Falling: The Rocks by Peter Nichols

mallorca

Have you ever thought that life would all make sense when you got to the end of it and looked back? Have you identified those moments, decisions, actions in which life changed course immediately? The Rocks, Peter Nichols’ second novel, raised these questions in my mind but didn’t answer them reassuringly. It did, however, give me a very enjoyable read.

When the book opens, it is 2005 and long-divorced couple Lulu and Gerald have encountered one another for the third time in the sixty years since their disastrous honeymoon, despite being two ex-patriot Brits living on the same small Spanish Island. The chance meeting at a local market, ends on the road to Lulu’s resort hotel, the Rocks.

Mallorca coast. Photo credit Pixabay.com

Mallorca coast. Photo credit Pixabay.com

[Gerald] caught up with Lulu just outside the Rocks. He grabbed her arm again with strength field by rage, and spun her round.

“You never — he stared, with a smoker’s bulling growl, but his chest was empty of air, heaving spasmodically.

Again, Lulu shook off his grip. But she was surprised and immensely pleased to see the effort Gerald had made, how overwrought, breathless, and unwell he was. It occurred to her that with just a nudge, he might easily die of a heart attack right in front of her. “You’re pathetic, Gerald. An empty, hobbling husk of a man.” A flame of old anger rose in her. “You’re a belter! A miserable, wretched shit of a fucking —

You never developed the film! Did you!” The furious, strangled world erupted wetly out of Gerald’s chest, his body pitching forward. “I lured them away! Do you understand? I got them away ! I — ” His blue-and-gray glistening face thrust into hers, but he had no more breath.

The encounter ends, shall we say, badly and without further explanation. Over the course of the next several hundred pages, Nichols leads the reader back in time through the lives of Gerald and Lulu, Gerald’s daughter Aegina and her child Charlie, Lulu’s son Luc and his frustrated careers, and illuminates motivations, temptations, sins, and omissions in reverse. The Rocks drops the reader into 2005, 1995, 1983, 1970, 1966, 1956, 1951, until, finally, we reach the beginning in 1948, and the revelation of what happened on Gerald and Lulu’s honeymoon voyage.

It reminded me a bit of one of my favorite novels of the last few years, Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter, reviewed here: https://daeandwrite.wordpress.com/2014/08/17/simply-beautiful-beautiful-ruins-by-jess-walter/.

Emma Straub’s 2014 novel The Vacationers, https://daeandwrite.wordpress.com/2014/08/29/the-vacationers-by-emma-straub/ is also set during a disintegrating family’s vacation on Mallorca, but other than setting has little in common with The Rocks. 

Gerald Rutledge, my favorite character of the book, has devoted his life to three things: repeating Odysseus’ voyage and

John William Waterhouse, 1891

John William Waterhouse, 1891

finding the actual locations of incidents in The Odyssey; raising his daughter Aegina; and working and preserving his own little bit of Mallorcan paradise with its olive groves and lemon trees. Lulu, conversely, I didn’t like at all. She devotes her entire life, seemingly, to scheming revenges, neglecting her child, and plotting sexual pairings.

Kate Christensen, reviewer for the New York Times Book Review, read Nichols’ memoir Sea Change.

As I read, I had a series of “aha!” moments; the parallels between Nichols’s own life and marriage and those of his fictional characters were deeply satisfying to uncover. Nichols, like his character Luc, grew up partially on Mallorca, the son of divorced parents. Like the novel’s secondary lovers, Luc and Aegina, Nichols and his ex-wife met as children on the island, and their own romance failed, in part, because of their inability to transcend their childhood knowledge of each other and ­become adults together. The memoir, like the ­novel, contains a precipitous nautical elopement, dope smuggling in Morocco and a young wife held hostage by pirates. People getting into trouble, both on boats and in marriages, might be said to be the common theme between the two books.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/24/books/review/the-rocks-by-peter-nichols.html

I very much enjoyed The Rocks. The themes of regret, misunderstanding, romantic love and adventure will be excellent fodder for your book club’s discussion.

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On board Szabo’s yacht, a luxurious menu is served.

Two young crewmen appeared with bowls of salad. They poured wine for each of the guests. . . . the plates were handed out: cold grilled quail with a reduced fig sauce, tiny warm new potatoes, avocado halves filled with pomegranate seeds, plates of toast with pate de foie gras.

