Interior spaces: The body and the building in the works of Francis Bacon and Louise Bourgeois

In the work of two towering figures in 20th century art, Francis Bacon and Louise Bourgeois, issues of the body and manmade spaces come to the fore, but in startling different ways and with two very different results.

With Bourgeois’s work we find a metaphorical use of architecture involving the female form and allusions to the womb. In opposition to this, Bacon’s use of interior spaces tends to both provide a stage for and to add a sense of menace to the dramas unfolding on the canvas.

Bourgeois has been working with these dual themes since her earliest days as shown in her drawings of the early-1940s, titled “Femme Masions,” or literally "woman house."

From here one can see the major arc of her career as at least partially being dedicated to the exploration of how to bring the figurative and architectural together. Her large sculptures—“Cell (Eyes and Mirrors)” and “Cell (Hands and Mirror)”—of the late-1990s are the apotheosis of this, bringing a physical structure—the room or cage—together with lifelike sculptures of hands or more abstracted eyes within. While not as wholly integrated as her drawings, they none-the-less deal with the same issues of architectural space and the body. In these later works, the structure physically houses the body. The closest Bourgeois comes to the same level of integration as in her drawings is in “Spider” from 1997. While not physically a human form it is metaphorically. The artist has said that the spider is an ode to her mother. By integrating the metaphorical mother within the architectural structure Bourgeois creates a kind of supra-maternal space.

In a majority of the works of Francis Bacon, interior architectural space plays a vital role. Beginning in the mid-1940s, most notably in his “Three Studies for a Crucifixion,” from 1944, a barely delineated interior space appears, defined by a few lines slashed across a color field.

The lines are enough to bring a sense of claustrophobia to the paintings while helping draw the viewer’s eye back to the figures, reinforcing their centrality. Even in many of his paintings that are meant to convey exterior spaces, most notably 1953’s “Study of a Baboon,” includes an enclosure. In "Baboon," a fence cuts the space in half, shortening the background to the point of collapse against the picture plane and again amping up a sense of confinement.

Bacon continued to use interior spaces in this way for most of his career, sometimes altering the vertical into ring like structures, but always maintaining a sense of menace.

Within these two artists' use of space we see the extreme ends of the spectrum, with Bourgeois, a comforting womb-like space to house her interior life and memories, while Bacon pulls from the opposite direction—creating menace and ambiguity through interior and even exterior spaces.

You Don't Find Books, Books Find You: An Interview with Joe Drape

As a kid I would sometimes watch ABCs the “Wild World of Sports,” and I especially loved the opening credits when Jim McCay would intone those words “the thrill of victory…and the agony of defeat…the human drama of athletic competition,” while ski jumper Vinko Bogataj’s awful 1970 crash would flash across the screen. But honestly the opening credits were about as dramatic as the ensuing shows often got for me.

Author and New York Times sports reporter Joe Drape actually captures the highs and lows, the drama and melodrama, the beauty and the horror of the sports subjects he writes about.

A Kansas City native, he worked his way up the journalism ladder from the news desk at the Dallas Morning News and later the Atlanta Journal Constitution to the New York Times.

He made the switch to sports in 1993 when, he said, AJC wanted someone with a news background, but an affinity for sports, to be the lead Olympic reporter. He started writing for the New York Times in 1996, and moved to New York City in 1998.

His latest book “Our Boys: A Perfect Season on the Plains with the Smith Center Redmen,” is currently on the New York Times bestseller list.

The following is a brief interview with Drape.

While writing your newest book “Our Boys: A Perfect Season on the Plains with the Smith Center Redmen,” you lived in the small Kansas town in which your subject, a high school football team looking for its fifth state championship in a row, is located. Was living in Smith Center part of your plan from the start?

The opportunity to live in Smith Center was key to the book as well as personal growth. I wanted to understand the community, and the best way to do that was become part of it. When you embed yourself somewhere, you can take your time and earn people's trust. You listen rather than ask questions. Selfishly perhaps I also wanted to take some time with my wife and 3-year-old son. I'm a Midwesterner, and I wanted them to see how I grew up.


Was there a hard transition for you and your family going back to NYC after spending time in a small prairie town?

For my son, Jack, none whatsoever. We should all have the resilience of a 4-year-old. For Mary and I, we had to reaccelerate our gears, and get used to the hustle and bustle. We also returned at a time when the economy was stumbling along so we landed in a different New York than we left.


What was it about this high school football team that interested you enough to write a book?

It really was the town and people that made me understand this was a book length story. When Coach Barta told me that none of what he and Smith Center did was about football, instead it was about raising kids, I believed him. I've had famous coaches tell me things like that and I knew it was just a line. I could tell that these folks practiced love, patience and hard work - call them old time values. I wanted to see how it became the foundation for their success in football and life. I also liked the fact they were in the middle of a 54 game winning streak and needed 13 more to set a state record.


What draws you to a subject generally?

There has to be a kernel of intrigue there that makes me so curious I have to know more. I want to learn something, and if I can learn something I can pass that on to the reader. Or at least I hope I can.


In your books you seem to be able to take the potentially limiting beginning point of a sport (horse racing, football, basketball) and open it up to a whole range of deep and universal ideas and emotions. Do you look for stories that have that potential or do you unearth the universalities while writing about a given subject?

I look for stories first that are going to entertain me, that I want to know more about. I discover what all means, or the macro thought, or emotion as I report and write it. I go in with a pretty cursory point of view and let my heart build from there. In Our Boys, it was "here's this out of the way place where people are happy and kind, and they play very good football. Why?"


You’ve had a lifelong interest in horse racing. What is it about this sport that continues to fascinate you?

The actual handicapping and betting of races is a mental exercise not unlike chess or crossword puzzles or even investing. I get lost in it. I turn off my internal dialogue and just be the racing form. The professional side is really simple: There are great stories in the sport and people want to share them. It's the last democratic sport in America. You can't buy a championship. Everyone is bonded by the love of a horse. Red Smith. Joe Palmer. They weren't wrong to spend all their time at the racetrack. I'm one of those people who believes that a bad day at the racetrack is better than a good day anywhere else.


What was the most surprising thing you discovered about Jimmy Winkfield (in a life that seemed full of surprises) while writing "Black Maestro"?

How passive and persevering he was. Jimmy was not a big personality or particularly decisive guy. He rolled with the punches and never gave up. He didn't have choice - over a remarkable life he had Jim Crow laws, the Bolsheviks, the depression, Hitler and civil Rights bearing down on him. He had what Hemingway called "grace under pressure."


