Once Upon a Mattress (Center Theater Group 2024)

This post concludes my blogging for the year, unless I somehow manage to do a “Christmas Books” post tomorrow. 

 

It has been a great year of reading, but a truly record-setting year for live theater. This includes the trip my wife and I took to New York City to see a number of Broadway plays, our annual Utah Shakespeare Festival trip, and a few unexpected opportunities: Henry VI in San Diego, and Pacific Overtures at East/West Theater. Combine this with a bunch of excellent local productions, and somehow I ended the year with no fewer than 32 live theater events. That’s more than a month’s worth this year. 

 

The last one happened just before Christmas, sandwiched in between all my music gigs. One reason I haven’t written as much this December is that I have been…really busy. Which is good.

 

My first experience of Sutton Foster was her role in Sweeney Todd, but my wife previously saw her opposite Hugh Jackman in The Music Man, during her trip with a friend to NYC a few years ago. Both of us enjoyed her work - she truly is a theater superstar, and a comic genius. Thus, when my wife saw that she was coming to Los Angeles, she noted the date tickets went on sale, and got us a pair of seats. 

 

Once Upon a Mattress is a re-telling of the old “Princess and the Pea” fairy tale. The music was written by Mary Rodgers, the daughter of Richard Rodgers (of Rodgers and Hammerstein or Rodgers and Hart fame, depending on your generation.) Mary Rodgers also wrote the novel Freaky Friday, later made into a film, so she was a bit of a polymath. I am not as familiar with the others who wrote the lyrics and the book, but it was a definite group effort. 

 

The fairy tale needed to be updated a bit for modern times - and by “modern” I mean the 1950s. Gone is the simpering and delicate princess, and in her place is swamp queen Winifred, loud and brassy and literally everything Queen Aggravain does NOT want for her precious little mommy’s boy, Prince Dauntless the Drab. 

 

So, the queen mum would prefer to be the de facto ruler of the kingdom, after her henpecked husband loses his ability to talk due to a curse. So why let her son marry and take the throne? 

 

Instead, Aggravain devises tests to eliminate all aspiring princesses - none will ever be good enough. 

 

Unfortunately for the other denizens of the kingdom, no one else is allowed to marry until the prince does. 

 

When Lady Larkin finds herself pregnant by the rather empty-headed Sir Harry, she knows she has to convince Harry to take his favorite spurs and his new title, and find a princess forthwith. 

 

Harry, not being the brightest, comes back with…Winifred. Who, impatient at the slow drawbridge, simply swims the moat, climbs up the wall, and tosses out the snakes and other creatures who have occupied her clothing. 

 

Prince Dauntless is instantly smitten, and determines to overcome his shyness and immaturity and win her over. With some help from Harry and Larkin, as well as the circus entertainers turned wizard and jester. 

 

We all know how the story ends, of course. 

 

The fun of this retelling is in the humor - the lyrics are deliciously witty, and the script designed to show off the comedic talents of the actors. Back in the day, it was Carol Burnett in her Broadway debut playing the part of Winnifred. Sutton Foster stepped into those shoes with a performance that clearly paid tribute to Burnett’s style. 

 

This was a professional production, and it lived up to expectations. I loved that the orchestra was on-stage behind the actors. (And of course that there was an orchestra - not always the case these days.) 

 

The set was colorful and minimalist - an interesting choice but one that worked here by allowing the actors to be the focus of the storytelling. 

 

I can’t think of a weak role, but all of the main ones were perfectly cast. Sutton Foster, of course, was hilarious. Between the grape eating, the snake flinging, and the astonishing contortionism she is capable of, she owned the show. And was freaking hilarious. Worth the price of admission just for that. 

 

But she was matched by several other truly excellent actors. Michael Urie as Prince Dauntless was also comic genius - the physical acting was perfect, and his final coming-of-age believable (as far as fairy tale transformations go.) 

 

Daniel Breaker as the jester provided the right level of sarcastic commentary (he opens the show with a puppet demonstration of the classic tale, then explains that he knows the real story.) 

 

Kevin Del Aguila as the humbug wizard, using cheap slight-of-hand tricks at inappropriate times, while projecting that silly arrogance of the insecure charlatan. Good stuff. 

 

David Patrick Kelly has a resume a mile long on stage and screen, and had a mostly non-speaking part as King Sextimus the Silent. As a short guy myself, I appreciated his role as (literally) the shortest person on stage. And his combination of ASL, charades, and made up god-only-knows-what to communicate was a gas. So fun to watch. 

