magical attic, lets us sit by the fire as Jo scribbles away long in to the night, as Meg dreams of simple, beautiful things, as Amy yearns for greatness, and as Beth’s quiet kindness radiates through the pages. The novel pulses with life, with all the small joys and sorrows that make up a girlhood, and it is this depth—this richness is what truly makes Little Women not just a beloved book, but one of the great literary classics in the canon.

 

For at its heart, Little Women is about the messy, bittersweet journey of growing up—about the triumphs and disappointments, the laughter and heartbreak that shape us into who we become. Who hasn’t felt Jo’s frustration as she cries, “I’m angry nearly every day of my life!”? Who hasn’t longed to leave their mark on the world, or wrestled with duty and desire when torn between home and ambition? 

 

The beauty of Alcott’s novel is that it allows space for all these contradictions, for the quiet, everyday struggles of being human, and it does so with prose that glows like candlelight—soft, illuminating, and endlessly comforting. So yes, watch the films (come on: the 1994 was so crucial to my teenage sexual awakening it is hard to express just HOW important 1994 Christian Bale was so almost every one of my teenage romantic choices for better and for worse), fall in love with the March sisters all over again—but to truly know them, to hear their thoughts and feel their dreams, there is no substitute for the novel itself.

2. "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s masterpiece novella is a fever dream wrapped in the suffocating folds of Victorian domesticity. The protagonist, suffering from what is diagnosed as a “nervous condition,” is confined to a room in her home by her husband, where she becomes obsessed with the room's yellow wallpaper.

 

Written in 1892, the story explores the mental and physical confinement of women in the 19th century, it is a tale that simultaneously drones with claustrophobia and crackles with the desperation of a woman unraveling beneath the weight of total oppression.

From the very first lines, we are drawn into a world where the walls themselves seem to whisper, where the sickly yellow of the wallpaper morphs into a living, breathing tormentor. This is not just a tale of one woman’s descent into madness—it is a searing indictment of a society that silences and stifles, that mistakes a mind in turmoil for mere female "hysteria." Every creeping tendril of the wallpaper, every shadow shifting in the dim light, becomes a manifestation of our narrator’s struggle; her rebellion simmering beneath layers of repression until it spills over in a dizzying, mesmerizing climax.

 

What makes The Yellow Wallpaper so hauntingly unforgettable is its intimacy—the way Gilman locks us inside the narrator’s fractured psyche, forcing us to see the world as she does, to feel her isolation as palpably as the stale air of her sickroom. The language is hypnotic, looping and circling like the patterns on the cursed wallpaper itself, mirroring the slow dissolution of self that takes place within those four walls. 

 

And when, at last, the narrator succumbs to the madness that has been tightening its grip around her soul, we are left breathless, horrified, yet strangely exhilarated. Gilman doesn’t just tell a story; she drags us into the heart of a nightmare that feels all too real: a cautionary tale that still resonates fiercely today.

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March Theme: St. Patrick’s Day

There are too many exquisite Irish novels, plays and collections of poetry to even begin to narrow them down. From classics such as Dubliners, Star of the Sea and The Country Girls, to contemporary classics like Angela’s Ashes, there is nothing quite like an Irish writer talking about LIFE. 

 

3. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt

As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, what better choice than Frank McCourt’s memoir Angela’s Ashes, a heartbreaking yet darkly humorous look at the author’s impoverished childhood in 20th-century Ireland. But Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes is not just a memoir—it’s a symphony of sorrow and resilience that transforms even the bleakest of childhoods into something fiercely beautiful. With prose that sings like an Irish ballad—both mournful and full of unexpected humor—McCourt paints a portrait of Limerick that is as rain-soaked and poverty-stricken as it is brimming with life.

Every page pulses with the raw, unfiltered voice of a boy who endures hunger, loss, and shame, yet somehow never loses his wide-eyed wonder at the world. “When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all,” he begins, and from that moment, we are swept into a story whose power lies in its stark refusal to submit to self pity or to sentimentality; in its ability to find poetry in the gutters and grace in the struggle. It is not just a memoir—it is a testament to survival, to storytelling, and to the indomitable spirit of those who dare to dream beyond their circumstances.

 

 

4. Ulysses by James Joyce

Ulysses was first serialized in parts in the American journal The Little Review from March 1918 to December 1920. It has been called one of the most important works of Modernist literature. No other book captures the soul of Dublin with such ferocity and tenderness, stitching together the passage of Leopold Bloom through Dublin during an ordinary day, 16 June 1904, with a depth and complexity that transforms the ordinary into the epic. To read Ulysses is to walk the streets of Dublin in 1904, to feel the rain on your face, to hear the chatter of pub-goers and the distant tolling of church bells, to live inside the thoughts of characters.

 

James Joyce’s Ulysses is not just the crown jewel of Irish literature—it is its beating heart, its wildest dream, its most defiant and dazzling creation.  Joyce hammered a job on the novel so complete that he became a category unto himself. This is a novel that dares to contain multitudes—history and myth, comedy and heartbreak, the sacred and the profane—all flowing together in an intoxicating stream of consciousness that changed literature forever.

Every literary style was mist to his grill, as he might have said, and his plotting, if such it can be called - two men who take all day to meet each other - paved the way for, among others, Samuel Beckett. 

Above all he taught every writer the importance of naturalistic dialogue; with his fine tenor voice Joyce knew better than most that we read not with the eye but with the ear.

And yet, Ulysses is more than just an ode to Dublin—it is the very soul of Irish literary ambition; the book that shattered conventions and redefined what a novel could be. Joyce takes the English language, that instrument of colonial rule, and bends it to his will, infusing it with the rhythms of Irish speech, the poetry of everyday thought, the sheer audacity of a mind unchained. It is a book that demands everything from its reader, but in return, it gives back a universe— in which a single day can contain all of human existence. 

 

“Yes I said yes I will Yes,” Molly Bloom declares in the novel’s final, breathtaking lines, and in that moment, Joyce doesn’t just conclude a masterpiece—he affirms life itself, in all its messiness, all its beauty, all its infinite possibility. 

