a moment in the day: another

Morning, the radio on, me sitting at the computer with fingers tapping, half-listening.

The NPR reporter says, “We’ve got another shooting. This time in Fort Worth, Texas.”

My first reaction is the expected sadness, but then I find myself struck by how he said it. There’s the inevitability conveyed, the resignation in his voice. He only lets a touch of emotion into his words, but it’s enough to show how he feels.

But really, it’s the very opening of the statement that stays with me. Those first two words.

We’ve got.

We, America. Got, have, own. We own this. 

Book Cover: Chicano Frankenstein

Had I not been handed a few specific directions at the start of the project, I might have done exactly what the author didn't want. After all, when you're presented with a book that's based on Frankenstein, your mind immediately goes to that classic image of the monster. Also I am a certified monster-story fanatic (see: City of Weird), particularly vintage monster stories, so I can see myself going all Groovy-Goolies-slash-Boris-Karloff on my cover design, if left to my own devices. Alright, maybe not Groovy Goolies.

But for the cover of Chicano Frankenstein, author Daniel A. Olivas had two specific wishes, which publisher Laura Stanfill liked and sent my way. First, he wanted to avoid any stitched-together bodies or body parts. So no imagery directly referencing a Frankenstein-monster type of character.

If you're wondering whether there are in fact any Frankenstein-monster types of characters in the book, here's the publisher description:

An unnamed paralegal, brought back to life through a controversial process, maneuvers through a near-future world that both needs and resents him. As the United States president spouts anti-reanimation rhetoric and giant pharmaceutical companies rake in profits, the man falls in love with lawyer Faustina Godínez. His world expands as he meets her network of family and friends, setting him on a course to discover his first-life history, which the reanimation process erased. With elements of science fiction, horror, political satire and romance, Chicano Frankenstein confronts our nation’s bigotries and the question of what it truly means to be human.

(Doesn't that sound so cool?)

Daniel's second wish was that I use the iconography of Día de los Muertos in my cover design. Specifically the skeletons and the lovely, decorative skulls.

I was excited to work with this beautiful and thought-provoking imagery, but I wouldn't have explored using iconography with roots in Mexican culture, a culture that isn't mine, if it hadn’t been Daniel's wish. I may have done so, say, ten years ago, but I understand so much more, now, how people are the gatekeepers of their own culture. Only because it was Daniel's suggestion did I, and Laura, feel comfortable referencing it, and what I created would have to get his approval if we were to use it.

One idea Daniel had was to reference the old Hitchcock Vertigo movie posters with the swirling vortex and the body falling down and down. 

And one idea I had was to build the title and author name out of bones. Including skulls for the Os in Chicano and in Daniel's last name.

The first thing I did when getting started was to throw down the title in the 6" x 9" space I had for a cover, to see the room it might take up on the page. I was concerned about how long the word Frankenstein is. The longer the word, the smaller the font has to be. I tried slanting it.

I tried breaking it.

That was interesting. I wondered whether Laura would be okay with broken words. Would she worry that it would make the title hard to easily and quickly read? I liked the idea of really filling the space up with words made of bones, and the three-piece version left nice space open for the author name and blurb. I decided to give it a try.

I liked Daniel's Vertigo idea, too, so I decided to try the vortex as a background for my very text-heavy concept. I built a vortex and some bones.

I built a couple of skulls. I wanted to keep them simple and similar since they would be smallish details in a larger text scheme.

Working in multiple layers, I arranged the bones into (on top of) the shapes of the words.

When I had the layout of text as I wanted it, I popped in the skulls for the Os, and then added some flowers, referencing the flowers in the skulls, as extra ornamentation, particularly so that I could get some more color into the design. Added the requisite placeholder blurb and "a novel," and...

The biggest tinkering I did with this concept was with the skull Os. Did they want to be the detailed skulls I had made, or did they want to be something simpler? Again I worried about readability. I tried simplifying them using the actual Os of the original font with added skull detail/decoration.

Hmm. 

For a moment I tried to tell myself their shape referenced Frankenstein with that classic squared-off head, but no. They just looked like Tic Tacs. I tried with a more rounded O and simplified the design further, thinking if the faces blended into the background, they might look more like Os.

But they looked like decorated eggs.

I resolved to send all three, plus a version with no skulls as Os at all, to Laura and see what she thought. Then I moved on to Daniel's Vertigo idea. 

