But I Digress.

JerryFallwellBurg fucking hurts. It hurts to exist here. It hurts to be surrounded by people who are this fucking brainwashed and actively seeking to continue the trend. Seriously, the news that Obama is actually the targeted winner of the upcoming elections by anyone who has a rational view of the world came as a complete shock to me this week, once I was able to stop nurturing my poor broken heart enough to start paying attention to the news again.

Don't get me wrong. It's still broken (Chris, you fucktard, I hate you, and I will exact my revenge). But the distance helps.

It was a shock because I'm living in JerryFallwellBurg. I think it may actually be more like 85% or 90% white. I think they're hiding the black people in the same tank that they're hiding the agnostics and poor people and people who know who Peter Sagal is. You know what, I'm just going to copy and paste.

The racial makeup of the city was 66.63% White, 29.70% African American, 0.26% Native American, 1.28% Asian, 0.04% Pacific Islander, 0.63% from other races, and 1.46% from two or more races. Hispanic or Latino of any race were 1.35% of the population.

Seriously, WTF kind of place is only 1.35% Mexican? A creepy creepy fucking place. There's bunkers around here somewhere. There's gotta be.

Anyway.

Heh. That's such a cheap tag trick. I'm surprised is still works.

Things that hurt:

Christian Nymphos, whose authors cheerfully proclaim, "We are women with excessive sexual desire for our husbands!" offers candid how-to advice on anal sex, fisting, and "masturbating for your husband."

Also, fittingly enough, in this first section of Things That Hurt, I'm going to go ahead and say: I like anal sex. Yes, it can be fucking painful, but it can also be really great. Ok. Done. Moving on.

Fisting makes me want to vomit.

And Christian Nymphos gives my heart or my sensibilities or my whatever-it-is-I-engage-the-world-with the same feeling I get when I wake up in the middle of the night with a Charley Horse in both my legs: Something has gone horribly painfully wrong and it needs to Go Away Right Now.

On a side note: The Gone Away World, recently published by Nick Harkaway through Knopf, is one of the best fucking books ever. Buy it. Now. Done.

And also, go read The Sexy Puritan published on slate.com by Tom Perrotta, who is the author of The Abstinance Teacher and Little Children, both of which are fine novels worthy of your attention.

"I stood there quietly drowning in two rivers of happiness at the same time." I read that in Elizabeth Gilbert's beautiful memoir Eat, Pray, Love recently, and immediately after, set down the book and wrote the quote in my journal, and then wrote that I'd settle for one river. Or just a little creek. Hell, I'll take a puddle! Because when going through a difficult time in your life, you hope that anything can lift you from the depth of your despair.

I have to admit that my "prayer" for a puddle has been answered and then some. I have been swimming in an ocean of happiness these past few days. And tonight, I think I finally, happily, drowned.

I arrived at the Contemporary Jewish Museum an hour earlier than the volunteer call time. I have been early for nearly every event I have worked. (Except one, only because the train I was on was moving much slower than usual for some reason.) Because of my unusual "early birdness", I found myself sitting at a table in the museum cafe, chatting with Jane Ganahl, one of the founders of Litquake, and Ann Packer, along with Ann's friend, also named Ann.

At first it was just Jane and me, and she casually mentioned how stressed she felt and that she had tweaked her neck somehow and couldn't look to her right, so she had scheduled a massage for the next day. I smiled, a little timidly, and said, "Actually, I'm a massage therapist. I'd be happy to try to help you right now." Her eyes widened and she said that that would be great. As I was performing the neck/shoulder melt on Jane, she spotted Ann Packer walk through the door and called out to her. Ann laughed as she approached us, Jane explaining the impromptu chair massage, and Ann mentioned how she had a headache. I couldn't help myself: I said to her, "I'd be happy to show you a few pressure points that might alleviate your headache." She smiled, sat down at our table and said, "Sure!" I finished with Jane, (who could fully move her head to the right after just a few minutes of massage!) and sat next to Ann, showing her pressure points on her hand, on the back of her neck, and just under her eyebrows. Yes, it felt a little strange to be in this situation, but hopefully I helped them both, even just a little bit. As we sat there afterward, I kept a little quiet, listening to the ladies talk about the festival. I wanted so much to say to Ann that I loved her short story collection, Mendocino and Other Stories. But I couldn't. I think it was mostly because I felt mortified at not yet having had occasion to read her other books. The possibility that she might ask what else of hers I'd read, stopped me altogether from engaging her any further than offering a brief tutorial on one principle of Traditional Chinese Medicine. Basically, I chickened out.