 

If one book must stand as the pinnacle of the Irish literary canon, let it be Ulysses.

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March Theme: The Ides of March

With this addition, Julius Caesar rounds out the list perfectly, infusing the month of March with both the classic weight of Shakespearean tragedy and a timely nod to the historical moment that defines it.

5.  Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

March is synonymous with the ominous "Ides of March," and what better way to dive into the drama of fate, ambition, and betrayal than with William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar? Julius Caesar—the mighty general and leader of Rome—is on the verge of absolute power, but a group of conspirators led by Brutus and Cassius believes his rule will bring tyranny. While this ticking-time-bomb of a play is set in the heart of ancient Rome, it reads (and plays!) like "DC Noir" made popular on television in the 21st Century. It explores the tension between personal loyalty and political duty through the all-too-human lenses of loyalists and conspirators.

 

William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar is so much more than "just "a history play—it is a timeless political thriller; a study of power, ambition, and the chaos that ensues when the line between patriotism and personal ambition blurs. And in 2025, as the world grapples with populist movements, political conspiracies, misinformation, high emotions and a desperate common man, the ever-present question of who truly wields power reveals that this classic feels more relevant than ever. 

 

The fickleness of the Roman crowd, swayed so easily from love to uncontrollable rage, mirrors the way modern public opinion shifts with a single headline or viral video. “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings,” Cassius warns, and his words ring truer than ever in an era where leaders rise and fall within 24-hour news cycles at the whims of public perception. The senators, believing they act in Rome’s best interest, justify their actions with noble rhetoric, yet their violence only breeds more instability—a cautionary tale for any modern political upheaval.

 

Even more striking is the play’s exploration of the power of speech, leveraged emotions, and misinformation, something that resonates in an age dominated by social media and manipulated narratives. Mark Antony’s funeral oration is a masterclass in persuasion, as he subtly turns the crowd against the conspirators without ever directly condemning them: “I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.” What follows is a perfect example of how a skilled orator can bend public sentiment to his will, a lesson we see played out daily in modern media and politics. Observe Damien Lewis deliver Marc Anthony's eulogy-as-political-excoriation, here:

 

 

 

The chaos that erupts in the wake of Caesar’s death, where reason is drowned out by outrage, echoes our contemporary political divisions as they spiral into violence, dis and misinformation, and violent power struggles. Shakespeare’s Rome is not so different from our world in 2025—ambition, manipulation, and the ever-looming question of who truly holds power remain as urgent and dangerous as ever.

 

Five Women at an Airport: The Full Film

It's here.  "Five Women at an Airport" is complete and ready for your viewing (in 4K!)

 I wrote about this incredible piece, project and experience last July, but here is a snippet of what I said:

"This piece. 

This experience. 

This team. 

These WOMEN. 



I will never know what I did to deserve this perfect alchemy of passion, commitment, humor, depth and talent— but we got it all and then some, all in 20 days that felt like 20 years. 

What we achieved artistically, emotionally, and all ahead of schedule (?!) was a miracle. 

[...]

I’ll never fully have the language to express what this 3 weeks— my first ever as a professional director of anything, let alone a movie musical—meant to me. [Lyricist and book-writer David Goldsmith] saw something in me I didn't even dare to see in myself.  It also came with the unparalleled trust of its genius creators John, and Wendy— who created a work of such indescribable truth and beauty; a work about real, mature, fully-embodied, nuanced women speaking to one another like real human beings. These are roles women can savor, relish and feast upon for eons to come. 



 

 

I’ll say until my breath runs out: in show business it is not the work you make, where you make it or the tens of dollars we are sometimes paid for the privilege. It is, above all, about who we share it all with. 
"

 

 

 So enjoy, dear friends. 

 

Click the link above, start watching below, or simply go to YouTube and type in “Five Women At An Airport.” 



Watch our film-capture. For free. 

 

Enjoy the breathtaking — truth-soaked, hilarious, skillful, heartbreaking, vocally astonishing and absolutely stunning — performances of Cailen Fu, Katy Geraghty, Bryonha Marie, Kate Rockwell and Elena Shaddow

 

The endlessly inventive, soaring, magical, moving musical theatre score of John Kavanaugh  the wit, wisdom and powerful insights of the book and lyrics by David Goldmsith and the co-bookwriter and conceptual matriarch, Wendy Perelman. 

 

Watch. 

Enjoy. 

See what's possible with like $300, and bags of delusional hope. 

 

Hit like. 

Hit share. 

Comment. 

Talk about it. 

Sing all the songs. 

Make it part of the conversation. 

 

The community. 

Our community. 



 

Let’s change how things are done. 

Let’s fix what’s broken. 

Books by-the-month: February

Ah, February. The month of winter’s last gasp, of small joys, and, yes, of love—whether it’s the romantic, the familial, or the self-love that comes from curling up with a good book. 

 

To help you make the most of these cozy, cold evenings, here are five books that should take you on unforgettable journeys. From classic tales of unrequited love to dazzling modern narratives, these picks will keep your heart warm as the chill lingers outside.

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February Theme: Valentine's Day (obvs)

1. Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

Love can blossom where you least expect it. At least that seems to be the case in Sarah Waters’s twist-and-turn Victorian masterpiece, Fingersmith.

 

The novel tells the story of Sue Trinder, an orphan, abandoned as an infant in the care of Mrs. Sucksby, a conniving and resourceful ‘baby farmer,' whose bread and butter comes from raising children to become petty thieves—fingersmiths—in London' notorious East End. 

 

Sue’s world changes forever when 'Gentleman,' a sophisticated con-man arrives with a tantalizing proposition. He offers her the chance to take part in a clever ploy to steal the inheritance of Maud Lilly, an isolated and vulnerable heiress, by posing as her maid and encouraging her to marry Gentleman.

 

But nothing is quite how it seems. Sue and Maud soon kindle an unlikely friendship that becomes a passionate love affair. Waters is peerless in how she crafts exhilarating and unforgettable journeys through the Victorian underworld, filled with villains, deception, debauchery and, ultimately, love.