Gerald’s own menu is much simpler: “Aegina had made the tumbet she had learned from her mother: a Mallorcan dish full of aubergines, tomatoes, onion, garlic, goat cheese, and olives from Gerald’s trees.”

This recipe for Mallorcan Tumbet fromSpanish Sabores blog looks like the genuine article:  http://spanishsabores.com/2013/09/15/mallorcan-tumbet-recipe/

MUSIC

Aegina listens to her father’s favorite records while painting. Those mentioned, pastoral music of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century English composers, are: “Vaughan Williams, Elgar, Butterworth, Holst, Finzi, Alwyn, Bantock, Parry, Bridge, Delius, Moeran.”

iTunes has a $7.99 album of Elgar’s music. Elgar: Enigma Variations, Introduction & Allegro. Spotify has an English Song Series by Butterworth you could play for free.

MOVIE CASTINGthe rocks

Gerald – Benedict Cumberbatch

Lulu – Emily Blunt

Luc – Jamie Bell

Aegina – Oona Chaplin

Happy Reading & Eating!

Easy links for purchase:

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We Are Family: Reunion by Hannah Pittard

brother and sis

No one knows how to punch a button better than a sibling. Whether it’s referring to the younger sister as “Pooh,” her hated childhood nickname, or reminding the know-it-all older brother how he failed Calculus thirty years ago, siblings have a knack being a best friend, sometimes an only friend, and worst enemy. In Hannah Pittard’s second novel Reunion, the Pulaski siblings are alternately all of these and more to one another.

Kate Pulaski is flying home, stranded on the tarmac waiting for a storm to pass so she can get home to her estranged husband. She’s trying to figure out if her affair was a cause or a result of problems in her marriage and what exactly she does and does not want to do about it. She gets a message telling her that her father has died. The message, a voice mail, happens to be on speaker phone and Kate as well as all those in hearing distance hear older brother Elliott Pulaski tell his sister that their father has walked onto his porch in Atlanta and shot himself in the head. Then, he orders her to come home.

Delta Airlines vintage advertisement

Delta Airlines vintage advertisement

Home . . . in Atlanta . . . Kate, Elliott and Nell, the three siblings of Frank Pulaski and his first wife, must confront the succeeding four wives and each of their progeny. It’s failing screenwriter Kate’s worst nightmare: she hates all of the wives, is keeping the secrets of her impending divorce and financial crisis secret from her full siblings and would rather never see again any of the half siblings all while confronting her emotions about her father’s death . . . and life.

Reunion ups the ante on your normal holiday get-togethers by adding death and an inordinate number of spouses and siblings. But Hannah Pittard pinpoints with heartbreaking specificity the underlying crucible of drama, superiority, inferiority, love, hate, judgment, forgiveness and understanding — those elements which underlie both the smallest family holiday and the circus of Reunion.

I had the pleasure of participating in a two-day workshop led by Hannah, a professor at the University of Kentucky, during the Kentucky Women Writers’ Conference last month and thoroughly enjoyed her class, the women writers I met in it, and Hannah herself. That’s not why I read Reunion though. Hannah’s first novel, The Fates Will Find Their Way, was one of the most compelling novels I read last summer. https://daeandwrite.wordpress.com/2015/06/26/shes-gone-the-fates-will-find-their-way-by-hannah-pittard-and-everything-i-never-told-you-by-celeste-ng/ And I look forward to reading Listen to Me and Atlanta, 1962 which should be coming out soon.

Reunion was named a Millions‘ Most Anticipated Book, a Chicago Tribune Editor’s Choice, a BuzzFeed Top-5 Great Book, a Best New Book by People Magazine, a Top-10 Read by Bustle Magazine and LibraryReads, a Must-Read by TimeOut Chicago, and a Hot New Novel by Good Housekeeping.  Kirkus Reviews called it “well-written, with a clear narrative voice.” https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/hannah-pittard/reunion-pittard/

Anyone who has ever wanted to use a sibling as a dart board will love it.

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There are several scenes of cooking. Southern family and funeral, food is inevitable. I asked Hannah what she would suggest and here’s her answer:

Hannah Pittard

Hannah Pittard

I imagine the meal the characters are cooking the second night in Atlanta (when Nell’s in the tank top and jean shorts) to be some sort of tomato-y Italian deliciousness. Eggplant parmesan? Lasagne? Something filling and family-style. You know? My husband is the chef in this house, otherwise I’d provide a recipe!