This time I built a whole skeleton and positioned it falling down through the vortex. I thought it might look cool if the lettering also followed the shape of the vortex, so I used a simple Adobe Illustrator effect to get my title and author name, still in bone form, to twist. I arranged them around the fulcrum of the falling skeleton man and then I started to refine the letters so that they wouldn't look so warped by the effect I'd used on them. Knowing it would take a lot of refining to get the lettering to look as I wanted it to look, I only worked so long before sending samples to get Laura's opinion on the concept. If she liked the concept, and then if Daniel liked it, I'd refine it further.

I wish I remembered the thought I had that made me pivot to a third concept. I know I was experimenting with what might look good if I left the lettering un-broken and un-warped. If it just sat straight across on the page. Something made me take the skull and blow it up and fill the whole space with it to see where things would fall. Where they fell was great and I got excited. I could position the title and author name so that the eyes and the skeleton teeth peeked out between the words, and it was an arresting image. Then I arranged a handful of flowers at the edges to bring in some color and some balance (dark/light, death/life).

And one last impulse before I sent it all off for Laura to look at. After all the monkeying about with bones, what if the text were simple and clean?

I was very pleased that Laura didn't have any readability issues with the skull-face Os or the broken Frankenstein. In fact, she said, "I also love FRANKEN STEIN split onto two levels because he’s made up of two different bodies. It gets to the stitched-together theme in such a cool way."

I always love how conceptual Laura gets with her thoughts on cover art. It was a connection I hadn't made, and I loved that she had found it.

She was drawn to the covers with more color and asked if I could try bringing more color into both the big-skull cover and, in particular, the Vertigo cover, which had very little ("The tiny skeleton face makes me really happy because of its colors," she said.). For the big skull cover, we experimented with different numbers and arrangements of flowers.

Laura suggested adding another color to the vortex in the Vertigo cover, and I was surprised and pleased with how well that worked. I was able to add the color and line things up nicely so that it didn't obscure the lettering and kept everything in balance.

And the three added flowers not only added to the color but also to the sense of the twirl. 

Another thing Daniel envisioned: bones breaking or falling off the body. So I added that detail too.

Laura pulled together a sampling of favorites and sent them to Daniel for his thoughts. He chose his favorite, and we had our cover. In his back and forth with Laura, he sent her this cute comment:

"I am so happy with my new baby's outfit."

I am so happy too. In the end, the simpler concept won out. And we may just sneak some of that vortex design onto the back cover.

Chicano Frankenstein will be out March 5, 2024. More information is here. More info on Daniel and his other books, including How to Date a Flying Mexican, is here. The photo I used in this post of Día de los Muertos painted skulls was taken by Nikola Tinková and shared from Pixabay.

Here's an excerpt from the book!

The man closed his apartment door and entered the cool evening. He stretched his legs and twirled his arms in three clockwise circles. The man took a deep breath, put on his hoodie, and then started on his nightly run. He turned left on Hurlbut Street toward Pasadena Avenue and then turned left again. The man let his legs stretch out in long strides as his muscles slowly warmed up. Running cleared his mind, made him feel whole. This night, his arms and legs moved as they should, as part of one machine that was created to function without a hitch, in perfect rhythm. This was not always the case, but tonight, the man felt the kind of balance that calmed a desperate small voice in his head. His breathing grew heavy as his legs moved faster and faster in the cool evening. The man’s mind was free and clear as he ran and ran and ran.

Some passages from my journals about my good friend Robert Hill

Robert Hill was my second close friend to pass away in a very short period of time, and I've been looking through my old journals for stories I wrote down about both of them. I compiled a bit of a post with excerpts for each of them, and this one is for Robert—a sadly inadequate and incomplete collection as my journaling is scant at times, especially in these later years full of projects and not enough time. But I'm thankful for the memories I did write down, and I thought I'd share for anyone who's missing him.

Some commentary and explanations in italics before the entries. 

*

This took place at the home of Tom Spanbauer where I and some friends were in his Dangerous Writing workshop. The "outside group" I mention is a small writing group threesome of Steve Arndt, Kathleen Lane, and me, that we were talking about expanding, and which eventually became the Henry Writing Group (because we met at the Henry, across the street from Powell's). Diane and Dian are different people, not a typo. I honestly can't remember whether I had met Robert by now. It's the first mention of him in my journals.