 

 

 

2. The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
 

Not all love stories have happy endings. Some, in fact, barely even have beginnings, such as in Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel The Remains of the Day. 

There is something about February’s subtle melancholy that makes The Remains of the Day a perfect fit. Ishiguro’s subtle, almost painful prose will transport you deep into the life of Stevens, an English butler. Stevens has devoted his entire existence to service, and the story follows him as he reflects on the misguided loyalty of his past and attempts to reconnect with Ms Kenton, the housekeeper who worked alongside him— the woman he desperately loved, but for whom he never dared crossed a professional line. 

 

While Stevens hopes for a resolution at their reunion, Ms Kenton alludes to what might have been but concludes ‘there’s no turning back the clock now. One can’t be forever dwelling on what might have been’. 

 

As Stevens reflects on his past in a long, meandering road trip across the English countryside, the narrative reveals the complexities of duty, missed opportunities, and suppressed emotions. Ishiguro’s prose is— like Stevens’ emotions— buried deep beneath the surface, ready to surface in poignant moments that will linger long after you’ve turned the final page.

And so one of literature’s most heartbreaking love stories ends with a devastating whimper.

 

February Theme: Black History Month (because here at London Still, Al is still celebrating diversity because I am not threatened by thoughts, histories and ideas that might de-center my own lived experience or, Gd forbid, possibly make me the slightest bit uncomfortable...rant over. For now.)

 

2. "Beloved" by Toni Morrison
 

February is the perfect month to dive into Toni Morrison’s Beloved, a novel whose beauty lies in its raw, unapologetic exploration of the dark, terrible legacy of the enslaved people of the United States. Set in post-Civil War Ohio, Beloved follows Sethe, an escaped enslaved woman who is haunted by the ghost of her dead daughter.
 
Morrison’s writing is both lyrical and haunting—each sentence is a carefully wrought piece of art. The narrative swings between hauntingly beautiful prose and brutal truths, making for a reading experience that is as exhausting as it is revelatory. This is a book that demands your full attention, and rewards you with layers of meaning in return. If you haven’t read Beloved yet, February is the month to do it.
 

 

February Theme:  Lunar New Year (and yes, I know that sometimes Lunar New Year is in January.) 

Lunar New Year is a time for reflection, celebration, and renewal (and DUMPLINGS) making it an ideal occasion to explore books with Asian characters or themes. For me personally, being married to a Chinese-American makes me plump for Chinese-forward picks, but the Asian literary canon is infinite in its richness and rewards–it would be impossible to choose. 

However, choose I must, and below are two exceptional reads that offer profound insight into Chinese culture, history, and the human experience and each offer a rich and varied portrait of life, love, and the pursuit of meaning. They also happen to be stalwarts of world literature.

 

4. The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

 
Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club is a masterful exploration of the generational divides between Chinese-American mothers and their daughters. Told through the interconnected stories of eight women, the novel spans decades, alternating between the perspectives of the mothers, who arrived in America as immigrants, and their daughters, who grapple with the weight of their cultural heritage. 

 

Tan’s writing is deeply empathetic, her prose rich with the nuances of family dynamics, identity, and the immigrant experience. Each chapter captures the delicate interplay of hope, sacrifice, and love, weaving an intricate tapestry of Chinese-American life that’s as heartwarming as it is heartbreaking. 

 

The Joy Luck Club is an enduring work that beautifully portrays the complexities of the immigrant experience and the delicate ties that bind generations together.
 


5. The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane by Lisa See

 
Lisa See’s The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane is an exquisite exploration of family, tradition, and identity, set in the lush, remote mountains of China. The novel follows Li-yan, a young girl from an ethnic minority group in the far southwest of China, whose life is deeply shaped by the ancient traditions surrounding tea cultivation. As Li-yan grows up, her life is marked by love, loss, and the complex relationship between personal ambition and cultural heritage. 

 

See’s writing is lyrical and immersive, drawing on the beauty of the Chinese landscape while delving into the complex social structures that define Li-yan’s world. The novel is also a poignant exploration of motherhood, with themes of separation and reconciliation as Li-yan’s path crosses with that of her daughter, whom she must give up. 

 

The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane is a heart-wrenching and thought-provoking read that will transport you to a world that is both timeless and strikingly contemporary.

February’s slow, still air offers the perfect backdrop for diving into these books, each of which brings something unique. Curl up in a corner, drink your hot cocoa, and lose yourself in these extraordinary tales. You’ll emerge from the month not just with the memory of a good book, but with a deeper understanding of the human heart—both its beauty and its flaws.

Things D0nald †rump Has Ruined For Me, Forever

the word 'tremendous'

red hats

the news

home alone 2

social media

the color orange

america, probably

 

© Barry Blitt,

 

Books by-the-month: January

T. S. Eliot was wrong when he said that "April is the cruelest month–" [he was wrong about a lot of things, like, ya know, his raging antisemitism, but, anyway, meh: a phenomenal poet] he’d clearly never experienced the nightmare that is returning to work, and the world-in-general, in January. In an election year. 

"Oh, what a long year this January has been!" I literally proclaimed yesterday. 

It's January 9th. 

Bleak times.

But with the festive season long gone, January can feel bleak and never-ending, not helped by the sidewalks lined with the corpses of Christmas trees, the days shorter and the darkness encroaching upon what feels like lunchtime, plus resolutions tugging away at your conscience? HARD PASS. So with the January blues in full swing, I offer a reprieve: an uplifting book.

I jest I jest. January is the birth month of too many of my close friends to count, including my husband. And who am I kidding I love winter coziness and any excuse for hyyge and all thing snuggling. Add a book to the picture of me + fireplace + snow outside + cup of hot something + Tatiana? Bliss. (Apologies for the wintery rant, southern hemisphere friends...)

 

In this new series Books by-the-month, I'm endeavoring to play the role of curator, assembling mini book collections across time and genre, according to themes endemic to the months on the good ol' Gregorian calendar. Holidays, yes. Seasons, sure. Themes the seasons inspire, why not? I also welcome any and all of your suggestions in the comments, friends!

