I found the book in a box in a storage locker just as I was writing a recent piece about a murderer. The amazing thing, the admirable thing, is that William Steig channeled his deep feeling into art over a very long life. The murder stayed in his dreams.
The Cardinals under Hall of Fame manager Whitey Herzog (nicknamed the White Rat) were the daredevils of St. Louis in the 1980s, our biggest disappointments and our greatest heroes. St. Louisans lived and died for the guys who wore the birds on the bat. And this era was named for the style that the Cardinals brought to the game, Whiteyball.
By the time it was gone, the change was subtle but unmistakable: one corner left without its figure, one pedestal left bare. But to understand why that absence matters, it helps to understand who Kate Chopin was and the stories she wrote.
I have always loved my library. I have kept it with me, growing with me, since adolescence, through marriages and divorces, through changes in occupation from student to steelworker, from truck driver to college professor, and moved it from San Diego to Chicago, to Los Angeles, to Cincinnati, and finally to New York City.
Baseball is our national pastime, steeped in the bucolic idyll of rural America. But it is also a deeply conservative social and economic institution. Peter Dreier and Robert Elias trace these divisions in the companion volumes “Baseball Rebels” and “Major League Rebels,” telling the story of individuals who sought to challenge the way in which the game is played and administered.
“I Was Alive Here Once” contains many different types of ghosts in many different stories, fables, and fairy tales, from many different cultures. Sometimes, the world we know is the ghost in the story; the aftermath of war, the wreckage of environmental destruction, lingers in the background of tales driven by the supernatural. Other times, the ghosts blend into our reality, and the supernatural takes a backseat, with ghosts that hardly even know that they are ghosts.
Certain narratives travel more easily. Certain aesthetics are more readily absorbed into festival circuits that reward particular kinds of storytelling. The slow, observational film that gestures toward universality. The politically charged narrative that renders its context legible to an external audience. These are not the only films being made, but they are often the ones that circulate most visibly beyond their point of origin.
When you walk into the Saint Louis Art Museum’s new exhibit—Ancient Splendor: Rome in the Time of Trajan—the emperor himself greets you. His right hand is raised, index finger lifted: he is about to speak. The commanding air comes naturally to him; he rose through the army, suffering hardship alongside…
The new debut record by American Pirates of Bloomington, Indiana, “What a Friend,” artfully blends so many different kinds of folk music that it comes across as an anthology or a variety show, yet with kindred themes and a unifying sound.
I asked a friend which of two things she thought true: Are our lives narratives? Or are they many quick stories/events/incidents that pop up, one damn thing after another, which are tied together only by the meanings we assign?