So they chatted, without much interjection from a stupidly-smiling me, as the other authors began to pour into the cafe. All at once I was in the company (albeit at a safe distance of a few feet) of Tom Perrotta, Stephen Elliott, Andrew Foster Altschul, and the man of the hour himself, Tobias Wolff, along with a host of other people clearly comfortable in the crowd at which I stared, as casually as I could, in awe.

Jane and Ann joined the circle and I stayed at the table, hesitant to mingle, deciding to maintain my post at the check-in area. The crowd began to disperse, walking toward the green room to watch the presidential debate. I noticed that Tobias Wolff and who I presumed was his wife, stayed back to order food at the cafe. I glanced around the museum lobby until Jane caught my eye and said, "Melissa, will you please show them to the green room?" She gestured toward Mr. Wolff  who smiled at me. Tobias Wolff smiled at me! I thought. I smiled back and jumped up and said, "Absolutely!" and as I approached them Mr. Wolff extended his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Toby and this is my wife, Catherine." I shook both of their hands and replied, "Hi, I'm Melissa."

I had imagined this moment on the ride into the city, not really thinking it would actually happen. But I had imagined everything I would say to him. I would tell him that his prose is so beautiful. I'd thank him for inspiring me; for writing such amazing stories that make me smile, or make me think, make me laugh or completely shock me, because of how wonderful they are and how they inspire me to be a better writer. I would apologize for only recently discovering his work and would say that I'd have to also thank him for the future me, because I know that he will continue to inspire me. I can foresee that inspiration, and it sounds ridiculous, but I know he will be a big influence in my life. I just know it.

I wanted to tell him all of that and more, but instead I said, "Congratulations on the award. I'm a big fan." I was bursting inside, but I didn't show it. (Ten years in hospitality has taught me a thing or two about discretion.) Toby smiled at me and said, "Thank you." Catherine asked if I had seen Word For Word perform ever, and I told her I had not, and they both exclaimed how wonderful it was and that I was in for a treat, and so we chatted, all the way to the green room.

I was smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

Stay tuned...   :)

On an individual level, I see much hope. Men of my generation are more accepting of women who make more money than they do. My own boyfriend claims that he wouldn’t mind being a SAHD. But what can society do about this issue? If women are moving into the public sphere, can’t men move into the private sphere? And how can we shift our negative perceptions of the private sphere?

Photo Credits

Hubris alert: Big-name venture capitalist Tom Perkins has built a 289-foot yacht called The Maltese Falcon.

In related news, Tom Perrotta dreams of being Sam Spade: "Who wouldn't want to be a tough-talking private eye?"

Olsson's, the leading independent bookstore chain in the Washington, D.C. area, closed all five of its stores yesterday after filing for Chapter 7 bankruptcy protection. A memorial page is up and running.

Junot Diaz is deeply impressed with Richard Price's handball skills.

Nicholas Sparks is just pretty darned pleased with everything.

The Abstinence Teacher was disappointing, which sucks because I was really looking forward to this book.  It has all the workings of a great book - a single mom who teaches pro-birth control high school sex ed, and a cute ex-druggie, ex-rockstar born again Christian dude meet on an a suburban soccer field and its lust at first sight.  It could have been so good!  I really enjoyed Perrotta's other novels, Joe College, Election, and Little Children.  I love how he builds subtle tensions between his characters and introduces atypical situations in his novels, which are usually about typical, normal, everyday people who live in the burbs.  But nothing really happens in this book.  The sex ed teacher, Ruth, meets Tim, the ex-druggie born again and that's it.  Instead of moving forward, the rest of the book consists of flashbacks about their pasts and how they got to where they are when we first meet them.  Then it ends.  Bummer. 