 

Ben Davis (Sir Harry) and Oyoyo Joi (Lady Larkin) had good chemistry as a couple, and Joi, as arguably the only straight role in the play opposite all the comic characters, held her own well. 

 

And, I have to mention Ana Gasteyer as Queen Aggravain. Not only was she able to match Foster’s stage presence, she literally whipped out a violin and played for one of the dances. As a violinist, I love it when someone actually plays rather than fakes, and this was the real deal.  

 

(I googled her afterward, and appears that she and the recently late President Jimmy Carter’s daughter Amy were friends and played violin together. So legit.) 

 

My wife and I made a day of it, enjoying some of our favorite LA foods, and discussing the musical afterward. 

 

I suspect it is unlikely that we will be seeing quite this many productions in a year again, but it has been fun, and we do look forward to enjoying theater together regularly as our kids get older and leave home. 

 

People of the Whale by Linda Hogan

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

 

I think this book technically qualifies as my selection for Native American Heritage Month. I started it back in November, and finished it around a week ago, but ran out of time to write about it before the holidays. 

 

In any event, this has been a great year for Native American authors for me, with this book being the seventh of the year, spanning all of the genres. You can find my list of books by and about Native Americans here. 

 

I read this book mostly when I was away from my notepad, so I ended up finishing it without writing down any specific quotes. So, this will be a fairly short post, and mostly give my impressions of the themes. 

 

The book centers around Thomas Just, a member of a Pacific Northwest tribe (fictionalized, but based loosely on a tribe in northwestern Washington), and his two families. 

 

As a young man, Thomas marries Ruth. When she is pregnant, he joins the army and goes to Vietnam, where he has a series of traumatic experiences, which culminate in him murdering his platoon mates when they attempt to slaughter women and children in a village far from the front lines. 

 

He becomes a hero to the village, marries a local woman, and has a daughter. He is listed as killed in action because he leaves his dog tags behind. 

 

Later, his existence is discovered, and, after his wife is killed by a land mine, he is extracted by helicopter, leaving his young daughter, Lin, behind. Lin barely survives the civil war in Vietnam as an orphan, but eventually manages to grow up and use her skill in languages (including English) to work as a translator and bureaucrat. 

 

Meanwhile, Thomas returns to the US, but disappears, never reuniting with Ruth until many years later. 

 

When he does come back, it is because the tribe is planning to hunt a whale. The circumstances are complicated, but dubious. 

 

Unlike the old days, when hunts were accompanied by prayers and done in the traditional ways, this one involves modern technology, and the secret intent of the ringleader to sell the carcass to Japan and pocket the money. 

 

The reason this is complicated is that it is bound up with issues of tribal identity and masculinity, which is what attracts Thomas, before it all goes wrong. 

 

The book is firmly in the Magical Realism genre, with supernatural events, humans who can breathe underwater (in one case being born with gills), octopuses with apparent human qualities and the ability to shapeshift, and a more. 

 

That said, the setting is very much in the real world, and the issues explored are very much on point for our own time and place. 

 

I thought the book was very well written, and nuanced as to the humanity of the characters. In particular, the main trio - Thomas, Ruth, and Lin - are complex, imperfect, and sympathetic. Each is dealing with significant trauma, both personal and as members of their ethnic groups. 

 

Also recognizable is the villain, Dwight, who acts out his own insecurities about his masculinity in antisocial - but all too credible and typical ways. He is both unlikeable and yet understandable. 

 

The other characters fill in a believable world, on the border between the past and present, tribe and white majority, soldier and civilian. A world where right and wrong isn’t easy to grasp, and more often than not, no decision can be entirely “right.” There are always those who will be hurt no matter what the characters choose. 

 

Ruth in particular is a great character. She is strong and moral and compassionate, and about as good of a person you would ever hope to meet. But she also has her blind spots, and her hopes and longings that are hard for her to give up on. 

 

And, perhaps most heartbreakingly, it seems that, like far too many women, she is the one who always has to sacrifice, the one who continually pays the price for the actions of others. One of the things that most sucks about the world we live in, but it is all too true. 

 

The book can be dark at times - Vietnam was not just a military disaster, but a moral catastrophe for all involved. Nobody was the “good guy,” and the impoverished common people suffered the most, as they always do in a conflict. Evil was done by every beligerant in that war, and atrocities committed particularly against innocent women and children. 