Being both a sports writer for the New York Times as well as an author, do you prefer one type of writing over the other?

They complement each other in the sense that you work different muscles. Sports writing is immediate gratification. It could be done in an hour or a couple of weeks or months. But you are limited by space. It helps you identify a story and tell it quickly. Books, however, allow you to shade in the complexities of a story. They let you take your time, and set up a narrative. You get to use more tricks.

What are you working on now?

I've got a screenplay working its way to production, and I'm messing with another one. It's just another form of storytelling, and it's interesting. I'm doing my work at the NYT. As far as a next book, I'm just keeping my antennae clear.

You don't find books. Books find you.

True Collaboration: An Interview with Tim Watkins and Carol May

Editors Note—Unless otherwise noted the major voice of the piece is Tim's, with additions by Carol.

Artists Tim Watkins and Carol May are a married couple who collaborate on public arts projects, including one of their latest, an exhibition and activity area for youngsters at the revamped Brooklyn Children’s Museum.

Watkins, who was born in London, England and grew up in Alberta, Canada, is primarily a sculptor while May, a New Yorker who has an MFA from Brooklyn’s Pratt Institute, is a painter.
The couple was kind enough to answer some questions for Look, Read, Listen.


How long have you been together and how long have you been working together?

Carol and I have been married almost 30 years. We met at Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in Maine. I was the Canadian scholarship, she the New York scholarship. It clicked. We both had careers as independent artists. We both had some success showing in New York and elsewhere, but in the mid 90’s, we began to collaborate, and we realized that we had complementary skills and that if we put our heads and skills together we would have more opportunities. Besides it was fun.

What is your process like when working on public pieces? Is there a give and take between the two of you as well as with clients?

Most Public Artwork commissions begin as a competition. Artists answer open national or regional calls (RFQs), by sending images of past work and a resume. The selection committee chooses finalists, who then submit concept models and drawings. Final selection is based on this preliminary work.

We develop these initial concepts together. Each of us has different strength, so we pass the lead design role back and forth, as the art develops.

Do your artistic backgrounds—painting in the case of Carol and sculpture in Tim’s case—make it easier or more difficult to work together?

We have very different strengths and weaknesses, and by working together we can create better work than either of us could achieve alone.
Carol has strong training in both 2 and 3 dimensional design. I have strong technical skills, and I know material and processes. Together, we have a wide skill set.

Also, something amazing happens when true collaboration occurs.

Both of your personal work seems to have a lot to do with the natural world. Is there a relationship between being in the Hudson Valley and this predilection towards reflecting nature in your work or perhaps were you drawn up here because of the fertile landscape?

Our decision to move our shop from Brooklyn to Athens was a happy solution to the real estate problem in New York City. Until 2004, our shop was in Dumbo, Brooklyn, in a large industrial building. We shared the floor with several other artists and art businesses until the landlord decided he could make much more money by renting the whole floor to West Elm as back office space. Our options were to either rent something else (and fix it up and lose that in 5 years), or buy a property that would work for us as a permanent shop. As far as I am concerned we got very lucky.

I have always loved the landscape of the Hudson Valley, particularly our area, which includes Athens. Having grown up on the prairie in western Canada, I more readily identify with the combination of open space with mountains in the background. I am not a live-in-the forest type of person, I like meadows and fields and old architecture.

As far as our work and the relationship to nature, we have both worked with natural forms for years. A lot of my work was developed looking at the relationships of man, nature and technology, and my resulting exploration of ‘man-made’ nature. Carol’s painting explores natural forms and how they relate to human form, in both a physical and psychological way.

How does your public artwork differ from your personal artwork? Is there a parallel between the two? Does one play off the other or are they completely separate?

Tim: Yes the personal work is distinct from the public work, but the two do feed each other. In art school I started working with installation and ‘public’ sites very early on. I have always been interested in the interaction of viewer and art, and was always more of an ‘art for the masses type of person’.

Carol: Yes there is a parallel between the public and personal artwork. They feed each other, not in all projects, but in many of them. I find that ideas that I am exploring in my personal work are often translated into the media and scale of public art and vice versa.

What has been your favorite public work you have done and why?

Tim: Here we have to answer separately, although both of us feel our best one is yet to come. My favorite is ‘Roadway Boogie Woogie’ at Turkey Lake rest stop on the Florida Turnpike outside of Orlando. I like it because it is big, the mechanics work well and have survived 5 hurricanes, and a lot of people see it. For better or for worse, when you mention the propeller like pieces to anyone in Florida, they know what you are talking about.

Carol: My favorite permanent installation is ‘Blossoms’ at Florida Atlantic University in Jupiter. Although they are functional seating, the forms are sensual and sculptural, and the mosaic color is subtle and effective.

What projects—personal and public—are the two of you currently working on?

Last fall we had all of our scheduled work, but one, disappear into the black hole of the recession/depression. I likened it to having everyone’s wallets snap shut like bear traps. We hit the streets with applications for public art opportunities, rented a booth at the American Children’s Museum conference, and not so quietly freaked out.

I am glad to say that we are now currently working on three new public art commissions, one in Florida, one in Maine, and one in Oregon, and there is ‘chatter’ in regards to other projects.

In theory or in the good old days, it would seem that a downturn like this would allow one an excellent opportunity to dive into the studio work. Unfortunately, we now seem to be encumbered with things like health and liability insurance and a mortgage.

Aurum, an installation by Laetitia Hussain

I've recently begun writing a blog for the Register-Star Newspaper, which will be including a number of reviews of art. Please take a look at my first piece. It's a review of an new installation by Hudson, NY artist Laetitia Hussain at Terenchin Fine Arts in Catskill, NY.

Man and Nature: Aurum, an installation by Laetitia Hussain.

For thousands of years humanity has toiled to mold nature to its own ends, removing that which doesn’t suit its purposes and manipulating that which does. Aurum, a new installation by Hudson artist Laetitia Hussain, at Terenchin Fine Art in Catskill, uses cast-off items, both natural and man-made to talk about the relationship between humanity and nature in its positive and negative aspects.

The gallery, located at 462 Main St., is filled to overflowing with Hussain’s work, mainly sculptures and most covered in gold paint, thus the name of the show “Aurum,” which is Latin for gold. While the work’s gilding helps to integrate the pieces internally and as a whole, they suffer from a loss of the individual color characteristics of the materials used.

The work also suffered from overcrowding. Less is sometimes more and many of the larger pieces lost their impact by being too close to each other in the gallery.

