He was in my very first high school class, a wiry, little guy behind a lectern, with gravity-defying hair and feverish-looking eyes. He wasn’t much taller than the lectern and it probably weighed more than he did. The stranger stared at us briefly before introducing himself as Mr. S___, taking the roll and passing out Literature text books. “Another first-year teacher,” I thought with dismay,”this cla...
Families are such funny things. Find a man in his late thirties or early forties surrounded by his kids. Around them, he is the paterfamilias. The Father. The Ultimate Authority (besides Mom). Now transfer him to his family of origin and watch him interact with them. There he’s not recognized as a dad but as a brother or child and the definition has an effect on his personality. His air of autho...
The relationship between writers and readers is an odd one. The writer sits in a garret (or on the top of Mount Parnassus, depending on your point of view) and labors to create a work of lasting value. If it’s good enough and all the stars align, the readers let the work of an author’s imagination into their own and reward the author with praise, treasure and enough allegiance to read writer’s next story, as long...
There’s a moment in Alan Bennett’s play, The History Boys when an exasperated (female) teacher declares: “History is a commentary on the various and continuing incapabilities of men. What is history? History is women following behind…with a bucket.” The Cover I can’t help but wonder if Jane Hardstaff had this quote in mind when she wrote her excellent children’s novel, The...
We’re coming to the end of another election season and, like almost everyone on the planet, I’m glad this miserable contest is almost over. The mud-slinging, innuendo, and overall nastiness of political rhetoric have made this a loathsome campaign year and the parade of contradictory polls is exhausting me. But I will vote on Tuesday, as I have in every election. I can’t help it. I was politiciz...