 

This understandably damaged Thomas, who joined because his buddies did, only to find that moral people are destroyed in a war. His physical injuries and the effects of the fighting itself are secondary to the moral injury he suffered. 

 

One of the most hopeful things in this book is that Thomas is able to eventually recognize what is going on in his own head, and find a degree of healing. Just like Ruth is able to find her own form of healing, and Lin hers. 

 

I also found the book excellent in its examination of the complexity of identity. As I mentioned above, what does it mean to be a man in the context of being part of a tribe with a long history but an uncertain present and future? 

 

But also, what is the meaning of “the old ways”? The world has changed, and environmentally friendly whale hunting isn’t really possible anymore. Subsistence hunting and gathering isn’t a viable option for survival either. 

 

So what does it mean to be Native? How does one embrace one’s identity - indeed how does one find one’s identity in a new and very different world? 

 

I find this question to resonate with me. Much of my identity as a child and a young adult isn’t really available to me anymore, although for different reasons. My faith tradition is now so wedded to an evil man and to white supremacist and patriarchal political values as to be unrecognizable to me. My birth and extended families are no longer a source of pride and belonging for the same reason. I have never really fit a certain form of “manliness.” Even being an American is complicated. 

 

So what is my identity? Where do I fit? How can I tap into something authentic in my heritage and history? It’s not an easy question to answer at all. I expect it is even more complicated - if a little less fraught with the baggage of being on the side of the conquerors. 

 

Hogan doesn’t offer simple or easy answers. Healing comes only with time and a combination of one’s own work and the assistance of others. And finding a place in a changing world will never be easy. One mostly muddles through as one can. 

 

People of the Whale is very much a thoughtful book, and one that shows a deep understanding of human nature and complexity. I would definitely recommend it. 

 

The Beauty of the Incarnation that Evangelicals Reject

Once upon a time, I used to love Christmas. (Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, for reasons, but Christmas is the next best.) And, in a way, I still do. 

 

The last decade, however, has been rough, and Christmas has been diminished in its joy for me. Primarily, this is because the Evangelicals (my former tribe) who celebrate it have chosen to make it all about pissing on their territory rather than on celebrating Christ and the unexpected and revolutionary beauty of the incarnation. 

 

I believe that there are two reasons for this. One is political - white Evangelicalism is essentially patriarchy and white supremacy in bible drag these days. It is about white Christian nationalism, political dominance and the right to abuse those outside the tribe. Particularly minorities, LGBTQ people, immigrants, and “uppity” women. 

 

But the other is a theological problem, and I think it is related to the political issue. Ultimately, I believe that politics drive theology more than the other way around, and theology functions in practice to validate and reify politics. But I think it can be helpful to examine the theology too, and perhaps rethink the theology that gives cover for hate and violence. 

 

In my opinion - and indeed my experience - is that Evangelicals view Christmas as merely necessary for the crucifixion - I mean, Jesus had to come to earth somehow, in order to be murdered in a bloody human sacrifice by a bloodthirsty and psychopathic god.

 

I have previously written about Penal Substitutionary Atonement, and why I believe it is a morally appalling (and thus false) interpretation, and how it leads inevitably to license to abuse our fellow humans. I mean, if god is justified in torturing humans for eternity for their human failings, then what’s a little torture or genocide during our short lives?

 

One of the problems with seeing Christmas - the incarnation - as merely a way to get Jesus here so the PSA can take place, is that it renders everything before Good Friday as essentially irrelevant. 

 

If all we needed was a human sacrifice of an innocent, why not just kill Jesus at birth? Or, if you believe in ensoulment at fertilization like Evangelicals claim to, couldn’t this sacrifice have been made even through an abortion while Jesus was a blastocyst or something? (And, for that matter, why won’t the death of a fertilized egg work? Surely such an organism is innocent enough…) 

 

If not, surely, then, there was a purpose to Christ’s birth and life before that supposed transactional act. Right?

 

In practice, this theology allows - indeed encourages - Evangelicals to gloss over everything about Christ’s life and teaching as essentially irrelevant. Skip to the endgame: say the prayer and escape hell. That’s all that really matters. 

 

And certainly all that stuff about “woe to the rich” and “love your neighbor” is just spiritual filler? At least that is how I (and indeed pretty much everyone outside of that tribe) see the overwhelming majority of white Evangelicals living their lives. 

 

No matter what Evangelicals claim to believe, their fruit does not bear it out. By their fruit you shall know them, and that goes for theology as much as for people. You know what a person’s actual beliefs are not by what they say, but by what they do.