Her wood slice dartboards, while a bit facile, efficiently hammer in the metaphorical aspect of the show. The act of throwing a dart—which the artist encourages—at a beautiful piece of wood, marring the surface, helps force the viewer into an understanding of how humans often affect nature.

Another interesting piece is a tree branch mounted on wood to resemble trophy antlers. It forces the viewer to go beyond thinking only of the animal world and to contemplate humanity’s attitude towards the rest of nature.

The largest piece—and probably the best—incorporates the root system of a tree with various implements associated with farming—pickaxe and pitchfork—affixed to the roots’ ends, while the carved wooden handles of scythes rise out of the top. It plays with this relationship as well but takes it further by the interplay of materials that echo one another. A small reflecting pool below the tree trunk works to expand and reflect the hanging portion of the piece above and gives it a meditative quality that works nicely with the rather wild, dynamic aspect of the tree.

A sculpture of a windmill juxtaposed next to a small wooden piece hanging on the wall, carved to resemble a farmer’s field with crop rows, uses both scale and space to give the viewer a sense of being outside the gallery and while not as intellectually bracing as some of the other pieces is none the less completely engaging.

Hussein includes a large-scale photographic piece in the show featuring a quote by 18th century painter, printmaker and poet William Blake. The words are formed in the large photograph by maple seeds and seems to capture Hussain’s intentions. “The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way,” it reads in part. Her new show goes far in visually exploring those words and the thoughts behind them.



Click here to view images from the show.

The Classic Cad: The World of Tony Stamolis

Photographer Tony Stamolis, whose work has appeared everywhere from the New York Times to London art galleries, has been called a “classic cad” with a “prankster’s eye,” among other sobriquets and was recently included in Taschen’s coffee table tome “The New Erotic Photography.” Look, Read, Listen recently caught up with the 38-year-old California born artist who has made his home in New York City for almost half his life.

How and when did you get started in photography? Have you always been interested in photographing the nude?

I have always taken pictures but it wasn't until I had my first show in 1999 that I saw that my photography communicated to others. That's when I started taking it seriously and looking at it differently. I assisted a friend for a while and went on my own in 2003. The nude thing just sort of happened. I took some of my first serious girlfriend in my grandmother's basement bedroom when I was 18. Of course, my wise old grandmother knew I had had a girl down there and I got a talking to. She probably would have disowned me if she had know about the pictures. Sorry Yia-yia!

Your work has been included in Taschen’s “The New Erotic Photography.” How would you define this genre and your role within it?

Like I said in that book, I hate the term erotic, and typically hate anything associated with the genre. Most things that try to be sexy, are quite the opposite. I take photos of women (and this doesn't always mean sans clothing) because I like to and apparently, I am good at it. I don't want to be dubbed an erotic photographer. That's too limiting. I consider my nude work to be portraits as well.

What separates pornography from erotic art? Is it intention or something more ill-defined?

I think it's the thought behind it, and the perception of the eye of the beholder. Porn has become a form of pop art. It's more accepted and mainstream now and is very influential to so many areas of our daily lives and culture. Maybe penetration is the line people need to differentiate.

Color seems to play a huge part in your work. Have you always been drawn to that aspect of photography?

I have used B&W before, but yes, I have always been attracted to juicy, saturated color.

Do you use digital or traditional cameras or both? Which do you prefer and why?

More and more digital, the better it looks, but I still love film. The immediacy of digital is a big draw. I am not a snob though. Whatever is in front of me, I use. My photography is super lo-fi.

Your book “Frezno”(which came out last year) has a sense of immediacy and intimacy. Since you grew up in Fresno did the subject matter come easily to you? What were you striving for? How long did the project take?

I shot a few days a year for six years when I was home visiting my mother. The place definitely defines who I am and how I look at things, so I guess it came easily in that sense. I did work for it though. I didn't know any people there anymore, and shot almost a hundred portraits in three days on one trip. A project like that never feels finished, but I wanted to tell a story with what I had up to that point.

How did your project “Narcissister” come about? It seems like there is a relationship there to the work of Paul McCarthy and Hans Bellmer. Who are some of the artists who’ve influenced you?

All of that is the genius work of a friend who has fused her art work with burlesque. She's an ex-Ailey dancer who I met at Louise Bourgeois' monthly artist "salon" years ago. I have photographed many of her projects but really fell in love with her Narcissister "alter-ego." She's always creating new pieces so this is ongoing.
I love that you compared this to Bellmer and McCarthy. I love both of their work. Nobuyoshi Araki and Nan Goldin are major influences and to repeat myself again, old album art and vintage smut. Always inspiring.

Where do the ideas for your projects come from?

These are just silly ideas that I latch onto, and run with.

What are you working on now?

I have just finished my second book that will be out this Fall...it's a secret!
But I can tell you that it has a whole bunch of nekkid women in it.

History through the private lens: An interview with Benjamin Patton

Benjamin Patton spends many of his days sorting through the memories of others, putting the pieces together and rediscovering history through personal reminiscences, both for himself and the men and women he makes films about. But then he’s had a lot of experience with history through a personal lens. He’s the grandson of one of America’s most famous warriors, Gen. George S. Patton, and the son of Major General George Smith Patton, both of whom kept personal histories. Benjamin Patton took time to answer some questions for Look, Read, Listen.

History seems to have been important to your family, both in the private and public spheres, from your grandfather and father’s collecting their own letters and papers to your family touring historical sites. Has this influenced your view of history? Can personal history help to explain the larger
picture of the past?

I think it's incredibly valuable and enriching to be able to experience history through those that lived it. Whether it means reading someone's diaries and letters - such as The Patton Papers (Vol I & II) in the case of my grandfather, or being able to read a copy of Rudyard Kipling's Complete Book of Verse that has been annotated with all sorts of margin notes by both my father and grandfather. History through the lens of another person sort of brings you there to that moment; not only in history, but the moment THEY experienced that history. We visited more than a few battlefields as a family when I was a teen - from Gettysburg and Chancellorsville to Zama (where Scipio Africanus bested Hannibal) and Austerlitz -- This all has left an impression on me that is much harder to shake or forget than simply reading a text book.

As a producer and filmmaker why have you chosen to focus on peoples’ personal histories as opposed to exploring history in other ways?

Again, I feel that experiencing history through the conduit of someone who as there brings it alive in a special way. This is even more important when you are chronicling your own family's history and say, want to understand the great depression more viscerally and personally through your grandmother or great aunt or uncle who lived through it.

