Archives for February 2006

If anyone reading this blog knows an especially good restaurant in Cape May, New Jersey, kindly send me an e-mail containing mouthwatering details.

Much obliged!

Yes, it’s Friday. Yes, I’m in The Wall Street Journal. No, I’m not in New York–OGIC is posting the weekly drama-column teaser in my absence, bless her! Two shows this week, one in New York (Charles Grodin’s The Right Kind of People) and one in Chicago (Chicago Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing). Here goes:

Reality-based theater–what I call theatrical journalism–comes in flavors ranging from the poetic (“Henry V”) to the pedestrian (“Guant

“If there should be no art it would be impossible that we should know what the other feels.”

Moriz Rosenthal, speech at a gala concert in honor of his eightieth birthday (1942)

Apropos of my Patrick O’Brian dilemma (skip down a few posts), the inimitable Outer Life writes:

As for O’Brian, I strongly counsel against picking up the books. I
have no innate interest in naval stories, little interest in historical novels qua historical novels, a terror of allowing an author to snare me in a 10,000 page trap and, frankly, too many other authors to read in too little time, so you can imagine how I felt ten years ago as he sucked me into his world, forcing me to devour every one of his novels, together with a history of Nelson’s navy and a nautical dictionary, and left me begging for more up to the day he died.

The first book, “Master and Commander,” has nothing to do with the movie of the same title. Looking back, it is probably the weakest book of the lot. The second book, “Post Captain,” containing O’Brian’s extended homage to Austen, is, perhaps, the strongest book. It hooked me. Then there’s the book in which nothing happens, they just drift aimlessly in the doldrums. For some reason, that was a great book too. And then….

So BEWARE! Learn from my mistake. Don’t let this happen to you.

Yes, it sounds like an awful fate. Well, as I said, the leaning tower of Aubrey is in Michigan, where I won’t be until March, and I have books to read for reviewing purposes in the immediate future. Have to say, though, the rapidly proliferating piles of unread books around here are starting to haunt me. Later in our conversation, OL reminded me of a post I wrote long ago about the seriously depressing business of calculating, based on age and reading speed and habits, how many more books one can reasonably expect to read in one’s lifetime. I can’t put my hands on the post just now, but that’s fine because it’s a sobering enough thought in hazy memory.

The interesting question we eventually wound our way to was this: what percentage of that terribly finite amount of reading do you feel should be earmarked for incontestably Great books, and what percentage of fluff–elegant, witty, and delightful fluff, needless to say–are you comfortable including? I’m thinking a full 50%. But I have another wrench to throw into the machinery: how many of your 200 or 500 or 1,000 books will be books you’ve already read? For most of us, I’m guessing, this will be a non-negligible number.

Which just makes me wonder: why don’t I clear some space for myself in here already? If I’m honest with myself, many of these books are never going to transcend their present status as baubles. I think my psychology runs this way: at any given moment I may be struck by the urge to read a particular book or a particular kind of book, and I want to have all possible options at hand when that urge strikes. While most readers are constantly at work trying to whittle down their to-be-read piles, I think I am half-consciously but nonetheless deliberately trying to build mine up. And succeeding. The problem is that, in the face of such vast possibility, it’s easy to buckle under the pressure of having to choose–to read a few pages here, a few pages there, and to be distracted by the presence of other possibilities even after settling in with something. This, I think, is known as promiscuity, and is why I could probably use a good series to temporarily remove the burden of choice.

Here’s my list of recommended Broadway and off-Broadway shows, updated weekly. In all cases, I either gave these shows strongly favorable reviews in The Wall Street Journal when they opened or saw and liked them some time in the past year (or both). For more information, click on the title.

Warning: Broadway shows marked with an asterisk were sold out, or nearly so, last week.

BROADWAY:

– Avenue Q* (musical, R, adult subject matter, strong language, one show-stopping scene of puppet-on-puppet sex, reviewed here)

– Bridge & Tunnel (solo show, PG, some adult subject matter and strong language, reviewed here, closes Mar. 12)

– Chicago (musical, R, adult subject matter, sexual content, fairly strong language)

– Doubt (drama, PG-13, adult subject matter, implicit sexual content, reviewed here)

– The Light in the Piazza (musical, PG-13, adult subject matter and a brief bedroom scene, closes July 2, reviewed here)

– Sweeney Todd (musical, R, adult situations, strong language, reviewed here)

– The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee* (musical, PG-13, mostly family-friendly but contains a smattering of strong language and a production number about an unwanted erection, reviewed here)

– The Woman in White (musical, PG, adult subject matter, reviewed here)

OFF BROADWAY:

– Abigail’s Party (drama, R, adult subject matter, strong language, reviewed here, closes Apr. 8)

– Slava’s Snowshow (performance art, G, child-friendly, reviewed here)

– The Trip to Bountiful (drama, G, reviewed here, closes Mar. 11)

CLOSING SOON:

– In the Continuum (drama, R, adult subject matter, extended to Feb. 18, reviewed here)

– Mrs. Warren’s Profession (drama, PG, adult subject matter, closes Feb. 19, reviewed here).

– The Woman in White (musical, PG, adult subject matter, closes Feb. 19, reviewed here)

“Those who love art and seek to understand it will always be anxious to see more, and if they are wise will look at certain objects they admire again and again. But they must avoid the sin of art greed, restrain the appetite to enjoy more than a digestible number of artistic sensations, and resist the temptation to engulf all the forms of art in their minds. In a world where beautiful and virtuous objects are numbered in the millions, the most judicious approach is to acquire a penetrative knowledge of one aspect of art, and on this basis develop a judgment which promotes a general capacity to evaluate quality. In art, a discerning if limited taste is preferable to enthusiastic voracity.”

Paul Johnson, Art: A New History

I’m writing from a secure, undisclosed location (though not my usual one) to announce that I resumed work on Hotter Than That: A Life of Louis Armstrong yesterday morning after a longish and eventful hiatus. The immediate stimulus was the recent arrival of the galleys of Thomas Brothers’ Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans, which comes out in March. I’ll be writing about it at length in a future issue of Commentary, so suffice it for now to say that it’s a very important book. No sooner did I put it down than I felt the irresistible urge to get cracking on Hotter Than That again–further proof, if it were needed, that I’m myself again.

Here’s something I wrote earlier today:

The coming of modernity not only shrank America to a manageable size, but drained away much of its romance. In an age of airports and superhighways, the Mississippi River has long since lost the symbolic resonance that Abraham Lincoln evoked in 1863 when he paid tribute to General Grant’s victory in Vicksburg by proclaiming that “the Father of Waters again goes unvexed to the sea.” The phrase, borrowed by Lincoln from James Fenimore Cooper, now has a quaint, almost fustian air. How can we who take the miracle of transoceanic flight for granted think of a mere river–even a 3,900-mile-long one that cleaves the country from top to bottom–as the Father of Waters? Those who live near the banks of the Mississippi need no reminding of the fearful extent of its dammed-up wrath, but for most of the rest of us, it is not a destination but a landmark, something to be flown over or driven across on the way from one megalopolis to another….

Now it’s back into the barrel again. See you later!

P.S. I’ve been having such a good time that I forgot to post the Thursday almanac and theater guide before going to bed last night. Scroll down and you’ll find them in their usual places.

I’m using a dial-up connection this week, which makes it all but impossible to answer my blogmail, though I can read it with a little effort. To all of you who sent greetings on my fiftieth birthday, rest assured that they’re much appreciated! And to all of you who pointed out that I’m now entering my sixth decade, not my fifth…well, er, I never said I could count.

Back to work again.