What I can give you is the recipe for a super stiff, super fresh, super dry margarita, which is my go-to drink while writing or when watching my husband cook us dinner.
Per drink, here’s the recipe. Super simple:
2 ounces tequila (I love Milagro silver)
1 ounce fresh lime
just shy one half ounce Pierre Ferrande Dry Curacao
Fill a shaker with the above ingredients and tons of ice; shake the sh*t out of it; serve over ice with a fresh lime. Don’t bother cleaning anything because you’ll be making seconds before you know it!

Whenever there was a death in my family, a casserole or two would fill the bill.

MUSIC

Hannah provided me with her playlist created for the LargeHearted Boy music blog: lhbhttp://www.largeheartedboy.com/blog/archive/2014/10/book_notes_hann_3.html

What I love about this exercise is that it asks me to do what I’m almost always doing in my head at any given moment of the day. As I kid, I was such a romantic. I desperately wanted to live my life inside a John Hughes movie. I didn’t just want the happy ending. I wanted the heartache that led up to the happy ending. The closest I could come to living inside a movie was through music. Even when it wasn’t playing, I pretended it was. And often — this is embarrassing, but… — often I’d even pretend there was a camera on me. So while my parents might have been minding their own business – sitting in the front seat on a drive across town to eat Chinese, say – I was probably in the back seat, imagining what I looked like on screen to all of my viewers and imagining also what mournful (always mournful) song they might be listening to as I went on with my listless life. In many ways, I’ve been waiting to be asked for this playlist since the day I hit puberty.

“The Only Living Boy in New York” – Simon & Garfunkel

This might seem like an obvious pick because the song is about a plane ride, and my book begins on a plane, but it’s also the perfect opener 1) because of the tone (a magical combination of hope and despair) and 2) because it’s the song I’ve listened to the most number of times in my life, on planes and off them. It’s a song that feels both like the beginning and the end. And because http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0989360466/ref=nosim/largeheartedb-20″>Reunion is my most autobiographical novel (side note: I have never cheated on my husband, but I have been in epic credit card debt), I am giving this song to Kate, my narrator, who, as the novel begins, is sitting on an airplane with news that her father has just committed suicide.

“Common People” – Pulp

Kate’s a mess. She’s also in debt. She and her husband have a wicked fight early on in the novel. “Common People” is my go-to song when I need to run a 7-minute mile. Kate doesn’t need to run a 7-minute mile, but after the argument, she’s filled with a similar sort of energetic rage. Since she and her husband are in public (at the airport) when the fight goes down, Kate can’t scream. But I can totally see her finding a bathroom stall, putting in her earphones, and dancing the shit out of this song afterwards.

“The Nights Too Long” – Lucinda Williams 

I’m a Lucinda Williams nut, but somehow I only recently discovered this song and, as a result, it’s been on heavy rotation in my home. It’s the story of Sylvia, who says, “I’m moving away, I’m gonna get what I want… I won’t be needing these silly dresses and nylon hose ‘cause when I get to where I’m going, I’m going to buy me all new clothes.” Sylvia is both optimistic and doleful. She is aching for life, for experience, for something bigger and better than what she has. So is Kate. (So are we all? Sometimes? Most of the time?)

“On Saturday Night” – Lyle Lovett

It’s a song about getting high with your family, which happens – in life and in this book.

“Rewrite” – Paul Simon

This song is playing as Kate drunkenly sets the table for dinner. It’s apt since she’s a failed screenwriter who might very soon be looking for work at a carwash.

“Corpus Christi Bay” – Robert Earle Keen 

This is a lugubrious, earnest snapshot of brotherhood and drunkenness. If it’s a love story, it’s a love story between two brothers: “We were bad for one another, but we were good at having fun.” http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0989360466/ref=nosim/largeheartedb-20″>Reunion is, in its way, a love story between siblings. But what makes this song so perfect is that Kate, the narrator, is pining for a time that no longer exists. Her siblings have moved on; they’ve grown up. But there’s also a clarity towards the end of the novel that Kate is moving towards. Alcohol is the least of her troubles (maybe not least?), but this song certainly hints at her nearing epiphany: “If I could live my life all over, it wouldn’t matter anyway because I never could stay sober…”

“Most of the Time” – Bob Dylan 

It’s morning, the day of the funeral, and Kate gets a phone call from her husband that she’s been both expecting and dreading. The sound of the song fits the mood of the moment beautifully, but so do the lyrics. “Most of the time she ain’t even in my mind… I don’t pretend. I don’t even care if I ever see her again. Most of the time.” Kate’s a liar who’s been trying to come clean about her feelings, but that’s a hard thing to do when you disagree with your own heart.