 

And with that said, I give you January's mini list. Whether you’re looking to expand your mind, take up a New Year’s reading practice, or simply distract yourself from the chilly, soggy realities January has to offer, these books are sure to soothe you (at least mentally) for a day or two (plus the month or so those two days feel like... because, it's January).

 

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January Theme: "Fresh Starts" and "Self Improvement"

 

1. Build The Life You Want by Albert C Brooks and Oprah Winfrey

On the solar calendar, January is all about the New Year's resolutions, and boy oh boy does our culture love to offer every one of us a million offers to improve. Lose the weight! Quit smoking! Save more money! Finally start therapy! Kick your weird habit! Start a juice cleanse! Have better relationships, conversations, anger management, sleep! Stop being a total jerk! 

 

The list is endless. And so is the pressure.

So my choice for this January "self improvement" category is a book of science-backed, evergreen wisdom on improving your overall HAPPINESS. And the first lesson is all about how we as a culture don't fully understand our own happiness, and how doing so can make a huge impact on how we experience the world, connect with ourselves and others, and shape a reality that brings us more peace, contentment and joy. 

 

Because apparently you can get happier. And getting there will be the adventure of your lifetime. So sayeth Oprah and author, researcher, academic and lecturer on happiness at Harvard University Arthur C Brooks. 

 

"In Build the Life You Want, Arthur C. Brooks and Oprah Winfrey invite you to begin a journey toward greater happiness no matter how challenging your circumstances. Drawing on cutting-edge science and their years of helping people translate ideas into action, they show you how to improve your life right now instead of waiting for the outside world to change.

With insight, compassion, and hope, Brooks and Winfrey reveal how the tools of emotional self-management can change your life―immediately. They recommend practical, research-based practices to build the four pillars of family, friendship, work, and faith. And along the way, they share hard-earned wisdom from their own lives and careers as well as the witness of regular people whose lives are joyful despite setbacks and hardship.

Equipped with the tools of emotional self-management and ready to build your four pillars, you can take control of your present and future rather than hoping and waiting for your circumstances to improve. Build the Life You Want is your blueprint for a better life."

I hope you are as moved by its practicality, compassion, and candor as I was. 

January Theme: Reverend Martin Luther King Junior Day

2. Several reads on Martin Luther King Junior to celebrate 

There are many ways to celebrate the life of the peerless speaker, activist, leader, man of G-d and visionary humanitarian, Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. It is being suggested by sociologists that in the 2010s-20s we are living during the second Civil Rights Movement, and where better to look to understand our present and our future, than to examine the courage of our origins. 

 

We have the gift of listening to his recorded speeches, joining in festivities, reflecting with friends and family. But of course, my favorite way to do this is to read books. Books have the capacity to create atmosphere like none other, and here are some essential reads about the man who lived up to the name of ‘King’ — the leader of America's civil rights movement.

• "Parting the Waters: America in the King Years, 1954-63" (1986),
• "Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years, 1963-1965" (1998),
• "At Canaan's Edge: America in the King Years, 1965-68" (2006)
• "The King Years: Historic Moments in the Civil Rights Movement" (2013),

 All by Taylor Branch.

The first book in Branch's multi-volume King biography, "Parting the Waters," was a winner of the Pulitzer Prize for history in 1987. The two following books were also highly praised and in 2013 he provided a single-volume overview. Totaling almost 3,000 pages, Branch's exhaustive biography provides a deep look into King's life and legacy.

In addition,
Here is a wonderful list of MLK celebration books from the always book-savvy LA Times.

January Theme: :: Deepest Winterrrrr ::

3. "Anna Karenina" by Leo Tolstoy

In 2011 I wrote books-by-the-season, and regaled you with many books for the wintry months. From the first magic of The Chronicles of Narnia to Italo Calvino's singular If on a winter's night a traveler, to the psychological thriller masterpiece that is Rebecca—I waxed on and on and stand by my choices!

Winter can make for an irresistible setting for a book (believe me I... wrote a book set... in Siberia. So). From the glass-like surface of a frozen lake to the frenetic power of a white-out squall, the dead of winter offers countless evocative and extreme conditions that conjure magic, channel psychological heartbreak and push characters to their absolute limits. But January offers the longest of nights and bitterest of cold, and thus makes perfect meteorological grist for atmosphere, making you clutch your mug of tea a little closer.

And who does any of this better? Than RUSSIAN LITERATURE. You heard me. If you are a London Still venteran you know I love allthingsRussian (just to be clear in 2025: all things arts and culture, and not politics for literally ... the last 100 years?) 

 

And while Bulgakov is my dearest love, there is no greater place to start, end, and linger along the streets of Moscow than in the heartbroken arms of Tolstoy's great heroine, Anna Karenina. 

 

[:: Sweeping orchestral swell! ::] 

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) was serialized between 1875 and 1877, and first published in book form in 1878. Tolstoy considered it his first true novel— (note that War and Peace appeared in 1869! He must've felt very strongly!) Those two novels, of course, are considered among the two greatest novels not simply of Tolstoy's, not simply of Russian Literature, but two of the greatest novel and frankly, works of art, of all time.  William Faulkner famously answered, when asked to name the three best novels, "Anna Karenina, Anna Karenina, Anna Karenina."  And Anton Chekhov reputedly said, after visiting his hero: "When you know you have achieved nothing yourself and are still achieving nothing, this is not as terrible as it might otherwise be, because Tolstoy achieves for everyone."

 

Tolstoy wrote many other (truly wonderful) short stories, and works like The Death of Ivan Ilyich (my "gateway drug" to all Russian Literature— thank you Jean Gaede by Russian Lit teacher Junior year at Interlochen Arts Academy), The Kreutzer Sonata, and Hadji Murat are also held in high esteem. Tolstoy was also a profoundly influential thinker— a radical Christian, a vegetarian (nearly a vegan), a pacifist. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in both Literature and Peace multiple times, and it feels criminal that he never received either honor (to be fair, it was early days for the existence of the award.)