You come from a long line of distinguished military men. Why did you choose to follow a different path and was there a defining moment for you when you decided against a military career?

For most of my childhood I was set on becoming a naval officer. Just loved the ocean and sailing and maritime history and that was my focus. But that career plan was made in the context of military being the family business. The pressure to serve in the military wasn't overt, my father was content with any career that would fulfill me - but he, like me at the time, felt this would be something I could excel at. Perhaps the first of many defining moments came when I opted not to attend the Naval Academy Prep School in Newport - an Annapolis feeder program that I had been accepted to. There were many more such moments to come throughout my twenties as I opted not to pursue a military career each time I reached a juncture in my life where I would henceforth lose an options - USNA > ROTC > OCS, etc. In the end, I have come to peace with that decision because I have found another - perhaps even more effective - way for me to express my patriotism while also working in my gifts and following my bliss.

Has being a Patton helped or hindered your career?

Both. Sometimes it's a hindrance, sometimes an advantage -- depending on my age and level of self-confidence and centeredness. As a young adult, it helped to open doors, but when you walk through those doors you'd better know who you are -- and I didn't. Today, I have the family in proper perspective and because I don't depend on it to further my career, it's probably a benefit. The greatest joy of being in this family is being able to help an old veteran reconnect with his own military and combat service by serving as a conduit for them to my father or grandfathers (both of whom were generals also).

Do you feel that the relationship that your grandfather had with your father influenced his parenting style with you and your siblings? How?

Certainly, and I made this point in my June '09 Smithsonian article. My father and grandfather had a good relationship but when my father when away to boarding school at 13, their relationship occurred more at a distance. Keep in mind that my father only saw his father during his leave.

What was it like interviewing Manfred Rommel (the son of German General Erwin Rommel)? I assume you knew him since your father and he were friends. If so did that help in the interview process? What, for you, was the most interesting aspect of your interview?

Certainly interviewing Manfred Rommel was fascinating. I had known since I was about 9 years old - when we lived in Stuttgart, Germany. My dad and he had met in the 50s when my dad was stationed in Stuttgart for the first time. My grandfather had always wanted to meet Field Marshall Rommel - but since Rommel was forced to take poison by Hitler in late '44 and GEN Patton died in late '45, they never met. Once my dad and Manfred met, they quickly bonded and soon, when they realized they shared a birthday of Christmas Eve, we would celebrate it with them whenever we lived in Germany. They would trade memorabilia of their father's - maps, keepsakes, etc. as gifts. It was quite a thing.

How does the editing process come into play in your work? Is it difficult to know what to keep and what to throw away? At the end of the day is it the story line that counts or the accumulation of historical information or is there a happy medium?

The process is partly intentional and partly not. That is to say, when a project first comes my way, I have to determine what the center point of the film is - and how does the family want to organize the film - chronologically, or perhaps more creatively say, according to theme. One film I did about a retired General was organized into five areas: family, education, service, faith and integrity. But beyond that initial organization - which is largely client-driven, you simply go where the story is. I typically proceed as though the film is a block of marble, within which the final story lies. The trick is knowing how and which pieces to chip away and discard (on the editing floor) so that you are left with the essence of someone's story. And while there is of course more than one possible final film, I always proceed as if there is only one possible outcome - we just don't know what it is until it reveals itself to everyone and then Voila! It's a fascinating process.

Your company donates five percent of its earnings to various civic organizations. Why do you feel it’s important to give back to the community?

When I was growing up, we were always having to remember quotes 'to live by,' as it were. One that was often told to us was, "He to whom much hath been given, much shall be required." I'm pretty certain it's from the Bible, though I can't recall the exact reference. But it's so true. I was born with a great deal of opportunities that many people just don't ever have. The key is not to waste it - and (another quote), "Leave the world better than you found it."

You are the co-founder of Fred’s teen workshops. Do you feel it’s important to give the next generation a voice and if so why?

Today’s kids live in a video world. Few activities dominate their lives like the time spent watching movies, television or playing video games. This has left many young people with a sophisticated understanding of images but without the critical skills to process these images contextually. At Fred's Experimental Media, our mission is to flip the switch from passive image consumption to active and thoughtful image creation. Educational engagement and connection are understood to be critical aspects of today’s educational experience. With drop-out rates alarmingly high, schools, as well as community and therapeutic organizations, are all looking to deeply engage teens and provide opportunities for deep reflection on self and community. We do our best to make this possible for kids on as broad a spectrum as possible -- and though we are small -- Guess what? It's working.

What are you working on now?

I'm working on several projects right now - 3 or 4 new video biography projects have come to me as a result of my recent Smithsonian article and subsequent interview on NPR Weekend Edition (on Father's Day.) So that's taking up a lot of my time. We have also just finished a teen film workshop for FRED in Denver and start the fourth year of our MA teen film workshop for 35 teenagers next week. Beyond that, I am father to a baby boy - born exactly one month ago. His name is Tiger and he is a happy handful.

Addendum to "A Conversation with Josh Sternfeld"

"Meskada" writer-director Josh Sternfeld just confirmed that actors Nick Stahl and Rachel Nichols would be playing the leads in his rural police drama set to begin filming Monday in Greene and Columbia Counties in New York's Hudson Valley.
He said that the contracts were signed and that the other roles would be filled in quickly as they head into production.
Stahl will be playing Noah Cordin, a small town police detective investigating the homicide of a young child that occurs during a break-in.
Stahl is probably best known from his role as John Connor in “Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines” and from HBO’s series “Carnivale” and the 2001 film “In the Bedroom.”
Nichols will be playing Leslie Spencer, a county Sheriff’s Investigator, also working on the homicide case.
She can currently be seen in “Star Trek” and is also starring in the upcoming film ”GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra” set to be released in August.
“I’m very excited to be working with both actors,” Sternfeld told Look, Read, Listen.

A Conversation with Josh Sternfeld

Josh Sternfeld, a New York writer and filmmaker, is currently in pre-production for his second feature film, Meskada, a rural police drama that pits two towns, one struggling, the other well-off, against each other over the death of a child.

Sternfeld has two short films, “Balloons, Streamers” from 1997 and 1999’s “Colin’s Date” under his belt as well as one feature, “Winter Solstice” (2005), which starred Anthony LaPaglia, Aaron Stanford, Allison Janney, Mark Weber and Michelle Monaghan.

Sternfeld was also part of the prestigious Sundance writers workshop.

He took some time out to answer a few questions for Look, Read, Listen.