 

But what if there is actually deep meaning in the incarnation? 

Jean Bourdichon 1513

Here is an alternative way of telling the story:

 

For much of human history and around the world, there has been this idea that there is an unbridgeable gap between the Divine and creation. A separation between the gods and the mortals, between the creator and creation. 

 

Conveniently, the religious (and often political) powers interposed themselves in this gap, making themselves into the necessary bridge to the Divine. 

 

Follow our rules, pay us money, obey the “god ordained” humans who claim to speak for the Divine, and you can in some small way have communion with the Divine. 

 

But one day, the Divine crossed that gap. And not like the usual story, by showing up as an adult, in full power and knowledge - but as a helpless infant, knowing only what anyone else knew, vulnerable to every pain and risk and suffering as any other. 

 

Instead of bringing a message of power and authority, raising an army, slaughtering enemies, and establishing an authoritarian kingdom, he preached something very different. 

 

It was an upside down kingdom. The first would be last, the great would be least, the greatest would be the servant of all. In this kingdom, there would be no racial hierarchy, no gender hierarchy, and no economic hierarchy. 

 

In this kingdom, the powerful would be thrown down, the rich stripped of their wealth, and the poor and the sick and the prisoners and the marginalized would be drawn to this good news. 

 

In this kingdom, one’s destiny was determined not by following cultural regulations or believing religious dogma or being in good with the religious establishment, but by how one treated the poor, the hungry, the sick, the incarcerated, the immigrant, the marginalized. 

 

Not everyone was happy about this. Certainly not those in established positions of religious and political authority. Christ called them “whitewashed tombs” and “brood of vipers.” 

 

Certainly not the rich, who were told to give their wealth away so that the poor could live. 

 

Certainly not those who made religion a way of profit - their tables were overturned and their money scattered to the winds. 

 

G.K. Chesterton once said that “every heresy has been an effort to narrow the church.” I believe we still see that today in our modern heresies that seek to exclude people from the church. And by excluding them from the church, I mean excluding them from what they see as access to the Divine. (And, politically, access to full participation in society.)

 

In our time, this is primarily focused on LGBTQ people, but also on excluding women from leadership, excluding the theological ideas of pretty much everyone except white theologians of the 19th Century (most of which defended slavery or even enslaved other humans themselves), and steadfastly resisting any modern knowledge from the Enlightenment on down. 

 

These people stand to lose from a kingdom in which the marginalized are elevated and people are more important than theology. Indeed, where truth is not tied to theological dogma - as determined by the religious and political elites - but to reality and love. 

 

In fact, those who stood to lose from an egalitarian and mutual society - the kingdom of god - were so furious that they murdered Jesus. And they did it by riling up a mob, much like a certain wicked ruler today riles up mobs by whipping them into frenzied slogans like “lock her up” and “mass deportations now” and “build that wall.”

 

And the very best part of all of this? This kingdom wasn’t some “pie in the sky when you die”: it was among us. Now. Right here. In our own time and in our own lives. We were to live it. 

 

William James (whose philosophy has been influential on my way of thinking) raised an issue that I have been unable to stop thinking about: if you believe in a rigid dualism - that creator and creation are completely separate - then you inevitably create an unbridgeable gap. No matter how you slice it, no matter what religious words you use to obscure it, the gap remains, because the created can never become one with the creator without destroying the dualism. 

 

If instead, you truly believe that the Divine is the very matrix in which we exist - indeed in which the universe exists, then the gap is indeed one we create by refusing to live in the deeper reality. The kingdom of god is here with us right here and right now because the Divine is in everything - including those humans we prefer to marginalize. “In him we live and move and have our being…”

 

This is the true good news: we can live in the kingdom here and now - and so can anyone who chooses to do so. But the kingdom isn’t a hierarchy, it isn’t rules, it isn’t white American middle-class culture, it isn’t organized religion; it is a web of mutuality, a kind of mycelium, so to speak, that is really the unseen reality of our connectedness and need for each other. 

 

This is why the marginalized are entering the kingdom of god ahead of those who profess to speak for the Almighty with words of condemnation for the less privileged. 

 

In thinking this year about why Christmas is beautiful, I keep coming back to that. 

 

Why do we give gifts? It isn’t because of some bloody human sacrifice to a pathological god. It is because we celebrate generosity. It is because we recognize our connectedness and wish to give and give back. It is because it is a welcome respite from our toxic culture of selfishness, materialism, and transactional “relationships.” 