Friday, February 22, 2008, 2:25 PM—Pages went well—rewrite passed—of course, Diane wasn't there. 

And outside, we were talking—Kathleen, Steve and me—about the outside group. She's spoken to Robert Hill, who's interested, and she wants to invite Dian.

Just a tiny snippet about when I started reading Robert Hill's first book When All Is Said and Done.

Thursday, February 28, 2008... 2-28-2008... nice—10:28 AM—Finished Now is the Hour yesterday morning and have started Robert Hill's book.

Lots of voice. I've already come across good humor and sadness and social issues.


This was a writing retreat the Henry Writers took together, and Robert used the time to work on a story he was writing for the book Stephen and I were producing, The Untold Gaze.
Monday, October 20, 2014, 4:05 PM—Lovely day-long writing retreat at the Tiny House. It was Liz, Kathleen, Robert, Sara and I, and the house was lovely. I spent most of the writing time up in the loft bedroom, which was so low you had to crawl across the floor to get to the bed, and the roof was a steep slant over your head. It felt cozy sitting on the bed with pillows and a window at my back. Sounds of frogs through that window. And geese. Geese were flying over constantly. At one point, I sort of stretched and craned my neck back and upside-down saw so many geese fly across the sky. Lovely sounds to write by. That and the occasional giggling of Robert just about directly below me in the great room. Giggling to himself about the piece he was writing for Stephen’s book. In the end he told me he was a little over the limit. “You wanted 600 words, right? Mine’s…” squinty-eyed face, “eleven hundred.”

Snippet from Henry Writing Group.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015, 9:41 AM—Laura surprised us all with the opening to a new book, and Kathleen surprised us with a piece from a whole book she’s written in a month and a half. Both were amazing. Robert with a gorgeous new early piece to his new book, which was very different and added so much to the story. Sara with an essay on rape, which was strong but which we were able to give her a lot of good feedback on. Which she’s writing for a submission to an anthology headed up by Roxane Gay. Dian with a great story she wrote in a garden in France. Liz with a rejection letter for her memoir that she wanted feedback on. It was a night of being enriched in the company of some of my favorite people. And inspired.

More writing group. The reference to "poeh-treh" is about a performance Stephen and I did at the Poe Show, but what I love about this entry is that it was the first time Robert saw copies of The Remnants, his second book, which Forest Avenue Press published and whose cover I was honored to design.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016, 2:20 PM—had Group last night to fill my soul up again. I read for the first time in months. It felt very pedestrian and not that interesting, but I just wanted to get them back on track with the reading and me back on track with bringing stuff in. All evening, Liz, Steve and Robert kept talking about “poeh-treh” and laughing and talking about how good we were. Liz said as soon as we finished performing, she stood up in applause. “And I hate standing ovations!” she said. Robert walked me to my car afterward and asked me where the inspiration for Lord and Lady Bungalow came from. So funny that it just popped out of our mouths while driving around, on the way to Cape Meers that early trip when we found Bayocean and didn’t get swept away by a tsunami. Laura brought the first copies of The Remnants, hot off the press. She gave Robert a copy of the Poets and Writers that has the piece on Forest Avenue Press and followed it up with pulling out six copies of the book and handing him one. The delight on his face. So fun to watch him look at the actual book for the first time. A couple times I caught him just sort of lightly petting the cover like it was a delicate bird. 

Then the wrap-up of Robert's Powell's book launch for The Remnants.
Friday, March 18, 2016, 10:24 AM—Well, Robert’s launch was a lovely night. Looks like there were at least 75 people. The party at Liz’ beforehand was very nice. Stephen and I met Wes at the call box, and that was a lovely surprise. There were maybe 25 people at the party, and then Group had the front row for the reading, which I think was nice. Stephen and me, Kathleen, Steve, Liz, Dian, Sara (Margaret was out sick but just found out she was one of the runners up for the PEN, which is amazing), Laura, of course, Norm. Stevan Allred. Brad came, which was nice. Jamie, sitting alone in back. Liz was the intro, which was fabulous, and Robert gave a lovely tribute to Tom, which I told him about in my letter. Robert had flowers and/or presents for folks he was thanking, and mine… I sat on the floor and opened it with Kathleen and Steve and inside… so clever. First I unwrapped what looked like crackers and I thought, OK, where’s the cheese. It wasn’t until I finished going through it that it occurred to me, and I said to Kathleen, no, this is just like in the book! Tea and saltines! He gave me two tea cups and saucers, tea and saltines. And a sprig of apple blossoms which—he searched for… what is it in the book… cherry blossoms? But this was a good substitute. He really had the crowd laughing as he read. Stevan likened it to Shakespeare, how at first, you’re a little lost in the language and then you click into it and it becomes this understood, beautiful language you ride, and I think it’s true—the laughter just built. 