Your first three films are set in a suburban environment, why did you choose to delve into the rural world for your newest film?

I felt ready to approach a new environment, one that didn't come from my own upbringing. I was excited for the screenwriting challenge that comes from having to do real research, talking and learning from people whose experience of life was different from my own.

You have thus far mined the territory of the quiet family drama, where the plot is driven by character and circumstance rather than by grand action, so how did you translate this into the script for your newest film Meskada? Was it hard to balance the action with the more subtle aspects of character and place?

Balancing the action/ "plot-driven” elements of the story with the more subtle character work was a real challenge; it took many drafts over a couple years (and definitely many missteps) to get to the finished screenplay. More often than not, it meant doing the action and plot work first, then finding ways to bring in character traits and relationships to the scenes.

If I remember correctly you were a fan of 1981’s Ordinary People, what other films and/or filmmakers have inspired you and why?

My filmmaking influences and heroes are pretty diverse. I'm a huge admirer of Stanley Kubrick, mainly because he brought a singular and personal approach to such a wide array of genres. It takes incredible discipline and focus to work that way - something I hope to do someday. I'm also a big fan of Martin Scorsese (like every other director!)...for his boldness, the passion and energy he brings to the screen. Paul Thomas Anderson is another filmmaker I think is pretty fantastic.

What is it about the inner tensions of families that you seem drawn to exploring?

Well, to be honest, I think there's a universal draw to those themes. However, I hope with "Meskada" and in the future, that I'm changing my approach in exploring those tensions - the idea of the "quiet family drama" is not very exciting to me anymore. I would like to continue dramatizing family tensions, but in more provocative stories.

Your first full-length film “Winter Solstice” premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival and garnered favorable reviews. Having tasted some success, has there been an emotional struggle to get your next film into production because of this?

Well, it's has been a longer and more difficult struggle than I would have anticipated four years ago. That being said, I think everyone in the arts would agree that it's a long road, with lots of twists and turns...

Your next project is being made on a shoestring budget, do you feel you will be able to tell the story you intended without the major funding and do you feel that perhaps the struggle could enhance the final product?

For sure, I agree that the budget and spirit of this could make it a better film. Having to be creative and resourceful when you don't have tons of money can be a great thing...but then again, ask me in two months!...

How is pre-production for Meskada going? Who have you lined up as far as actors go and how did the process of casting occur? Did you have anyone in mind for specific roles?

Pre-production is going great; very busy with the locations search, and all the casting decisions. I don't usually write with specific actors in mind...which I guess makes the casting process kind of fun and unpredictable...

Everything is going to be allright: Guido van der Werve at the Hirschhorn

In Guido van der Werve’s video Nummer Acht, Everything is Going to be Allright, from 2007, we see a small, lone figure walking on a huge expanse of ice with a massive ice breaking ship following close behind. The only sound we hear is the raging wind and shattering ice as the man and ship move forward.

The video follows in the tradition of the early work of such groundbreaking video/performance artists as Vito Acconci and Chris Burden who explored the line between pain, fear and art.

The sense of danger and personal risk connects Nummer Acht to works like Acconci’s Trademark (1970), wherein he bites himself and makes prints from the marks, or Burden’s Shoot—in which he was shot with a rifle in the arm—and Trans-Fixed—in which he was nailed to the back of a VW Bug, from 1971 and 1974, respectively.

But there are two significant differences between the works. While Burden and Acconci close-off the viewer by their acts, using the body in a self-reflective way, Van der Werve’s action is meant to reach out to the world in a gesture that tells us “everything is going to be allright” in a world full of tumult.

The second difference between the works lies in the aesthetics. In Nummer Acht, the image is as important as the act. The video is aesthetically beautiful in the traditional sense.

Acconci and Burden’s early work doesn’t deal with aesthetic issues in the same way as van der Werve’s. The medium is merely meant to document an act and is anti-aesthetical in nature.

Van der Werve, a Dutch artist born in 1977, has worked in several mediums, including painting and performance, and is a classical pianist and chess player, all of which finds its way into his films.

The video is on display until Oct. 11, 2009 at the Hirschhorn Museum in Washington, D.C.

In defense of architectural kitsch or Why we should preserve giant sized Americana

As a child my family spent many an hour on the highways between Nebraska, where we lived, and Minnesota where my grandfather resided. I remember the miles of cornfields, an endless yellow and green blur, sometimes punctuated by a silo in red and white. Every so often in this landscape of anonymous uniformity a startling, one might say shocking, vision would appear—the roadside tourist trap.

Giant sized Indians, cowboys, corn…and the greatest of them all, Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox towering above the landscape. Actually there were and still are two giant Paul Bunyans in Minnesota, one that talked, in Brainerd and the other, which stood mute, in Bemidji. These roadside attractions represent a quickly disappearing art form that is a link to the best and worst of pre-interstate America—an unbounded desire for the new and weird melded with crass commercialism.

This uniquely American art form that combines art, artifice and advertising on a grand scale can be broken down further into two sub-categories. The first is mimetic architecture, buildings meant to resemble a person animal or object, as in the Brown Derby Restaurant—a building in the shape of, yes you guessed it, a brown derby hat—in Los Angeles. The other category consists of giant sculptures with no utilitarian purpose as in the above-mentioned Paul Bunyans. The common trait of all these works are a sense of the naive that can be compared to the paintings of Grandma Moses, that is, the proportions may not be correct, but the work has undeniable vitality and truthfulness.

I’ve found that the most exotic of man-made wonders have been built in places with a dearth of natural ones. Middle America could perhaps be considered the roadside attraction epicenter for this reason. Miles of corn, wheat or barren moonscape seems a natural setting for a giant bull, T-Rex, or an aqua-blue whale. But in the America of the 1930s, 40s and 50s, anywhere people passed through or vacationed was fair game and competition often pushed the boundaries of the imagination.

Henry Ford, by mass-producing his Model T and thereby lowering the cost of the automobile, helped usher in the era of roadside tourist traps. The entrepreneurial of spirit could now fleece the passing motorist in a way that P.T. Barnum never has the opportunity to do. If you weren’t lucky enough to own the rights to some natural wonder like a cave or scenic vista you could always build something big enough or strange enough to pique the interest of a passing motorist.

Route 66 was once lined with both categories of giant sized Americana. A few examples survive today, including the Wigwam Motel in Hollbrook, AZ., and an over-sized space man known as the Gemini Giant in Wilmington, IL., but much has been lost.