 

So thanks very much in part to my previously mentioned life-transforming Russian Literature class in high school (once again, thank you Jean Gaede), and additionally in part to a childhood best friend Arielle who married a gosh darn Russian Literature professor, I was hooked. I picked up a copy of Anna Karenina one frigid, lonely, heartbroken winter years ago, and, after owning it for less than a week, I was performing medical-grade triage on the collapsing spine of my copy. Unputdownable isn't the word. Because it far exceeds that.

With its sempiternal themes of envy, fidelity, ambition, success, power, pity, lust and the greater machinations of a "civilized" society, Anna Karenina is the perfect place to begin your Russian literary journey, for it will be an odyssey. 

 

Sure sure, I hear you moan, but what is the novel about? Well, it's roughly 350,000 words are "about" marriage and adultery, but also farming, and war, and religion (and philosophy in general), and about economics, and about the difference between life in Russia and life in Europe; and, in a large way, about how to live a life, and the time-worn question of destiny versus personal agency. It offers few answers. Just better and better questions.

The modernity of the characters is leave-you-breathless astonishing: how they all, from young Kitty, to the author's alter-ego Levin, strive for meaning; how they so often fail (as the cuckolded husband Karenin does when he confronts Anna's adultery) to put into words what they desperately yearn to express; how one society princess is "awfully, awfully bored" and laments the "same everlasting crowd doing the same everlasting things" (Tolstoy's princess is a literary antecedent of F Scott Fitzgerald's Daisy Buchanan in The Great Gatsby: "What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon … and the day after that, and the next thirty years?")

Tolstoy observed that the way to begin a novel was to "plunge readers right into the middle of the action." This is borne out in Anna Karenina: the opening chapter plunges us into themes that will be explored fully later. We learn in the first paragraph that "everything had gone wrong in the Oblonsky household. The wife had found out about her husband's relationship with their former French governess and had announced that she could not go on living in the same house with him."


Part One's most enduring scene, however, is Anna's arrival where, just after she has exchanged eye contact with Vronsky (her fatal attraction), a guard is crushed by a train: "A bad omen," she says to her brother, tears streaming down her face. As readers, we know she is doomed. And we are hopelessly hooked.

A little note on translations, while we are here.

In translating literature from one language to another in general, it is important to convey not only the literal meaning of the story, but the culture, dialogue, thought flow, and essence of the characters being conveyed in a way that makes literal and emotional sense to the reader who experiences the world through the lens of another language.

Because Russia holds such an extra layer of foreign mystery to Westerners, cultural conveyance is of even more import.

Russians (and of course, subsequently, their language) are very direct in their everyday conversations. They say exactly what is needed, often coming across as harsh or rude to the smiley, overly polite English-speaking world that values socially manicured manners and friendlyness above all else. 

 

 

So who does this best? The contemporary husband and wife team of Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky are considered by many scholars to be the gold standard of Russian Literature in English translation. Not only in the prose (which is *ga ga ga gorgeous*) but crucially, in the dialogue. Also crucial is the footnotes. Their footnotes explain EVERYTHING you could ever want to know about what you are reading in a comprehensive but concise way. 

[Two little] CONS:
The bummer about many of Penguin Classics editions (that Pevar and Volokhonsky publish with)? --
1. the font is so tiny you could totally get an ocular migraine.
2. The covers...? The American covers anyway are ...  not inspired. And the saying be hang, judging a book by its cover is fine be me because book covers matter.

The Talkback: An Epilogue

 Epilogue: *

 * "It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue..."
— William Shakespeare

1. This clearly touched a nerve.

I'm vaguely in awe of the enormous response to my post regarding the talk back. The shared outrage and anger surprised and moved me. I'm not certain why— but perhaps it's because in my "Other" roles I so often feel left hanging so I didn't expect such support. 

 

But genuinely? 

None more so than as a woman.
We don't allow women to speak. 

And when we do, we don't listen very well, or at all.

2. Compassion first

 I want to acknowledge that these older men (one declared himself to be Jewish — the other spoke with the authority of someone who identified as Jewish) seemed to be in a lot of pain.
And you know what?
I get it.
I respect their pain.
In some ways I share it.

I share the pain of a human being with a few "Other" status' (like billions of humans) who thought they had not merely the hope but the firm belief that the arm of history was moving in the direction of a more compassionate, loving world. When they look around, I imagine these men see shadows of things they assumed were long gone, and feel despair.

And something I have that they do not? Is more time. They have less time on earth to see the world course correct. And it brings them grief and outrage and fear and hopelessness that everything they've devoted their lives to is evaporating.

I have more time to change the world than they do.
I understand.
If they had given me a chance, I would have validated their pain.

 

3. Demand no "pound of flesh"

 

Their valid pain? Is no excuse for further pain.
 

And the almost breathtaking irony is that this is the precise larger theme of The Merchant of Venice.
 

Oppression can warp us, if we allow it. And hurt people hurt people.

We must rise above our personal and collective agonies and demand no “pound of flesh”— no matter how
"justified." We must heal ourselves and our communities so that we cause no further harm — micro and macro.
 

May the bringing of peace begin within the quietness of our own souls.

 

 

 

The Talkback: Part 2

This piece is a more detailed account of a specific negative talk-back that occurred, and is continuation from more universal theatre talk back experiences. For those thoughts, Part 1: is HERE.

Helpful background

 

Now, as for what happened tonight after The Merchant of Venice. The producers advertised this particular evening as "Pride Night—" and welcomed the audience to stay to discuss the themes of "Othering" in society, the play itself and in our production. 

 

For those who may not be familiar with the piece, a quick background: 

The Merchant of Venice is a play written around 1594 by William Shakespeare and listed as a "comedy." The play centers around three main protagonists who are all "Others" in the hetero-normative, Christian, male society of Venice: Antonio is a queer man, Portia is a woman, and Shylock is a Jew. The play has long been considered extremely controversial for the portrayal and ultimate fate of it's "comic villain" Shylock-- who goes after the Christian Antonio (whom he despises for his blatant bigotry of Jews) in court when he fails to meet their iron-clad money-lending agreement promising that should Antonio fail to meet the terms, Shylock may exact "a pound of flesh" from Antonio, ostensibly killing him (for he has Antonio's heart in mind). 