Another snippet from writing group, this time on Zoom, with a mention of the next book Robert had been working on. (The "poor mouse" is something a crow left in our birdbath, if you must know.)
Wed, May 12, 2021 at 12:08 PM—I had Henry group, which was just Liz, Robert, Steve and me as Kathleen, who was supposed to join us at the beginning and then the end, couldn't get back on at the end. I only saw her for a moment as she was getting off (I was a little late because of the poor mouse). Robert read the end of his book, which was amazing, and Liz read the beginning of a new project. So it felt like a momentous meeting. We talked and talked about just the last few lines of Robert's book, and it felt like a privilege to do so. 

Finally, here are Robert's final words from the final email I got from him. I wanted to share them, not because he mentions reading the book I've been writing, but because I like to picture him there, sitting outside, just enjoying some coffee, and goofing around, beautifully, with words like always.

It's going to be 88 here today. It's glorious out. I'm sitting on the front porch with my coffee looking at a haze of sage pollen waft across the driveway just in my sight line to a cluster of daffodils across the road.

Bugs are buzzing, an owl is hooting, in the distance several dogs are engaged in an a cappella argument.

I have barely had any clarity to work on STUCK. Maybe 4 pages in the past 3 weeks? Ugh. But... I am looking forward to devoting a church of outdoor time today to diving into your book because it's so charming. And so you. And so therefore attention must be paid! Wait... Willy? Is that you? Are you home from Albany? The boys have a bone to pick with you! What? Lunch with the mayor of Providence? How... special. I made meatloaf for dinner. Digestion must be made.

Some passages from my journals about my good friend Mara

I recently lost a very close friend who I'd known since I was six and she was four. I started to poke through my old journals, the ones I'd transcribed to computer (which is far from all of them), where I could do a search of her name and see what I found. Most of what I found was nondescript, mentions of hanging out, vaguely-described good times. But I pulled out some passages that were more particular, going back through the years, that I thought I'd share for anyone who knew Mara. 

Some commentary and explanations in italics before some entries. Spelling and punctuational errors intact because at the start of this, I am eight.

*

I had a cassette tape and was getting various friends and family to sing and talk on it with me.

January 31, 1978—On my tape, Mara and I had made a martian story. Something happened & the tape speeded up. We were talking fast & high. It echoed. It sounded so neat!

I'm ashamed to share this one because Mara and I were playing a ditch 'em game from my sister Edina, and how mean is that? Also, apparently we were climbing around Mara's monkey bars with pillows on top of it... eek. But it was a very particular memory I have of being with her, just the two of us.
April 9, 1978—today Mara and I were trying to get away from edina, and we had an idea. it took a while But I got over mara's Fense. I let mara in the T bar had pillows on it and we got on it, and got the giggles. 

We were camping at a place called Campland, and they were shooting some sort of commercial. Friendly the Wolf was the place's mascot.

May 11, 1980—Today I got in another comercial. I was a background. We made a mound of sand for friendly the wolf to sit on. Shena, Heather, Tom, Edina, Mara, Ryan and I walked in the background while friendly the wolf talked. We went home. I watched video taped movies.

The "(s)" below is me describing a motion with the hands that looks like an S.

September 30, 1982—Edina's birthday. We went to the French Pantry for Edina's birthday. Alaine (a waitress) teaches sign language. She gave us name signs. Mine's an "E" (left hand) rubbing my right arm. (I like to make music). Edina is 2 "E"s signing "talk". Frankie is an "F" with the 3 last fingers chomping the thumb for Pac-Man. Heather is "H" (s) Shena is 2 "S"s playing a flute. Alaine's is an "A" dancing. Mara signs "Super Jew." 

October 16, 1982—We played our soap opera. You see, about a weak ago we made a soap opera. I'm Lisa Van Jua, a snob. Mara's my sister Andrea. Heather's Stephany Shore. Edina's her 16 year old sister Kathy Morgan. Shena is Jackie Benit. Frankie is Christopher Shena's son & Heather's adopted son. I'm a modle. It's a lot of fun!