When President Eisenhower signed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 into law, he helped sound the death knell of roadside attractions in America. The law instituted the federal interstate system, connecting the country in a new way, but bypassing most of the tourist traps near smaller highways that no longer saw a large amount of traffic.

All across the country these irreplaceable pieces of America are in danger or are already gone forever. In California, Las Vegas and the Jersey Shore a number of examples of Googie architecture of the 1940s and 50s, which often used mimetic devices, have been torn down and in most cases replaced with designs of modern and post-modern simplicity or ubiquitous boxes lacking any semblance of style.

the Spirit of the Place

Editor’s note:This is the second interview with Stephen Bergman, a novelist, playwright and professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, who writes under the pen name Samuel Shem. This interview focuses on his latest work, The Spirit of the Place, a novel of history, redemption and love that is set in a small city in New York's Hudson Valley. The novel was published in 2008 by the Kent State University Press and has been awarded the National Best Book Award for general fiction.

Look, Read, Listen: There seems to be a palpable sense of history—local, national and personal—that runs through the novel, as well as a conflict between past and present; looking back and remembering as Miranda does or blotting out the past, typified by the desire of Milt and Henry to tear down the Worth Hotel. What is the importance of history in your novel and how do these different types of history relate to one another?

Samuel Shem: When I went to college I was pre-med and majored in psychology I thought that history was a worthless subject to study. Now the main thing I read is history and biography. When I heard about the Hudson Bicentennial in 1985 I started to revisit my hometown—my mother and father still lived there at the time—and I became fascinated by what I had never known. As in the novel, I had been taught, "They caught whales in the river." Imagine my surprise when I realized that this was not so, and when Hudsonians shared this view almost to a man/woman. In THE SPIRIT history is a constant deep theme, both in terms of the actual history of the town and of how this impacted and continues to impact the personal history of all the characters, especially the main character. THE SPIRIT actually is one story from a mammoth book I wrote, and in fact via digressions and documents I carry the history of Hudson and its characters all the way back to the Henry Hudson voyage and a devilish man called von Schoonerstroom who jumps ship and is last seen walking in to the woods with the Indians. Stay tuned.

LRL: As compared to your first novel, 1978’s the House of God, your new work seems to have a different sense of depth and pacing (a slow profound unfolding as opposed to urgency). Could this be due to the subject matter, your writing style or the fact that you are writing as a man 30 years older with all the experience that brings with it…or some combination of all these things?

SS: THE HOUSE was forged in the fire of delayed adolescence and dawning medical and personal wisdom; THE SPIRIT began when I was 40 (like the main character) and had a different tether—to understand some very basic things—love, death, betrayal—about my family and my town. The novel is elemental in that you don't have to be a doc to be captivated by the story and characters, the loves, deaths, and breakages of the town. Of all the spirits of the town.

LRL: The main character of the House of God learns the value of not doing too much for patients, while in the Spirit of the Place, Dr. Rose learns from his mentor the importance of being present with patients and the “old-fashioned” type of medicine that is based on practicality (and perhaps psychology) rather than medical science. Do you feel that these are important lesson for doctors to learn? And if so is it possible for this to be taught or does it have to happen organically as it did with both these characters?

SS: One review called THE SPIRIT the "perfect bookend to THE HOUSE OF GOD," in that HOUSE was about medical training, and SPIRIT is how to be not only a doctor, but a doctor/person when you get out. HOUSE was trying to cope with the conflict between the received wisdom of the medical system and the call of the human heart, and the response of the characters is to get out of the line of fire—while not yet knowing how to "be with" patients. Starbuck and Orville in THE SPIRIT place the "being with" the patient at the forefront—as he says, "80% of the time the patients who come into the office have no diagnosable physical complaint." The best way to learn how to be with people is to live your life with people who are caring. Late in the novel, Orville hears the words, "don't spread more suffering around." There is a universal journey of human suffering, and if you go through your own suffering with caring others, you will heal. He came as a doctor to heal the town and the town heals him—by its constant working of its crazy, horrifying, tender breakages on his life, and not letting him leave (his mother's "will")

LRL: Forgiveness seems to be a major theme of you newest novel. Is there a connection between Orville’s exposure to Dr. Starbuck’s kind of medicine and his eventual forgiveness of both his mother and Henry?

SS: Starbuck, like Dr. Harold Levine of my growing up years in Hudson, is a gentle wise, forgiving presence. When Orville got in trouble, Starbuck doesn't say much but takes him around to see patients giving birth, or dying, or whatever. Orville learns that happiness is not an individual matter, and that understanding brings love, and love understanding—and forgiveness. Orville doesn't exactly forgive the town bully Schooner, but he connects with him, at the end giving him the lovebird, Starlight.

LRL: Why did you choose the early 1980s as the time in which you set your novel?

SS: Because the Reagan years were a bloodbath in many parts of the world (Central America) that needed to be brought to light, and Reagan was the beginning of the really sophisticated lying that disguised the blood—which of course is nothing compared to the Bush years which saw it accepted that it wasn't necessary to disguise the fact that you are lying. I started the first draft of the novel in 1983 or so, so that was when it was set.

LRL: In both the House of God and the Spirit of the Place, the specter of the political power structure (Nixon, Reagan) becomes another character in these works. What is the importance of political climate as it relates to the settings of your novels?

SS: I am motivated by "Hey wait a second" moments, when you see or do or don't do something in your daily life and you say to yourself, "Hey wait a second why am I doing or not doing that?" and then you just ignore it and move on. HOUSE was in the Nixon impeachment year; MISERY in the early Reagan years, SPIRIT in the Reagan reelection year. The next novel is set in 2003, in the first "Mission Accomplished" horror of the Cheney/Bush regime. I take history very seriously; it takes us more seriously—witness the relief that W.is gone.

LRL: Would you consider your new book to be part of the Magic Realist tradition or to simply contain elements related to it? Or are we as readers to believe that Dr. Rose is not actually being visited by his dead mother?

SS: Marquez is my favorite modern author, so he influenced me, but hasn't everyone seen their dead mother flying around and having talks with her? Orville Rose is the only one who sees his mother. And he notices, near the end of the novel, the "she wouldn't fly in the face of love," i.e., that when he is in love, she does not appear. That's a clue, not an answer.

LRL: In the Spirit of the Place, Columbia, which is based on the city of Hudson, where you grew up, becomes another character in the book. Was it difficult to balance the truthful and fictional elements of the setting and the characters that inhabit it?
Nope easy. In THE HOUSE OF GOD, and MOUNT MISERY, the sequel to it, it was horrendously difficult to write the doctors and patients without getting sued; Hudson was easy. Almost everything I write is virtually true, and one step off real.