“Keep Me in Your Heart” – Warren Zevon

This is non-negotiable. This is the song you should play as you read the final chapter. It’s a song I can’t listen to without crying. It’s a song I can barely think of without crying. I think first – because you have to – of Warren Zevon himself. It’s his song and it’s his plea: “I’m running out of breath. Keep me in your hearts for while. If I leave you, it doesn’t mean I love you any less…” It’s so sincere, so simple, so honest. So the words are his, yes, but they’re also the words of anyone who has ever been left or who’s ever leaving or about to leave. This song captures everything Kate can’t articulate.

“Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” – Arcade Fire

Finally, because this is a book about childhood and about family and, most of all, siblings, the song that you should listen to after you finish and – if I’ve done my job – while you’re still imagining Kate, imagining those next few minutes and maybe those next few hours, especially if you stay with the idea of her long enough to envision her on the flight home, this is the song. This is definitely the song that’s playing as the plane takes off.

MOVIE CASTING

Kate — Charlize Theron

Nell — Liv Tyler

Elliott — John Corbett

Peter — Jason Seagal

reunion

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Holy Reluctance, Batman: The Patron Saint of Ugly by Marie Manilla

maid

Garnet Ferrari refuses to believe that she can heal anyone. It’s just a coincidence that all of the heartbreaks of psoriasis, pustulating epidermis, and marred acne complexions she encounters are miraculously healed. “Saint Garnet,” she of the Sweetwater, West Virginia backcountry, is not responsible. Just ask her.

Marie Manilla’s Italo-Appalachian tale, The Patron Saint of Ugly, revolves around the Catholic Church’s canonization investigation of second-generation American Garnet Ferrari and Garnet’s frantic attempts to derail the Church’s efforts.  Garnet’s high-born Virginia mother meets and marries a working class Italian, much to the chagrin of both families. Garnet, her parents and her golden brother Nicky settle in Sweetwater, West Virginia, watched over by her paternal grandmother, the formidably capable, malocchio-fighting, superhero Nonna Diamante Ferrari whose voice is a frequent interrupter of Garnet’s narrative.

Though pilgrims world-wide claim to have been healed by Garnet, she herself is disfigured as described by the Vatican’s envoy, Archbishop Gormley:

The background tone of her flesh is pale, but the birthmarks decorating her skin are varying shades of purple: deep mulberry, magenta, the faintest mauve. It looks as if someone took a map of the world, cut out continents and islands, provinces and cantons, and glued them willy-nilly on Garnet’s body. I distinctly identified Alaska on her right cheek, the Aleutians trailing over her nose; Mongolia on one shoulder; Zaire on the other; Crete on her knee; Chile on her ankle; and many others. There is a kind of beauty in her birthmarks; God’s holy design is imprinted on her skin.

map of the globe

I had the pleasure of meeting and spending the better part of a week “porch-sittin and wine-sippin” with West Virginia-born, Italian-American, author Marie Manilla at the Hindman Settlement School Writers’ Workshop last August. I had an equal pleasure in reading Marie’s glorious novel, The Patron Saint of Ugly, shortly thereafter. It’s a fairy tale, a morality tale, a novel of Southern Gothic mysticism and Italian malocchio (evil-eye) enchantment and I couldn’t recommend it more highly. It reminded me a good deal of Eudora Welty’s The Robber Bridegroom, another fantastic, tall-tale with a fascinating heroine.

fear of women

Nonna remembers when the neighbors got their first look at me. It was a fall afternoon when she and Mom tried out the new strollers.  Mom went first, pushing Nicky, with Nonna and me several paces behind. The hill women hand not seen their flaxen-haired boy in months, and they had never seen his cloistered little sister. They raced forward with offerings, their own children toddling beside them. “Where is our beautiful boy?” Gonna sputtering ptt-ptt-ptt. Next they veered toward me; Mom and Nonna hoped decorous manners would prevail.