The Butlers were/are Shena and Mara's good friends.
February 20, 1983—We went to a mission. Then we ate breakfast out. Then we went home. Noni had a big get-together, the Butlers came. I was so mad. Shena and Mara were acting all hot. I got to Special on Lady bug again. We had sundaes. 

May 29, 1983—We swam in the lake again. Today I lost one of my ear plugs in the water. Heather & Frankie made up a "Star Wars" presentation & after it we came home. Tonight, Mara & Heather spent the night. We swam in the pool. We watched part of "The Blue & the Grey", I turned it off & I went to sleap.

This entry really got to me because Mara's personality shines through so beautifully. It was a visit with a good friend Ian, who we hadn't really hung out with since his brother (my first best friend) had died a year before. (Colleen was a friend of the family and I guess Sean was her son. I don't remember him.)

Oct 4, 1984, 6:47 PM—Well, Colline brought Ian and Sean over this after noon. We (Shena, Mara, & I) saw them drive up in the van they've always had, as we walked home from school. Mara, instantly tore off her shoes and began to run toward our house and I followed close behind. Shena, however, stayed back abit. Ian got out of the van and it's true. He's almost as tall as I am. Mara gave him a big hug. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I was too scared to know what to do. Mara said a few words and started, with Shena, towards their house. We went in our house. Colline and Mom were talking and Ian and I just stood around for awhile. He seemed as scared as I was. But, then, we both began to loosen up. We played Sean a couple games of pin-ball. Ian got 500,00 on one game. Sal and Susan were over with Chandler. Then, we all began to play tag. It was Ian and me against all the kids. The boundaries were the whole house and yard and we captured them and put them in our "dungeon" It was like old times. Later, Mara came back up and she, Ian, and I talked in my room about old times and things. We talked about Big Bear and the hill behind his house and the tree house he has in his back yard and camping and playing zoo. I was really sad when he left. I think he's coming back on next Tuesday or something.

12/25/84 7:11 P.M.—Shena and Mara came by and we took a boat ride with Coco in which we sang songs and saved someone's volleyball. Now, they're gone and we're back at the McFerrin's lake house where we're spending the night.

There are a lot of years between my childhood and the millennium that I haven't transcribed for computer. Here, Mara was getting married and friends and family were making a quilt for her as a wedding gift, each person making one square.

Saturday, July 21, 2001, 6:49 am—I started painting background squares for Mara's quilt square yesterday. I have it laid out and am now onto the painting portion. I hope the thing doesn't look completely stupid. I'm using the story of Mara from our childhood, in which they had just moved in and she was going up and down the street asking if parents had any kids she could play with. I'm leaving Kirsten out and just doing a cartoon of Mara at an open door asking the question, with an inset, then, of an older Mara—because we could find no good childhood photos amongst Mom's stuff, nothing that didn't have a hand in front of the face, etc.

Thursday, July 26, 2001, 6:21 am—Last night, I finished up the square for Mara. I think it looks fine. The picture of her looks pretty good and I was able to use the light board to trace some lettering onto the cloth. I was afraid about that because you can't just draw and erase on cloth like you can on paper, so this worked out well.

 

Another jump forward. I feel like this might have been the first time we saw Mara's house when she and the boys moved in, here in Portland.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007, 2:41 PM—And then the evening was Stephen, Frank and me with Mara and the family at her house, a tour of her house and pizza, then Stephen home and Frank and I went off with them to the zoo for Zoo Lights. Asher and Boston were bouncing off the walls and it was so much fun. Rainy and wet but lovely lights all around and a train ride.

Lastly, an account of the Zoom surprise birthday party Shena and the boys arranged for Mara in 2020.
Thursday, 6-25-20 8:25 PM—The lovely, funny chaos of the surprise birthday party for Mara. 

I logged on about five minutes till. A few people on already, not Shena. Kirsten (formerly) Butler, which was cool and she said, "Hey, Gigi, do you remember me?" Let's see, the group ended up being Shena, Stephen and me, Peg, Boo, various Woodruffs I mostly know by name, Adam, Kirsten, Dave Lambert (who at first couldn't make his sound work and almost gave up), Michael, Heather, Molly and Ryan Silbernagel, and the boys, sometimes on their own devices and sometimes in the room with Mara. 