Yet, despite Shylock's legal "correctness," Portia—dressed as a man and serving as the loophole-finding lawyer for the case—Antonio is spared, and ultimately stripped of his property and life, only to be saved in the end if he agrees to give up all his worldly goods and, of course, be converted to Christianity. 

 

My take: Honestly? It is a play about some rather horrible people doing some truly horrible things. And along the way there are some great laughs, fun subplots, and some of Shakespeare's most iconic and beautiful poetry and prose.  

 

In short: it's complicated.

Our Production

Now MoV has much more than Jewish themes— it also has the othering of women and LGBTQ+ people. Not to mention the total lambasting of countless nationalities and cultures in the smaller parts of the original text. 

Our production—for better or for worse, not my call—eliminated the queer themes utterly, which I felt was a missed opportunity. It also largely diminished my role as Portia and did little to illuminate her lack of agency, her blinding intelligence, her loneliness and really any redeemable part of her humanity. (I hear you asking and yes, sure: it wasn't my favorite take on this play, and not my favorite acting experience, but I'm not in charge. That's the deal we sign as actors! Sometimes an actor has to trust, commit fully to a director's vision as an instrument of and extension of their artistic expression and suppress one's own preconceived notions and ideas. That's the gig. And globally: I applaud anyone for taking a bold "swing" and really trying something). 

 

With these two arms of the triumvirate diminished, our production did, however, focus almost exclusively on Shylock: on ancient and contemporary Antisemitic tropes, on the way we treated Jews then, and continue to today.

Tonight

After the show, we sit down, a moderator is present and highly qualified to speak on the subject of the evening, but does not have journalistic credits. They do not set any ground rules, they do not create a "container" for how this is going to go. I am immediately concerned because the subject matter is so intense, and it is obvious that audience members are experiencing high emotions.

 

An older man took up an enormous amount of airtime speaking for over 5 minutes about his background as a Eastern European Jewish immigrant, then proceeded to express his "disappointment and outrage" at our production. He used inflammatory language. He was clearly angry and directing a great deal of his anger in my direction.

 

I interrupted him (as politely as possible) in minute 5, noting that no one else—not the moderator nor the producer—was putting an end to a speech that was clearly going off course. I stated calmly that I "didn't hear a question." He replied, impassioned: 

 

"How can you do this?"  

It went downhill quickly from there. 

 

I won't get in to the minutia of his words, I will ask you to trust that this was not a conversation, and his comments and his tone were inappropriate.  His feelings are of course, valid, but there is an appropriate  audience, time, place and manner in which to express them.  And my feelings were valid: it was perfectly reasonable to become defensive when asked—as an actor—to personally "defend" a production I did not direct or produce.

 

It needed to be shut down long before it was dealt with. And there was no need for it to ever arrive at such a confrontational place to begin with, had infrastructure been in place.

 

I will own my part: I became defensive, in my fear and anger I "puffed:" I rattled off facts, figures and basically barfed the encyclopedia at on onto these men— to prove something. My intelligence, my worthiness of respect; to show that they had underestimated and belittled me? I don't know exactly. I'm still figuring it out in the aftermath. I was also defending myself because I felt unsafe! No one was stepping in and meaningfully coming to our aid! I was terrified that there was no infrastructure in place from our moderator or producers to help the exposed actors navigate this moment. As the conflict escalated, both ushers and audience members left. 

But where the conversation turned ugly for me was when this man, and another older man sitting beside him (also outraged) vociferously attempted to "teach" me—not the men—about Jewish history. They spoke directly to me, looked me in the eyes and used demeaning language to do so. I believe used tone and language that insinuated that I was too young, too goyishe, and too female to possibly understand the nuances of 5000 years of Jew-hatred.

So, allow me to be clear, gentlemen:

1. I am Jewish.

I understand that I may not "look Jewish" you.
Your assumption of my exclusion says more about you than it does about me.

2. Yes, I am a woman. 

I understand that 10 minutes ago, I was dressed in nothing more than a pink bikini (and looking ravishing-by the way) and that possibly leads you to believe that I am an intellectual lightweight whose beauty is her only asset. But my attractive, apparently "youthful," hyper feminine woman-ness makes me NO less capable of academic rigor, dramaturgy, context, nuance, curiosity, or for a deep and secure grasp upon my Peoples' history, Theatrical history and of history itself.
 

Just because I am a beautiful woman does not mean I am a stupid one.

Do not assume that you "must" "TEACH ME" anything. (Yes, sir, I am speaking to you who felt it necessary to teach me about The Rothschilds in front of an audience.)

3. Censorship is a society-killer. 

Also? Yes, this play is officially a "comedy" and yes, it is problematic. But to quote Professor James Shapiro author of "Shakespeare and The Jews"

“I have tried to show that much of the play's vitality can be attributed to the ways in which it scrapes against a bedrock of beliefs about the racial, national, sexual, and religious difference of others. I can think of no other literary work that does so as unrelentingly and as honestly. To avert our gaze from what the play reveals about the relationship between cultural myths and peoples' identities will not make irrational and exclusionary attitudes disappear. Indeed, these darker impulses remain so elusive, so hard to identify in the normal course of things, that only in instances like productions of this play do we get to glimpse these cultural fault lines. This is why censoring the play is always more dangerous than staging it.”

In essence: we must be willing to see.
Censorship in art achieves nothing.

 

4. Producers and Moderators, please protect your actors and creatives. 

This is a professional engagement. We might love our work, but a labor of love is still labor. And our time, safety and dignity should be respected by implementing safeguards before and during audience engagements. It is respectful. To all.

5. Never assume: onstage and off. 

Finally, this talk-back revealed through it's "failure" precisely the reason we were gathered:
The assumptions we make about Others based on a myriad of preconceived beliefs, prejudices and assumptions. I—like millions—exist at the cross-section of many identities. None of them should be questioned, tested, proven, explained or even educated-about against my consent. Particularly in a public forum.