 

It is getting in touch, at least for a season, with the true nature of the universe, which isn’t “nature red in tooth and claw” but one of visible and invisible interconnections and interdependence.  

 

That is the beauty of the incarnation. Not a god descended to an ivory tower to dictate to humanity. Instead, the powerful reality that we suffer together, and that if we thrive, we do so together, and in harmony with the divine. 

 

If we truly see the incarnation - and indeed the teachings and example of Christ - as fundamental to our understanding of the divine, then we have to live in harmony with that. 

 

A fundamental outgrowth of that is that we have to see the spark of the divine in others, particularly the marginalized. “Inasmuch as you did it for them, you did it for me…” 

 

This is the miracle of Christmas. God isn’t “somewhere out there.” We do not need human mediators to tell us how to find Them. The Divine is here. With us. Right now. In everything and everyone we see around us. 

 

We don’t have to live in accordance with the values of the world: hierarchy, love of wealth, privilege, and power. The kingdom is here. With us. Right now. All we have to do is choose to live in it and in accordance with its reality. 

 

This Christmas, in a time of renewed hate and bigotry, I will be celebrating the beauty of the incarnation. The Divine became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld grace and truth. We were given the promise of abundant life, and good news to all people of good will, and particularly those typically excluded by those who would interpose themselves and their dogma between the Divine and the rest of us. 

 

The kingdom of god is among us, if we will only see it, and choose to participate. 

 

Harlem Shuffle by Colson Whitehead

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

I have read (or listened to) two other books by Colson Whitehead, and all three of the ones I have experienced have been very different. Zone One was a literary take on the classic zombie apocalypse story, while The Underground Railroad imagined the figurative highway for the enslaved who emancipated themselves to travel to freedom as if it were a literal railway, and literally underground. 

 

And then there is Harlem Shuffle, which I guess is more or less historical fiction? Or perhaps a gangster novel? Whatever it is, it is definitely more lighthearted than either of the other books I have read. In fact, it is really quite funny in places, albeit in a somewhat cynical and dark way. 

 

The book is set in Harlem, New York City, in the early 1960s. It is divided into three episodes, which are connected by the characters, but separate in storyline. 

 

The protagonist is Ray Carney, a really excellently drawn character, who illustrates the nuance of survival as a black man on the borderline between legal and not exactly legal. Ray comes from a family of crooks - his dad was notorious (and respected) within the underworld up until his untimely demise. 

 

Ray really wants to go straight. He marries the daughter of a lawyer (to her family’s consternation), and uses his inheritance (from his dad’s crimes) to open a legitimate furniture store on 125th Street. 

 

But, keeping straight isn’t easy, or perhaps even possible. Ray doesn’t ask too many questions about those used radios and televisions brought to him by Cousin Freddy, and eventually ends up being a fence for coins and jewelry as well, in connection with a jeweler who also doesn’t ask questions. 

 

Don’t ask, don’t tell. 

 

But Cousin Freddy is a fuck-up, and can’t stay out of trouble. The kind of trouble that keeps dragging Ray into things he has no intention of being a part of. You know the kind. 

 

In the first episode, Freddy gets involved in a heist at the historic Hotel Theresa - notable for being one of the first desegregated hotels, starting in 1940 after it was bought by an African American businessman. Notable guests over the years include Fidel Castro, Duke Ellington, Buddy Holly, and Malcolm X. 

 

The story of the heist was based on an actual robbery, apparently. In the book, in the aftermath of the successful job, Miami Joe, the guy who put it together, double crosses the others - and starts murdering his accessories. Oh, and one of the items taken was a posh necklace that a local gangster gave to his mistress - and now he wants it back. 

 

In the second episode, Ray is invited to apply to be a member in the distinguished social and business club, the Dumas Club, of which his father-in-law is a member. One of the lead members, Wilfred Duke, a banker, solicits a payment of five hundred dollars as a, well, wink and nudge. 

 

Despite paying it, Ray is turned down for membership, and Duke refuses to return the bribe. Ray vows revenge. This episode is all about his carefully laid plans to bring Duke down - which he does. 

 

Unsurprisingly, it turns out Duke has embezzled a bunch of money from other members, including Ray’s father-in-law, who has to downsize substantially after losing most of his savings. 

 

The third episode involves Cousin Freddy again. This time, Freddy, who has had drug issues all his life, latches on to Linus van Wyke (a fictional trust-fund-baby sort descended from the first mayor of New York.) 

