Ellen DeGeneres read it because Michelle Obama told her to.  Bill Gates said it’s even better than you’ve heard.  Barack Obama put it on his best books list.  So did Amazon.  Time Magazine named its 32-year-old author to its Top 100 list.  I read it for all these reasons and because a retired high school headmaster, one of my best friends, encouraged me to.  
 
You might not think a book about going to school would read like a page-turning thriller.  But Tara Westover’s Educated does just that.  It is without question one of the most extraordinary books I’ve ever read. 
 
Even if you have to wait twenty weeks to get it from your local public library (as I did)—here’s why you should read it.  Westover’s story is not just about getting a highfalutin degree.  It’s about her multi-leveled struggle to become herself against insufferable odds.  This is what Jungians call individuation.  It’s what Dr. Wayne Dyer referred to as “leaving the tribe.”  You think that’s easy?  Try it.
 
But Westover’s memoir is more than that.  Raised by survivalist parents on an Idaho mountain, her obstacles include the people she loves—her family.  They involve received ideas about God and religion—the Mormon fundamentalism she was brought up with.  She must climb over a wall that includes unquestioned loyalty to male power figures.  You’re a woman, ain’t you?  Well, this is a kitchen. ​

If you’ve ever visited the circus or a city like San Francisco, then you know a barker is someone who stands outside a theater or sideshow and calls out to passersby to get them interested in what's happening inside the tent.  The word comes to mind just now because there seems to be a lot of barking in the public arena these days.  And a lot of braying too.  All of it a distraction from the things that probably matter most to you—if you haven’t been too distracted by all that noise to figure out what that is. 
 
So, let me depart from my usual commentary in order to share a few things I found touching recently, which you may find interesting too.

WHY WE NO LONGER HEAR ANGELS 

The following clip is from Faraway, So Close—a beautiful 1993 film by Wim Wenders, which I heard about this year from a writer friend on Twitter.  At only two minutes and fifteen seconds, this bit of dialogue gets to the core of why all that barking can be harmful.  It depicts a telepathic conversation between two angels, Raphaela (Nastassja Kinski) and Cassiel (Otto Sander), as they consider why it’s so difficult for their guidance to reach us the way it used to back in the day.

Today marks the 60th anniversary of the Broadway premiere of Lorraine Hansberry's "A Raisin in the Sun." A major American classic by any standard, it is also the first Broadway-produced play by an African-American woman. It's a milestone that remains as relevant on March 11, 2019 as it was in 1959.

Several years ago, a Seattle newspaper asked me to review a staging at Seattle Rep, one of the finest regional theaters in the country. A lifelong theater buff, I was thrilled when the editor promised free tickets and a stipend in exchange for my opinion.

Whenever anyone remounts a beloved classic of film or stage,  you hope they won't ruin it.  So it was with a mixture of anticipation and dread that I made my way to Seattle Center for the opening.  But I needn't have worried.  As you might expect from a Tony-winning outfit like Seattle Rep, the production was excellent.  Although I hadn't seen the play for quite a while, its impact remained undeniable.  The play resonates for anyone with a human heart, but it's especially meaningful to African Americans because it takes a hard look at a family divided by conflicting dreams and the internal and external pressures that challenge and shape the black experience to this very day.

But Hansberry's play also has a special place in my personal memory because my brother, Kurt Hill, performed the role of Walter Lee Younger (the Sidney Poitier character) when my alma mater, Drexel Catholic High School, produced the play during the heyday of the Civil Rights Movement, about a year before the Voting Rights Act became law. 

The vehement exchange between two members of Congress during Michael Cohen’s testimony on February 27 was more than a failure to communicate.  The argument itself was not only a distraction from the main event, it struck at the core of America's oldest wound.   

In case you missed it, a white congressman (Mark Meadows) trotted out a black female employee of the Trump administration (Lynne Patton) as proof that the president is not racist. A freshman congresswoman (Rashida Tlaib), who is Muslim,   responded by referring to Ms. Patton as a prop,  claiming that Meadows' tactic was itself racist. This led to a spirited digression, which achieved what sideshows always do--divert attention from the main purpose of the hearings.  
 
Although the president's former attorney and "fixer" called Donald Trump a racist during his opening statement, the main reason for the hearing was not to debate the president’s racism.  It was to determine if he had broken the law.

​The last time blackface rode into town, the showdown ended with Megyn Kelly losing her job at NBC Today and disappearing from television.  But not without lawyering up and collecting a reported $30 million due on the remaining two years of her $69 million contract.  That’s how much the network wanted to put an end to the controversy.
 
Now Blackface is back and ready for another showdown.  Will Governor Northam of Virginia lose his job over blackface and Ku Klux Klan images in his medical school yearbook?  Will Justin Fairfax, the African-American Lt. Governor, next in line for the top job, be impeached over sexual assault allegations?  Can Virginia's attorney general come out of this mess unscathed after revealing that he too has worn blackface?  What about Katy Perry's shoes and Gucci's blackface sweater?  Or Cindy Sherman's controversial "Bus Rider" series, which became known in the art world as "Cindygate"? 
 
And what about Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, and Jimmy Fallon, who have also resorted to blackface in order to keep the masses entertained?  Or the dozens of other American entertainers listed on this Wikipedia entry? 

​Is there no one who can rid us of this egregious insult once and for all?

With Albert Finney’s departure from the world stage on February 7, there’s plenty to say about his exceptional career.  Two favorite scenes from The Dresser (1983) are included here.  The film is about a small ragtag acting troupe that brings Shakespeare to the provinces.  It’s a sendup of bombastic old-school acting and a poignant study of the lead actor’s personal assistant or “dresser.”  The film opens with Finney's character in the role of Othello.  As you can see from the above photograph, his entire body has been darkened.  Tom Courtenay, his dresser, is shown assisting him with a post-performance bath.  

Taken on its own and out of context, the image is both compelling and off-putting.  It seems especially relevant to the current social moment when blackface is trending yet again.  What does it mean when a white actor darkens his skin to play Othello?  Is that the same as the kind of blackface historically used to denigrate African Americans?  Or something different?  

​One critic calls it Driving Miss Daisy in reverse.  But for my money The Green Book goes a lot deeper as it takes a long, hard look at what ails us—and hints at what’s required to heal our national divide.  Even though it’s set during the early 1960s before passage of the Civil Rights Act, the movie’s themes could not be more relevant to today.  
 
If you’ve never heard of the actual Green Book, which gives the film its name, you’ll learn during this two-hour excursion that even high-profile African-Americans were not allowed to eat or sleep in “whites only” establishments when they performed in the American Deep South.  The film won’t tell you this, but it was a Harlem post-office employee, Victor Green, who published the book.  Between 1936 and 1966, the Green Book was the essential guide for black travelers, providing a city-by-city list of restaurants, hotels, and gas stations where you would not be humiliated or harmed.