At first Mara was on a work call and Asher was doing all this reconnaissance, trying to get Mara off of work and on with us without giving away the secret. When she finally logged in and started to see people she burst into tears. She didn't have it on gallery view, so she kept discovering people one by one, which was cute, and calling out names and sometimes crying again. It was mostly total chaos and Stephen downstairs and I upstairs just sat and took it in. She kept saying funny things and making oopsy faces at the screen, which was cute. We sang the lamest, most halting, most flying-apart-at-the-seams Happy Birthday song ever. 

But she loved it and felt very loved. It was three thirty in the morning in Barcelona. Shena had big, white bulb lights running in an inverted V over her head. Heather made jokey comments about how dare Kirsten be so hot. When I said I thought David didn't have audio or whatever the ability to talk is, Mara made a joke about, oh good, David should shut up, and then Peg said that David had been the one who delivered the flowers and the cake. Shena was told that as leader of the meeting, she could mute people at will and there was joking about someone having his TV on. Someone had a gorgeous set of windchimes ringing here and there in the background. We were all on in the chaos for about an hour and it was sweet and funny. It was a nice, big group.

a moment in the day: stream

Evening, and I'm sitting on the futon bed upstairs with Nicholas, watching the live stream, on my phone, of the celebration of life for Darcelle XV at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall. I hadn't meant to, didn't know there'd be a live stream, but I sat down to rest after helping Stephen move the furniture around in the living room downstairs, and glanced at my phone for a moment, and there it was, and so I clicked in.

The celebration is tiny in my hand, a little square on the screen, most of that square just the bright amber color of theater lights. A tiny figure in the center, a man giving reminiscences on stage.

Years back, when Portland was newish to me, my aunt Kathy was all about going to Darcelle's. I kind of loved that it became our family tradition, that for a while whenever someone came to visit from out of town, we'd go to Darcelle's. Kathy always getting us front-row seats and shoving our hands full of dollar bills, especially for when Darcelle came out in the assless chaps to sing "Rhinestone Cowboy."

Sometimes in the early part of the pandemic, I'd think, when all of this is done with, I'm telling Kathy we have to celebrate by going to Darcelle's again.

It's been just over a year, now, since Kathy's been gone.

I lay my head back against the wall and look up through the skylight to the block of evening light that hangs just over my head.

Stephen's voice from the bottom of the stairs, calling my name. I get up and go over to stand at the top and look down.

He says, "I had an idea."

He draws out the word idea. And the smile on his face is sheepish and hoping. He wants me to help him move the furniture again.

He tells me he thinks the table in the basement would fit perfectly in that one empty spot by the couch and if I wouldn't mind, just a little more...

I say, "Sure!" Somehow this tiny square of tribute on my phone feels too sacred to turn off or leave behind, so I take my phone with me. Down the stairs. Down into the basement, where we heft the table and carry it carefully up and out the back door, into the evening air, through the backyard gate and heading to the front of the house, the Portland Gay Men's Chorus singing from my back pocket.

Choir Boy at Portland Center Stage

On Friday, Stephen and I went to see a play for the first time since before the pandemic began. Gosh, how I've missed the live theater experience: the sets and lighting, the satisfaction of watching real bodies on stage, the feeling of laughing in a theater filled with laughter and applauding in the shared thunder of an audience.

The show was Choir Boy, and it's playing now at Portland Center Stage. It's the story of a handful of teens who sing in the venerated choir of an elite Black boarding school—and in particular Pharus, the group's star singer and choir leader. The play opens with Pharus, a junior, singing a solo at the commencement ceremony for the senior graduating class. His performance is interrupted by the homophobic taunts of Bobby, fellow choir boy and nephew of the school's headmaster. When, later, Pharus is called into the headmaster's office and admonished for getting distracted during the song, the boy refuses to rat out the guilty party out of loyalty to the schoolyard code that says you don't snitch on a classmate.

Written by Tarell Alvin McCraney, who wrote the play that became the film Moonlight, Choir Boy explores themes of race, class, sexuality, coming of age, striving for connection, and most of all, trying to hold onto one's pride of self.

Pharus starts out with plenty of that. He's confident, ambitious, conspicuously queer, effervescent. He's got a light inside and somehow, even in this all-boys school full of rules and expectations, he isn't afraid to put on the high beams. You get the sense he can't not shine as bright as he does. At first. Many coming of age stories are about a character starting small and growing, starting quiet and finding a voice. In Choir Boy we watch Pharus's already-present shine dip and dim against the shadows of events that threaten his sense of self.