 

Linus has been in and out of psychiatric treatment in endless attempts by his family to “cure” his homosexuality. Combine that trauma with too much money, and it is unsurprising that Linus does prodigious quantities of drugs. 

 

During the Harlem Riot of 1964, he convinces Freddy to help him steal the family jewels - and some papers that are meaningful to Linus. Unfortunately, they are surprised in the act by Linus’ dad, and this brings down the entire power of the van Wyke family on the two of them. And then, when Linus overdoses and dies, well, who is in the way but Freddy…and Ray. 

 

This being a Colson Whitehead book, this is no boilerplate crime novel. Whitehead is an excellent writer, and a writer of literary fiction, even when he works within genres. (Zone One is a great example.) 

 

The story itself peels back the layers of corruption. As the book says, everyone has a hustle. Everyone is on the make, one way or another. 

 

If you think of the sections of the book as different views, it is apparent that we are zooming out. Miami Joe and his hotel heist is the small scale. Joe is a crook, but he isn’t at the level of organized crime. The Theresa is a job, not an operation, if you will. 

 

When we look at the Dumas club, the corruption goes up a level - to the professional middle class, which Ray aspires to join - it would be good for business. This part of the system is governed by what Ray calls “the movement of envelopes” - that is, the passing of bribes. 

 

Ray himself straddles the class and legality lines, so he needs to pass envelopes to two different corrupt entities. He needs to be in good with the local gang, so he pays off “Chink” Montegue, who lets him operate and even sends him business…of both kinds. 

 

But he also has to pay off the local cop, for the privilege of operating without too much scrutiny. The movement of envelopes. 

 

Finally, we zoom all the way out to the big money, the old money, the white money. And we find that the van Wyke’s are every bit as corrupt as Miami Joe. Sure, they move bigger envelopes and use lawyers to do so. But they don’t neglect the less savory stuff. They even have their hired thugs, who may have lighter skin but operate in violence every bit as much. 

 

For Ray, corruption is just part of the game, it is what he needs to participate in to survive and thrive in the world he was born into. And as the book puts it, when it comes to being crooked, Ray is just a little bit bent. Compared to the big players, he isn’t much of a crook. A little fencing here and there, a few shady deals, and a good revenge, but really, he sells furniture. At least that’s what he tells himself.

 

There are a lot of things I really loved about this book. The characters are memorable and realistic. Ray Carney is incredibly relatable, even if I am such a square that I really don’t have a hustle, and would never succeed with one. 

 

Ray’s employees, Rusty and Marie, get enough backstory to make them three dimensional, even if they are fairly minor players. Ray’s wife Elizabeth, (probably) ignorant as to his criminal activities, but trying hard to navigate between Ray’s world and her parents’ world. 

 

Pepper, the veteran (and veteran crook) who provides the muscle and street smarts when Ray needs it. Cousin Freddy, who is hopeless. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble” is his lifelong mantra. And a bunch more characters, most of which are nuanced and human. 

 

The ethical landscape is also complicated, and, like any good crime novel, you find yourself uncomfortably rooting for “the bad guys.” This is even more so because Ray is an underdog, and really didn’t want to get involved. 

 

I also want to mention a few scenes. The riots are seen from a few different perspectives, as the book unfolds. One of those is Freddy’s - he ends up caught up in them while looking for a sandwich. And probably high as a kite. “Man, I was HUNGRY! I just wanted a sandwich, and all this rioting…” 

 

The revenge on Duke is delicious and well deserved. And mostly self inflicted - it almost feels like a Count of Monte Cristo comeuppance. 

 

Whitehead did a lot of research for this book. While he lived in Harlem until age 5, most of his childhood was spent in Brooklyn. In order to get things right, he walked all of the locations - and made sure he had the right kind of housing or business for the address. 

 

He also researched mid-century modern furniture, which means that literally every advertising slogan in the book came from an actual advertisement of the time. There is so much loving detail about the furniture that went well over my head (particularly because I listened to it on audio and didn’t have the chance to google stuff.) 

 

I’m sure there are other things I could mention, but I’ll just end by saying that this was a thoroughly enjoyable book. Whitehead is an excellent writer. There is more to this book than a simple yarn, although it is certainly a fun story. 

 

***

 

The audiobook was mostly good, but it had a few flaws. Dion Graham is a good narrator, and kept the voices separated quite well. However, there were a few spots when he seemed to pause in strange spots, as if he missed the line break and had to find his place. I totally get how this would happen, but usually these are fixed in production. Likewise, in a complaint I unfortunately have to make all too often, the recording lacked sufficient compression, which meant that some parts were too soft to hear easily without driving, but if you turned it up, you got painfully blasted with the loud parts. I am not sure why some audiobooks have this problem and others don’t. I wish publishers would keep in mind that many of us listen while driving, and we need more consistent audio levels. 