We are, all of us, capable of prejudice, bigotry, rage and hatred.

Equally, we are, all of us, capable of great compassion, empathy, curiosity and courage.
I welcome you to—whenever possible- align yourself with the latter.

Take care of yourselves, your communities and one another.
And to all a good night.

The Talkback: Part 1

Me V. Outraged Guy

Just left a horrendous talk-back held after the show Off Broadway down at Classic Stage working on The Merchant of Venice.  I wanted to take this opportunity to comment on a few of the subjects that came up in this particularly activating evening. 

 

1. Etiquette

There is a proper and improper way to engage with artists, (and I propose that audiences and theatre producers would be wise to hear our experiences.)

 

2. Be Responsible for Yourself

We must take responsibility for the energy we bring into any room, conversation and/or encounter. 

3. Sometimes Things Get Tough

The Merchant of Venice is a complicated play that brings up a tsunami of unprocessed emotions for many, (particularly when the political landscape exacerbates them.)

 

 

So before I dig in, here are a few PSAs to say off the bat: 

This has been an already difficult week/month/year at work, and this blog has never been a place where I drag, name and shame, or gossip, so I won't start now. Suffice it to say: it was. I'm learning a lot. I'm grateful for the lessons.

 

The Merchant of Venice is a very confrontational piece of theatre that brings up a lot of feelings for people, regardless of the production. 

The theatre-going audience must know that there is a proper and improper way to engage with artists, and producers and even managers need to know that those rules must be communicated clearly by them when they allow audiences to engage with artists. 

We do not allow audiences to enter the orchestra and start playing the priceless instruments.
We don’t allow them to walk around or climb on the sets.
Audiences do not try on costumes, or mess with the sound or lighting boards. 

And yet, over and over again they are permitted and even encouraged to assume authority over the actors and their art. The more we allow these mores to persist, the more respect and courtesy will break down on both sides of the footlights.

 

These observations are ones I have collected over nearly 20 years in show business; they are not exclusive to MoV, though this was a particularly repugnant example of a talk-back gone awry for reasons I am happy to articulate, many of which are entirely universal:

 

1. This talk-back—for the creatives—is voluntary and unpaid. 

If you ever attend a talk back post show, no matter your opinion of the work or the piece, keep in mind that actors and creatives giving of their time after work is "extra," and you are not "owed" anything beyond the show you just witnessed. 

 

2. Respect the labor. 

Actors (in particular) have just done something incredibly vulnerable — we've bared our souls to the public in the name of art and social reflection, and one would be wise to take care with how you address and comment upon every aspect of the work. Creatives are human beings with intelligence, life experience and feelings. 

3. Focus on questions. 

That means phrases between 1-3 sentences that ALWAYS end with a question mark. A talk-back is not the time to give the actors or creatives a review, unburden your personal history, pain, or outrage. A talk-back, is, at its core, a Question and Answer session. It is not an opportunity for you to unload or unleash your unprocessed thoughts and emotions. In the age of social media where everyone's opinion (however unqualified or biased) is given similar credence, sometimes we can falsely assume that our sharing our opinions and reviews are legitimate and welcome. Questions, always welcome. Within reason, bring me to...

 

4. Actors and Creatives may decline to answer. 

Actors and creatives always have a right to decline to answer questions or comments that make them uncomfortable or are inappropriate. That includes questions or comments about their personal lives, as well as questions regarding defense of their roles or the production. Actors are only a PART of a production.  Further, actors and creatives take jobs for many reasons, and can't always "speak to" let alone "defend" every aspect of a production — not that that is owed to you anyway. 

 

If you ask a question in a respectful way, it is acceptable to ask a director to offer their ideas/visions for the production, but please decline to review it or offer your opinion unless expressly engaged to do so. 

 

5. Be mindful of the space you occupy and share "airtime" with everyone. 

If you MUST offer a comment, keep it extremely brief, and be mindful that the people on stage owe you no explanations and are human beings with intelligence, life experience and feelings. 

 

6. There should always be an experienced moderator  

An experienced moderator should always be present to set ground rules and keep the conversation respectful, safe, and engaging for all. In an ideal scenario this should be a trained interviewer with journalistic training, preferably with expertise in the arts or the subject the piece of theatre addresses. A producer serving as moderator, or a person with experience in the topic, but not experienced managing Q&As, is not an acceptable or safe situation to put your Actors or Creatives in. Without a professional managing this process, it can be dangerous. The role of a professional moderator is akin to an intimacy coordinator’s. There must be professional representation when intimate contact is required.

*

No F*cks!

Pardon my verbosity about something possibly “silly” to the outside world.

But indulge me for a sec. LOOK. Here I am:

- a woman
- [semi] alive in the 21st century
- with a disordered eating and body-dysmorphia history
- covered in scars from 4 life-saving bowel surgeries
- and FORTY-ONE FREAKING years old
- in a BIKINI
- on STAGE
- in NYC
- doing simulated S&M
- with a man 1000% hotter than me. 

with José Espinosa, photo by @antonovpavlun

Even 5 years ago me would be in total shock, and probably require a defibrillator.

No one might assume this of me ("body issues") but— ya know, we all have our histories. My body is one I’ve hated, tried to save, tried to love, and in the end? It is the only vehicle I shall ever have to experience this life. I'm proud that I said "yes" to wearing/doing this with very little internal or external drama (a shoulder shrug and a “sure!”) and no desire to hide the surgical scars or meaningfully cover the “flaws.”

All to say — I might be making a massive fool of myself strutting around onstage in a hot pink bikini — but internally? It’s genuinely a big victory cultivated over years of internal work.

Life’s a journey, kids.
Well, actually it is many— and one of my journeys has been of personal acceptance, surrender, recovering-perfectionism and general self-worth stuff in regard to my internal self and physical form. And I’m sharing this sappy stuff with you because if that is a journey you are on, as well? You’re not alone and there is hope. I never thought [gestures above] all this would be possible and … it is.