LRL: Dr. Rose faced some difficulties growing up Jewish in Columbia. Did you face similar challenges when you were young?

SS: Yes. Enough said.

LRL: What are you working on now?

SS: I just finished the new novel, SPOOK ROCK VENTURE, which is set in "Columbia" again, but 20 years later. Many of the same characters make an appearance—Orville the town doctor with a new sign in Bill's office: "YES SMOKING—NOT REALLY"), and Miranda and Cray and, yes, Mrs. Tarr who, two decades later, is still leading her oxygen tank around town on a leash. It is my first novel without a doctor at the center. It's the great junkyard novel. Stay Tuned. I'm also working on a nonfiction book with Janet Surrey my wife, and coaxing our play, BILL W. AND DR. BOB to productions in the USA and Brazil and Russia and Paris etc. And I'm a third of the way through my most radical novel yet.

A conversation with Samuel Shem

Editor’s Note: This is the first of two interviews with Stephen Bergman, psychiatrist and author who writes under the pen name Samuel Shem. This interview revolves around his first novel, The House of God, while the second will be concerned with his latest work, The Spirit of the Place.

The House of God, which came out in 1978, was Bergman’s first novel and tells the story of Dr. Roy Basch and his internship at the House of God.
Bergman said that his first novel was the hardest to write, but felt it had to be written. He said it came about from a series of “hey wait a second” moments that “make you stop and think. During my internship I had so many of them.”

The House of God was well received by the doctors of his generation but not by the older generation.
"The older generation of doctors hated it,” he said. “My generation loved it.”

The novel has sold more than two million copies and is required reading in medical schools throughout the world.

Bergman was a Rhodes Scholar at Balliol College, Oxford and is a professor at Harvard Medical School. He lives in Newton, MA., and is married to Janet Surrey, with whom he has co-written several works.

Do you consider The House of God a satire, as some critics have labeled it, or a hyper-realistic depiction of your internship year at Beth Israel?

SATIRE, TO ME, IS EXAGGERATION IN THE SERVICE OF POLEMIC. EXAGGERATION? WITH A FEW EXCEPTIONS, THE SITUATIONS IN THE HOUSE ARE AT MOST ONE STEP OFF REALITY. IF THAT'S EXAGGERATION, EVERY WRITER OF FICTION IS AN EXAGGERATOR. EVER SINCE I, A NAIVE YOUTH AT HUDSON HIGH SCHOOL, WON THE NEW YORK STATE AMERICAN LEGION ORATORICAL CONTEST, WITH A SPEECH CALLED 'THE CONSTITUTION, FREEDOM'S WEAPON,' I HAVE BEEN SENSITIVE TO POLEMIC. HOWEVER I HAVE EMBRACED RESISTANCE, WHICH IS DIFFERENT. WHAT IS THE DIFF? POLEMIC IS A BRUTAL VERBAL ASSAULT TO IMPOSE CHANGE, A POWER-OVER TACTIC. RESISTANCE IS A NONVIOLENT GROUP ACTION TO BRING CHANGE. SO CALL THE HOUSE OF GOD A NOVEL OF RESISTANCE USING A ONE-STEP OFF REAL STYLE.

When writing the novel did your training as a psychiatrist find its way into the writing? The ghost of Freud seems to hover nearby, especially in the form of the two policemen.

EARLY ON IN MY 30 YEAR BID AS A SHRINK, I REALIZED THAT FREUD WAS CERTAINLY NOT AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OR THEORY OF ANYTHING, OR, TO PUT IT ANOTHER WAY, FREUD WAS AT BEST FARCE. WHAT BETTER HIGHLIGHTING OF THE FREUD FARCE THAN TO HAVE THE POLICEMEN EMBRACE HIM--DEEP DOWN THEY THINK HE'S AN ASSHOLE TOO.

Sex and death seem to be overarching themes of the novel and can be broken down further into the categories of the frenzied, mindless sex typified by the Runt and the intimate, relationship building sex Dr. Basch shares with Berry. Death, it seems, can also be broken down into good death, i.e. dying when its time, naturally, as opposed to the seemingly everlasting death provided by the likes of Jo. When you where writing the novel did this occur organically or was it something you consciously implanted in the work?

ORGANICALLY. IT WAS ALL IN THE REALITY, AND I JUST WROTE IT. BUT ANY GOOD NOVEL IS ABOUT SEX AND DEATH AND REDEMPTION. A NOVELIST NEVER REALLY KNOWS WHAT HIS OR HER WORK IS ABOUT UNTIL SOMEONE READS IT AND TALKS WITH YOU ABOUT IT.

Why did you choose to use Marcel Marceau’s performance as Dr. Bach’s way back into humanity?

BECAUSE I LOVED MARCEL MARCEAU, AND HAD GONE TO A PERFORMANCE OF HIS RECENTLY. AND ALSO, BECAUSE IT WAS EXACTLY RIGHT. WHAT WOULD THE SHAKESPEAREAN POLICEMEN GO TO SEE AND ENJOY? MAMET? NEVER. THEY'D SEE HOW FAKE HIS 'REAL'', WHICH THEY ENCOUNTER EVERY DAY, IS.

About two thirds of the way through the novel, and probably the internship year, Dr. Basch aligns himself with Pinkus, and by extension, the slurpers. It is obviously a coping mechanism as was the other methods employed by the terns. Did this actually happen to you in some form? And if not can you explain how it found its way into the book.

I NEVER BOUGHT INTO THE PINCUS OR SLURPER WORLD. I SEEM TO HAVE A HIGH DEGREE OF SUSPICION FOR FALSITY--THUS MY TORMENT WITH THE PATHETIC LIAR--AS-PRESIDENT GEORGE BUSH--AND MY DESCRIPTIONS ARE INFORMED BY THAT ALERTNESS. AGAIN, THEY WERE THERE IN REALITY, AND I TOOK THEM ONE STEP OFF. (THERE IS IN FACT NOW AT THE BETH ISRAEL HOSPITAL CARDIAC UNIT A 'PINCUS' AWARD, FOR A CHARACTER MOST LIKE HIM IN REALITY)

Who are some of the writers, (besides the Russians, I know they have been important to you) and others, who have inspired you. Did you read Catch-22, for instance, before writing The House of God? I know the two novels have been compared to one another, but in my opinion, they only relate in the sense of the inanity of both systems faced by yourself and Heller.