 

***

 

This book reminded me a bit of Deacon King Kong by James McBride - another modern African American author that I really enjoy. That book is a bit more absurd and farcical, but the humor surrounding gangsters is in both. 

 

***

 

And, of course, the song which inspired the title. I’m going with the original Bob & Earl version, not the Rolling Stones cover. 

 

The Nutcracker and the Monomyth

This post grew out of a quick comment I made on social media during our annual Nutcracker week. 

 

For background here, I have been playing in a local production of Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet since 1997. There were a few years without an orchestra - 2020 of course, for reasons - and a couple at least where funding was an issue. (There’s a long story there that I won’t get into…)

 

 A scene from our local production in 2021.

 

This is one of two works that I have done the “upper string hat trick.” That is to say, I have played 1st violin, 2nd violin, and viola over the years. (The other is Handel’s Messiah)

 I believe this is from a rehearsal in 2021 because of the masks. 

I'm to the left of the conductor and playing viola.

Although it has been a few years since I sat in a place where I could see some of the dancing, I have a fairly good idea of the storytelling that our company does, and I have seen filmed versions. 

 

Because of this, I have been thinking for years about the deeper meaning of the story. After all, it has become one of the most beloved things of Christmas culture, and not merely because of Tchaikovsky’s delicious music. 

 

The Nutcracker endures because it has an emotional and psychological resonance with our human experience. 

 

Nearly a decade ago, I read and blogged about The Hero With a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, and found that it did describe many of the common features of myths from around the world. (And you can certainly find it in 20th Century pop culture, in part because of Campbell’s influence on artists.) 

 

If you think about it, The Nutcracker is the rare female version of what Joseph Campbell called the "monomyth":

 

"A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man."

 

I’ll get to that more in a minute, but I also want to mention two other facets of the psychodrama that are important to understanding the appeal of the story.

 

First is a Freudian idea: Clara’s dream (or is it a dream?) is very much a working out of her friction with her brother. I’ll get to that as well. 

 

Second is that the ballet version (with the story borrowed from a retelling by Alexandre Dumas) changes some details of the original story by E.T.A. Hoffmann, including the ending, in a way that makes the tale a lot less dark, and allows Clara to be a true heroine. 

 

For those unfamiliar with the story, I will give the version that we do, which is pretty similar to other productions. 

 

Clara is a young girl with a younger, bratty brother, Fritz. Their family is having a Christmas party, and Fritz and the boys spend most of it harassing the girls and trying to ruin things. 

 

In the middle of it all, Herr Drosselmeyer, Clara’s godfather, shows up. He is a kind of spooky and mysterious man, and also a mechanical inventor. He brings a bunch of seemingly magic toys - dolls that can dance and play through their mechanical workings. 

 

He also brings a present each for Fritz and Clara. Fritz gets a giant mouse, which he promptly uses to chase Clara. The gift for Clara is a toy soldier that can crack nuts with his jaw. 

 

Fritz, naturally, is insanely jealous, and grabs the nutcracker, breaking it. While Drosselmeyer is able to fix it a bit, it has still been damaged. 

 

That’s your Freudian setup there, and it will play out in the rest of the story. In the ballet, this is roughly the first half of the first act. 

 

Late that night, Clara sneaks downstairs to see the nutcracker again, but things are not as safe in the dark. The mice are gigantic, and not at all friendly. She sees Drosselmeyer, who chases the mice away temporarily, and then uses his magic to cause everything to grow. Or is Clara shrinking? 

 

In any case, she is now the size of the nutcracker, who has come to life, along with other toys. The mice come back, and fight a battle against the toy soldiers, who are no match for the larger mice. 

 

When all seems lost, Clara distracts the mouse king long enough for the Nutcracker to kill him. But unfortunately, the nutcracker appears mortally wounded himself. 

 

Drosselmeyer appears once again and rewards Clara for her heroism: he heals the nutcracker and transforms him into a handsome prince. The two of them dance off through the snowy forest to his magical Kingdom of Sweets, to meet the Sugar Plum Fairy and the other denizens of the land of magic. 

 

Thus ends the first act, which contains most of the actual story. All that is left is for Clara to wake up under the Christmas tree and wonder if she dreamed it all. 