So. One day you too might make a fool of yourself in public in a 'proverbial bikini' but know that it is also a huge victory for you.

Life is precious and short and worthy of celebration and laughter. 

So put on whatever "the  bikini" is for you and thrive, pals.

 here I am saying "Yes way, José!"

Race you

@James.T.Murray

Back to 'I Wish' after a year away! 

 

There were postponements, and too-many-jobs, and travels, and health battles won for two of our team! And in the end? What a joy to gather together once more and celebrate at 54 Below. I feel so especially grateful to gather together in health and wellness in the presence of Drew Wutke post-liver-transplant-miracle-man, and post-4th-bowel-surgery me. We are here!

 

This was our 10th I Wish (since the first one in 2018), and I struggled a little with what to sing. So many of my "wish" moments have been realized—in true productions, or within this glorious series. I had to think outside-the-box. And that often requires me to dig a little deeper...

*

 

In truth, what's been on my mind lately has been personal (and I hate that it currently feels political as well...). 

I don't discuss it here. 

At least I never have. 

The subject feels like a phantom, a shadow of sorrow too tender to give credence to. 

Giving it shape in words feels dangerous, unwieldy; too fully formed for a phantom. 

Best let it haunt me.

I've left it not unexplored, but certainly un-uttered. 

 

And what is this? Well. It is the fact that I will possibly never raise children, and certainly not give birth to them, biologically. 

It's been on my mind since roughly 2015, when I was first diagnosed with UC. At the time I was just 32, chronically-sick-as-a-dog with no solutions in sight, not dating anyone seriously, and honestly I was so preoccupied with every kind of surviving that I honestly hadn't even thought about kids. I was never one of those women that had always dreamed of pregnancy or of parenting; I presumed the thoughts and sensations would present themselves organically...  

 

Then one day, after a few failed attempted medical solutions, I was presented with an option: a very intense drug that worked for many people in helping quell ulcerative colitis. It worked for many, but was essentially chemotherapy in pill form. It could be magic bullet. It works for thousands of people, they said. But: it would forever compromise my fertility. I needed to give it some thought.

 

I did. My thoughts were that my options were slim and growing slimmer. 

I did my due diligence and explored every corner of why people have children, what pregnancy meant or didn't mean to me, what mothering, parenting, legacy, biology... In the modern day, we truly have children for so many reasons. I figured none of these thoughts were going to do me or a child any good if I wasn't here, or well enough to care for either of us. 

I went for it. 

And in the end? The drug did not work for me. 

. . .

 

I'm not usually lost for words, but the sense of loss was palpable. 

 

Yet, this was one of the countless things I didn't (couldn't?) manage to cry tears about. Something about it felt self-indulgent. I went about with the regular unhinged programming of shoving it ever-downward in to my already sabotaged viscera! Keeping medical secrets from a Broadway company and presenting myself as Healthy Al. Nothing to see here. I haven't eaten solids or slept in weeks, I am on more steroids than a Soviet dead lifter, but everything is fine. I gave no further meaningful thought that year to the children I'd never have—Who had the time? After all, they were a figment, a not-to-be-hoped-for addition. And I was focusing on the "lucky-to-be-alive" part. At the time I had no partner to raise them with (something I insisted upon, when my imaginative musings drifted toward parenting), a chaotic schedule as an actor, with a volatile income, distant family infrastructure geographically far away. None of it seemed reasonable. Possible. Or above all: like something I was even "allowed to want."

 

By 2021 my surgery further solidified the story of a life without biological children. The scar tissue from the surgery would settle around my reproductive organs, and would mean IVF was the only option for pregnancy with anyone's eggs.  

 

My surgeon was compassionate. 

All his fellow associates and nurses too. 

I signed 100 consent forms. 

They checked and asked me over and over again—including moments just before the surgery itself—if I was "sure." 

And when I said I was, my wonderful, taciturn-but-compassionate surgeon took a vulnerable leap and in a near-whisper, reminded me of a personal truth: that I had grown up with a sick parent. 

He was right. 

He reminded me that not merely my father's death, but my father's illness had been a source of tremendous pain. He wanted me to know that, for the record: he felt the choice I was making right now—to get well—set me up to be the best person I could for everyone I currently served in my life. And that was also true for anyone I welcome in to my family, in any manner, going forward. 

 

I knew he was right.

 

 

Still. I went from an "I Don't Know If I Want" to a "Can't Have," within hours. The sense of grief has been unutterable. What began as a vibration became a whisper which became a roar, and over time it has only grown louder. So many of my close friends elected to have children and I delight in their happiness and expansion as human beings. But yes, it aches.

Over the years the feelings have evolved. I met Alec—younger than I and likely not even courting the concept of children when we started dating. The greatest tragedy feels like robbing him of being a father, biologically so, without a lot of say in the matter. But we both understood what we were walking in to as we continued to commit to one another.  

Then JD V*ance started going on and on (and on) about "childless cat ladies." About "biological responsibility" and the selfishness of a woman who does not physically bear her own children for the generations to come. Again, there just weren't words to describe the experience of hearing that from an elected official, after everything. 

I don't know that I'll ever have the words.

 

*

So with all this at the top of my mind in recent days, I turn to the best discussion of grief, parents and children and healing I know: The Secret Garden.

  

The story is about a family ravaged by illness and grief, that discover the ultimate healing exists within nature—all symbolized by a near-dead garden returning to life. 

It’s also a story about parents and children…
 

In this song, Archibald Craven— unable to parent his son Colin because of the enormity of his grief, visits him as he sleeps and tells him an ongoing, bedtime fairy-story.
 

I know a lot about the themes of this story. (I once wrote about them, here)  In so many ways I identify with the children— growing up with parents, lost— to death and to grief.  But as I age I come to see myself in the adults too. And as so many parents are quick to remind me— I am not a parent. Yes, believe it or not, I am keenly aware that I don’t have first hand experience with raising children because I don’t have any of my own.

 

But sometimes? 

Dear Gd. 

How 'I wish,' I did.