I NEVER READ CATCH-22 UNTIL AFTER THE HOUSE OF GOD WAS PUBLISHED. I LOVED IT IN PART, NOT AS A WHOLE. THE LITERARY TECHNIQUE WAS TOO LITERARY, AND AS YOU CAN SEE, I BELIEVE IN STORY, NOT SITUATION. ALSO, HE GOT AT LEAST 2 STEPS OFF THE REAL, IF NOT 3. MY HEROES ARE--IN ADDITION TO THE RUSSIANS ABOVE ALL TOLSTOY--SHAKESPEARE, MARQUEZ, FAULKNER, ORWELL--ESPECIALLY 1984--EDUARDO GALEANO (THE MEMORY OF FIRE TRILOGY), AND THEN SPECIFIC BOOKS: TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, THE JUNGLE, THE QUIET AMERICAN, UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, USA (DOS PASSOS), THE TIN DRUM, THE PRESIDENT (MIGUEL ANGEL ASTURIAS), NERUDA, WALLACE STEVENS, MARY OLIVER. I WOULD CALL ALL OF THEM WRITERS OF RESISTANCE OR NOVELS OF RESISTANCE.

Do you feel that before and during the time you were an intern that it was possible for there to be internal medicine MDs who retained a sense of humanity? Or did they all end up as slurpers?

YES, MEDICINE HAS CHANGED, PARTLY BECAUSE OF THE HOUSE OF GOD, AND THE HOURS THAT PERMIT MORE SLEEP. YES, LOTS OF DOCS RETAIN THEIR HUMANITY. THE LIFE CYCLE IS THAT THEY GO INTO MED SCHOOL WITH IDEALS, THEY GET THEM BEATEN OUT OF THEM IN THE SECOND TWO YEARS OF MEDICAL SCHOOL AND THEN GET HAMMERED TO A PULP IN THEIR SPECIALTY AND SUBSPECIALTY TRAINING, AND THOSE WHO SURVIVE AND GET THROUGH THEIR MID-LIFE CRISIS TURN INTO WONDERFUL DOCTORS, LIKE HUDSON'S OWN DR. BILL STARBUCK IN MY NEW NOVEL, THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE.

Another important element in the novel is Nixon’s downfall. It seems Nixon and the Leggo are linked, at least in the mind of Dr. Basch. After Dr. Basch’s return to humanity he seems to be able to see the Leggo as a person and not merely as a representative of the old-guard establishment. Do you feel there is any relationship to this scene and the nation’s possible sense of catharsis at Nixon’s finally leaving office after the Watergate hearings?

THERE WAS NO CATHARSIS WHEN NIXON LEFT, BECAUSE GERALD FORD PREVENTED IT WITH A PARDON (IN THE SAME WAY THAT WE RISK MORE TROUBLE IF THE CHENEY/BUSH/RUMSFELD/RICE CRIMINALS GET OFF SCOTT FREE). YOU CAN'T LOOK AHEAD UNLESS YOU LOOK BEHIND--AMERICA'S SINGLE GREATEST PROBLEM IS A BLINDNESS TO HISTORY, WITNESS THE UPCOMING 'SURGE' IN AFGHANISTAN, OR THE RECENT NO-SUPERVISION BAILOUT OF THE RICH. NIXON'S DOWNFALL AND LEGGO'S PRESIDENCY OF THE RESIDENCY ARE THE SAME POWER OVER MODEL. THE ONLY MODEL THAT WORKS, LONG TERM, IS A POWER-WITH MODEL. THE DIFFICULTY IN A HIERARCHICAL SYSTEM IS TO KEEP YOUR SENSE OF MUTUALITY AND COMPASSION, WHICH ROY ARRIVES AT AFTER HE'S GONE. THE LEGGO IS A LOST SOUL AND WILL DIE THAT WAY. HIS KIDS WILL HATE HIM..

France, as described in the novel, seems to be a place that drenches the senses and helps Dr. Basch recuperate after the year in the House of God. Why France? What about that country, and the part of France they go to, has the ability to help him, at least in part, to focus on the body/spirit as opposed to the body/anatomy?

AFTER MY INTERNSHIP I WENT DIRECTLY INTO MY PSYCHIATRY TRAINING, BUT I WENT TO THE DORDOGNE AS SOON AS I COULD WITH MY THEN GIRLFRIEND, NOW MY WIFE. IT WAS, AND IS, LIKE ANY NATURAL SIMPLE PLACE, A HEALING SPIRITUAL ARENA.

When you wrote the novel it was a time before television was inundated with doctor dramas such as ER and Gray’s Anatomy. Do you feel that The House of God may have helped spawn or at least laid the groundwork for this? What do you think of these types of shows?

THE HOUSE OF GOD WAS RIPPED OFF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ABOUT 1980 WITH A SHOW CALL SAINT ELSEWHERE (A TERM I USE IN THE NOVEL) AND I THOUGHT OF SUING THEM BUT DIDN'T. SINCE THEN IT HAS BEEN RIPPED OFF FOR 30 YEARS. I HAVE NEVER WATCHED A SINGLE EPISODE OF ANY OF THESE SHOWS--TO ME THEY'RE WITLESS, BRUTAL, AND CRUDE. OUR DAUGHTER IS IN LOVE WITH HOUSE, SO I TRIED TO WATCH THAT, BUT LASTED ONLY ABOUT 9 MINUTES AND HAVE NEVER WATCHED ANOTHER EPISODE. THERE IS ONE PURPOSE FOR THIS STUFF, TO MAKE MONEY, AND THEY DO THAT VERY WELL BECAUSE PEOPLE WILL GO FOR THE VULGAR AND THE PHONY. MIND YOU, I DON'T HATE ALL SIT-COMS. OUR DAUGHTER LOVES RERUNS OF FRIENDS, AND I LOVE THOSE GUYS. THEY'RE REAL EVEN IF THE PLOTS ARE SOMETIMES NOT.

Humor plays a huge role in the novel. I know that in my own line of work as a crime reporter, humor seems to help temper the ugliness of death. Was that true for yourself and your fellow interns?

EARLY ON IN WRITING THE NOVEL, I HAD A TOUCH OF THE MUSE ON MY SHOULDER: "THIS STUFF IS SO HORRIFIC THAT FOR ANYONE TO READ IT IT HAS TO RIDE ON HUMOR" AND THAT'S WHAT I DID. AND THAT'S WHAT WE DID IN THE INTERNSHIP--HUMOR AND SEX.