 

The second act of the ballet is mostly a procession of stylized dances: that is what a 19th Century ballet audience would have demanded, and indeed, the ballet wasn’t particularly popular at first. It had too many children in the first act, the story got in the way of the dancing, the battle scene was too chaotic, and it wasn’t properly tragic. Subsequent audiences obviously see things differently. 

 

Let’s look at the story in light of the monomyth:

 

Clara leaves the common world for the magical world, encounters the nefarious mice, wins a decisive victory through her own courage, experiences the magical blessings of the kingdom of sweets, and eventually returns to the common world bearing stories and essentially becoming an adult.

 

In our productions, we have used two dancers for the part of Clara. Little Clara is typically danced by a tween, while Dream Clara is danced by an older teen or even adult. There are two reasons for this. 

 

First, the Dream Clara part requires significantly greater skills (at least in our production). She has to dance a pas de deux with the prince on their journey, for one thing. Second, because of the romantic nature of this dance, it is less icky with the dancers closer in age. 

 

I mention this because part of what happens during Clara’s journey is her own inner transformation. She has essentially become a woman. She has asserted herself in courage, and has been rewarded by the gods - and respected. 

 

This is very much like the monomyth as Campbell describes it, and also strikingly like male-centered coming of age myths around the world. 

 

The nutcracker starts off in disguise, and poses a test - an ordeal - for Clara to face. Once she passes the test, he reveals himself as the god he is, and takes Clara to Olympus to meet the others. Including the head deity who is female - the Sugar Plum Fairy. 

 

When Clara returns to the real world, she may still look like a child, but we all know she has come of age, and will never be the same. 

 

Is it any wonder that generations of girls have thrilled to this story? 

 

Those other factors come into play as well. In most fairy tales where a girl tries to do the boy thing - go on adventures, take risks, step outside of her prescribed role - she is brutally punished. (The Little Mermaid - the original story - is a case in point.) Perhaps she dies. Perhaps she is tainted and will never marry. At the least, she returns home chastened. 

 

But not Clara. 

 

She is the heroine. 

 

 And she has not been rescued by the prince, but has rescued him. 

 

This is where the change by Dumas to the story actually makes it better in a significant way. (Better in this case meaning making the story into a version of the monomyth, not a diss of the original, which is mostly just…weird.)

 

The story endures in popularity because it resonates in an era when women are increasingly able to have their own adventures, and come of age not by marrying but by growing up. And also, just like girls have had to identify with male protagonists due to a lack of female ones, many boys these days have learned to see themselves in badass female protagonists as well. 

 

I mean, who doesn’t root for Clara in this ballet? 

 

Finally, the issue of the annoying sibling, and the fantasy of, of not revenge exactly, of being able to transcend the annoyance. Maybe someone out there has nothing but perfect siblings, but I suspect that is rare. We have all had our moments of dealing with a Fritz, desperate for attention and acting out in antisocial ways. 

 

Put all of this together, and you get a great story that still draws us in. 

 

Because I am a music nerd, I will also mention some musical things. 

 

Tchaikovsky's musical score takes this journey as well, starting out in the key of Bb Major. From there, it takes a meandering journey to end the first act in E Major, which is a tritone (6 half steps) away from Bb - the furthest one can go.

 

The second act reverses this journey, going from E Major back to that home key of Bb Major, this time in a triumph of the returning hero.

 

I always found that interesting. Tchaikovsky knew what he was about - I have read his book on harmony, and it is fascinating, even though I am not a composer - and I believe he was intentional in his tonalities. 

 

Many composers had synesthesia - as do many musicians including myself - and associated different keys with colors, moods, and emotions. This work is a magnificent demonstration of that. You can very much hear color throughout - and I would say texture as well. 

 

The best examples are the bitingly crisp ice of E minor in the Waltz of the Snowflakes and the sticky gummy A Major of Mother Ginger. 

 

To use the tritone to give the maximum separation between the real world and the fantasy world is pretty brilliant, and I think is evidence that Tchaikovsky understood the story as one of the quest, the coming of age. In that final apotheosis on the last page, Clara is back home, and her parents do not believe her story. But the music: it is in that home key of Bb major, but the tune is the theme for the Kingdom of Sweets. Clara is back in the real world, but her adventures still live inside her. 

 

Very much the monomyth in music. 

 

I hope that with this post, I haven’t ruined The Nutcracker by infusing it with too much psychological weight. It is a fun story. But if you think about it…there is a bit more to it than you might expect.