Within this tension, though, and the creeping darkness, the show is funny and clever. And actually: infused with joy. Because of the music.

Drawing on gospel and spiritual music, including the traditional songs known as Negro Spirituals, the music in Choir Boy is wonderful, sung in gorgeous harmony, often a cappella, by Isaiah Reynolds (Pharus), Luther Brooks IV (Bobby), Gerrin Delane Mitchell (Junior, Bobby's sidekick), Delphon "DJ" Curtis Jr. (David, a bookish classmate who wants to become a priest), and Wildlin Pierrevil (AJ, Pharus's roommate). Every song made me euphoric. Even when the music was there to evoke less joyful feelings—melancholy, longing—the beauty of it still made me euphoric. I'd find myself sitting up straight in my seat, leaning forward, as if to get closer to it. At the end of one song, the man directly in front of me raised his arms and made jazz hands, or maybe praise hands, as the applause erupted. 

I liked the minimal set, the towering columns and brick-wall background that made you feel like you were inside the Charles R. Drew Prep School for Boys. When we were in the shower room (where the boys wardrobed in nothing but towels made for opportunities for both tension and vulnerability), they rolled in a big tiled half-wall structure to denote the shower. When we were in the dorm room shared by Pharus and AJ, they rolled in two beds, Pharus's decorated with warm white Christmas lights, maybe alluding to that don't-hide-it-under-a-bushel light of his character.

This dorm room is the scene of some of the most important moments in the show, exchanges between Pharus and his roommate AJ that open up Pharus's character and gift him with some of the understanding and connection he needs as that bushel comes down. 

Watching Choir Boy, you do notice that the source material could use just a little more meat on its bones—the other boys are drawn a bit broadly and the premise isn't new—but this is made up for by the transcendent joy of its music, and the deep meaning of the power and tradition of that music. With clever dialogue and the always-skilled stagecraft of Portland Center Stage, it's a thoroughly engaging and thought-provoking show. It was a great production to experience after my pandemic-induced three-year theater dry spell. 

And truly, I'd see it again just for the music.

And it occurs to me as I say that last thing: this isn't what I should be getting out of going to see Choir Boy. This statement comes from a place of privilege. Me as a white woman, sitting at the edge of my seat enjoying the euphoric rush of beautiful sound. This music was not created for my enjoyment. The play goes into some of its true importance—and it's not my place to whitesplain it—but if you're interested in learning more about the amazing music the play draws from, Portland Center Stage wrote a great article about it here. 

Or hold off on the article and save it for reading in your program from your theater seats, Choir Boy runs through May 14, and more information is here.

Photo captions:

1) L-R: Gerrin Delane Mitchell, Isaiah Reynolds, Luther Brooks IV, Wildlin Pierrevil, and Delphon "DJ" Curtis Jr. in “Choir Boy”; photo by Jingzi Zhao/courtesy of Portland Center Stage.

2) L-R: Luther Brooks IV, Gerrin Delane Mitchell, Isaiah Reynolds, and Delphon "DJ" Curtis Jr. in “Choir Boy”; photo by Jingzi Zhao/courtesy of Portland Center Stage.

Poster design by Nick Orr.

Three moments in three days: dream

In the dream, I'm walking out of the theater and into another large space, open, like a convention center or an airport, high ceilings. And coming toward me going the other way is Kathy. She looks the way she used to look except her hair is pure blond, no pink. She's waving hello to someone in the crowd around us, still coming at me but not like she notices me or not like she wants to see me. 

When she passes, I follow. "Kathy, I want to talk to you!" 

It's coming up on a year since she died, and both of those facts are unbelievable to me.

As I follow, the space around us draws wider and emptier, the people disappear. Nothing all around, just Kathy and me.

I don't know what I want to say to her when she turns. I ask her how she is. I ask for a hug. I ask if she's seen my dad.

"Oh yeah," she says. "He comes here, too."

***

Next night, I try to go there again. I lie in bed and picture the place, the high ceilings, the nothing all around. Try to dream my way back there, but it doesn't work.

***

Next night, I try to go there again. I lie in bed and picture the place, the high ceilings, the nothing all around. Try to dream my way back there, but it doesn't work.