They did not. When the women inspected me, their hands flew to their mouths. What’s wrong with her? Is she contagious?”

“Of course a-not!” Nonna said.

But the children bawled at the sight and ran home, chased by their mothers who slammed their doors, windows too, and then the drapes.

Kirkus Reviews compared it to Tristam Shandyhttps://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/marie-manilla/patron-saint-of-ugly/ As Nonna would said, “not a-bad. Not a-bad at all.”

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I emailed Marie and told her I had planned to write about The Patron Saint of Ugly and she remarkably sent me her family recipe and some background which is integral to her work . . . and fascinating as well. I am MAKING THIS this weekend!

Grandma Conchetta

Marie Manilla’s Grandma Conchetta

I dedicated the novel to my grandmother, Concetta Ferrari Lapelle Manilla. Unfortunately, she died before I was born, but the family lore is that she escaped an arranged marriage back in Sicily by selling some of the family jewels and hopping a ship to America. This made her a hero to me. Her second husband was my Calabrian grandfather, a stone mason who lived in Huntington, West Virginia, where my father was born. It’s also my hometown. Apparently Grandma was a fabulous cook who, according to Grandpa Manilla, “Could even make shit taste delicious.” My mother lived with them for about a year after she and my father married. Mom remembers Concetta making pasta by hand and draping it over the dining room chairs to dry. As soon as the men left for work and the breakfast dishes were cleared, Concetta would say in broken English: “Now it’s-a time to start cooking the supper,” which always included a side serving of pasta. Concetta never wrote any of her recipes down, so when she died, her recipes went with her—except for her spaghetti sauce, which my father used to make once a year. It was a grand and sacred production. He never wrote the recipe down either, but Mom watched him make it enough that she recounted it for me as best she could. It’s very simple, and I can still remember the smell and distinctive taste. No one has made it in its pure form since my father died in 1993, though some of us have tried, often adding additional spices and meats, though the flavor is never quite the same.

Concetta’s (and Dad’s) Spaghetti Sauce

4 pounds of beef short ribs (as opposed to pork ribs, which are more commonly used)

6 cans of Contadina Tomato Paste

Water

Salt and pepper

Brown the beef short ribs in two big spaghetti pots Add salt and pepper Add Contadina Tomato Paste Fill pots to the brim with water Simmer for two days—two days!—until the water reduces, the sauce thickens, and the meat is falling from the bones. Serve over pasta with garlic bread, a salad, and plenty of red wine.

I would serve this spaghetti sauce with good bread, several bottles of Italian red wine (http://www.winemag.com/August-2014/5-Summer-Italian-Reds/) and a lovely cheesecake for dessert.

MUSIC

Once again, Marie provided the soundtrack to her writing process which will make a fabulous soundtrack for your book club’s discussion of The Patron Saint of Ugly. Heck, it’s a fabulous soundtrack for day-to-day living as far as I’m concerned!

While I was writing the novel, the soundtrack playing in my head included Italian-American singers Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Louis Prima, Tony Bennett, and Rosemary Clooney. When I had my Patron Saint launch party I bought CDs of all of these singers. My Italian-American husband suggested I also include Italian singer, Domenico Modugno, whom his Italian grandparents adored.

Here’s a selection of particular favorites:

Frank Sinatra: “I’ve got the World on a String” (for Garnet—my globe-speckled narrator) and “Witchcraft” for Nonna’s belief in the Evil Eye and Le Strega—the witch who lives atop Garnet’s hill.

Dean Martin: “That’s Amore” and “Volare.”

Rosemary Clooney: “Come On-A My House” and “Mambo Italiano.”

Domenico Modgno: “Nel Blu Dipinto di Blu” and “O Sole Mio.”

Louis Prima: “Just a Gigolo,” “Oh Marie” (for me), and “Angelina” (for my mother-in-law).

Tony Bennett: “Stranger in Paradise” and “The Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”

MOVIE CASTING

Garnet — Emma Stone

Nonna Diamante — Christina Hendricks (Don’t get mad at me. She needs to be able to play Diamante as a young woman too!)

Dominick Ferrari — Steve Buscemi/Frankie Muniz

Angelo Ferrari — Armand Assante/Mark RuffaloPatron Saint Cover 65

La Strega — Jessica Lange

Read it. You’ll LOVE IT. Happy Reading and Eating!

 

 

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Guest Blog: The Global War on Morris

global war

I’m on vacation so many thanks to Robert Parks Johnson, fellow book-a-vore, thespian and all-around-good-guy. bob photo

He blogs regularly at http://bobparksjohnson.blogspot.com. Check him out!

Here’s Bob’s review of The Global War on Morris by Steve Israel:

Morris Feldstein is a schlub. He is the kind of person who doesn’t really live life, he just sort of lets it happen around him. Morris’ motto is “Don’t make waves.” And he doesn’t. His days are spent driving from one Long Island medical office to the next, writing orders, and leaving samples for his employer, Celfex Pharmaceutical Laboratories. His evenings are spent eating take-out in silence with his wife, Rona. He drifts to sleep in the loving arms of his RoyalLounger 8000, writhing fitfully as his Mets find yet another way to lose.

Morris? He’s a nothing. No runs, no hits, no errors. An anonymous, suburban every-mensch. And according to twenty-seven separate law-enforcement agencies, the world’s largest surveillance database, and the Vice-President of the United States, Morris is also a native enemy noncombatant in the War on Terror.

Steve Israel, (who, when he is not writing political satire, serves as the Congressman from New York’s Third Congressional District,) uses short, fast moving chapters to introduce characters and threads of plot that twist together to form the rope that ultimately snares an innocent man in a nightmare worthy of Kafka. Along with Rona, Morris’ politically conscious wife, we meet their daughter Caryn, an aspiring documentary film-maker. There is Hassan, towel boy at the Paradise Hotel and Residences at Boca. Victoria, the pretty blonde receptionist, whose friendly smile and recent divorce make her too tempting for the weary salesman to resist. Too-Good-To-Be-True Ricardo whose suave manner and cold-blooded crimes make him the villainous instigator of Morris’ downfall. And then there are the agents: men with encyclopedic titles working in the nooks and crannies of a security-mad, post 9/11 bureaucracy that is such a labyrinth of overlapping functions that no one seems able to keep all the acronyms straight.

bush cheney roveAlong the way, we also meet the major players of the period, true believers, all. Dick Chaney sneers in his dark, West Wing office. Karl Rove plots and calculates. The President carefully repeats and rehearses catch phrases and talking points taught to him by his coaches and handlers. Israel’s portrait of the masterminds of the War on Terror is hardly a sympathetic one, but he acknowledges that a deep sense of patriotism lies at the heart of even their most cynical political machinations. They are consumed with fear and wounded pride, and a ravenous desire to catch anything that even looks like a terrorist.

And then there is NICK: the Network Centric Total Information Collection, Integration, Synthesis, Assessment, Dissemination, and Deployment System. NICK is Big Brother, the All-Hearing-Ear where every phone call, email, Google search, and credit card swipe is collected, observed, analyzed, and assigned a threat level. NICK’s job is make connections. He is designed to find danger. He doesn’t believe in coincidence. Late in the summer of 2004, just as the presidential election campaign is kicking into high gear, NICK smells something fishy about a credit card charge in a restaurant in Great Neck, Long Island. From that moment on, Morris’ goose begins to slowly cook.

On its surface, The Global War on Morris is a satirical comedy of errors, but Israel’s comedy has teeth. I laughed out loud more than once as I read, but there were also moments of horror that caught me up short with the thought: “My god, this could actually happen.”

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Morris and Rona live on take-out: Kung Pao chicken, a nice pastrami platter, chicken parmesan. The host who prefers not to load up the table with white cardboard containers and Styrofoam clamshells might want to go with something a little less eclectic. I suggest a buffet featuring potato knish, some nice lean brisket, and falafel. To drink, just a little glass of wine for the imbibers and some seltzer with a wedge of lime for the teetotalers. For desert? What else? A sliver (or a hunk) of New York Cheesecake from Juniors.

MUSIC

Rona is an old hippie and her daughter seems destined to become a new one. The music of the ‘Sixties could set the mood perfectly. You might just put your old vinyl soundtrack from Woodstock on the turntable and let it spin, but I’d throw Dylan’s Highway 61 and Bringin’ it All Back Home on the stack as well.

UPDATE FROM daeandwrite: The Global War on Morris is being developed as a cable series by none other than Rob Reiner. http://deadline.com/2015/02/rob-reiner-andrew-lenchewski-global-war-on-morris-steve-israel-comedy-series-1201369535/

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