I am not the type of person who will ever debate politics with you (or, anyone else either for that matter). I don't like political debates. I feel that most people know where they stand on issues - and having a personal philosophy, or whatever one might want to call it, most people can't or won't be swayed from it. That's fine by me. Though I may think their opinion is stupid (don't even get me started on my neighbor's choice of political signs in his front yard), the fact of the matter is that one of the cool things about our country is that we have the freedom to believe what we want, even if it's stupid.

Having said that, I'm currently re-reading "The Abstinence Teacher" - a novel by Tom Perrotta (the genius who wrote "Election" which became a pretty cool movie, and "Little Children" which became a mediocre movie, only interesting if you have any desire to see Kate Winslet naked -- watch that movie's popularity soar on Netflix now). His books are contemporary literature - not necessarily meant to be ground-shaking, idea creating stuff - but, I love 'em.

In this book, the school's health teacher gets busted for telling her class that oral sex can be enjoyable and it sets of a firestorm, including revamping the school's sex ed curriculum to one that is abstinence-based. So, you can see how given today's political climate and a certain somebody's certain VP choice, this might be relevant.

I don't think I make any secret of the fact that I'm pretty liberal politically. I am a liberal amidst a family of Catholic conservatives, and that's fine by me. I've never talked to anyone on the other side of the spectrum about how they feel about an abstinence only based education, but personally? I think it's stupid.

I'm not saying that abstinence shouldn't be a part of that curriculum - it should be. It is the safest choice. Do I believe that teenagers need to be having sex? No, I don't (I have daughters, remember - I am now of the belief that people shouldn't start having sex until they can and do pay their own rent). But, I'm not naive enough to think that they don't have sex. Or that by telling them they shouldn't, that all of the sudden a light bulb will go off and they will find a way to circumvent their crazy whacky hormones and they will cross their legs, fold their hands neatly in their laps and say, "Sex? No thank you. I think I'll wait."

Not gonna happen.

As a parent, sure, I am not leaving the job of educating my children up to the school. I plan to start talking to them about this stuff little by little, in age appropriate ways as they get older (Never mind the fact that I learned all about sex from "Forever" by Judy Blume). I think that the onus should be on the parent to keep the lines of communication open and to talk about things and make sure that their children know that they have a parent they can talk to, lean on, seek guidance from and trust, with no fear of repurcussion or judgement. That's my job as a mom. Will it be enjoyable? I'm thinking no. I'm thinking that at times it may be totally cringeworthy and make me want to crawl in a hole. Will that stop me from doing what I need to do to make sure my kids are educated? Hell no.

But, the thing is - not all parents are going to do that. I know mine didn't. I can't think of a single sex discussion aside from the time I was 8 or 9 and my mom had to gingerly explain what a "virgin" was when Madonna's "Like a Virgin" was getting constant airplay on the radio, and the conversation when I was 19 and had been sexually active for awhile and my mom told me not to marry the first guy I had sex with (don't worry, mom). For some kids, the school class is going to be the only sex ed those kids get. Don't we owe it to them to make sure that it's complete, that the choices are detailed, that the various methods of birth control (and yes, include abstinence!), how they work, success and failure rates, and all of that - why shouldn't it all be laid out on the table to give these teens as much information as we can, so that when they do make the choice whether or not to have sex, they make it with as much knowledge and thought as possible.

It's definitely a hot button topic that has come up repeatedly in this election. What are your hot button topics with this election? Obviously, there are many things getting talked about lately. What's on your mind?

[except I don't have the version with a naked Patrick Wilson and Kate Winslet on the cover]

This is a book I wish I had written. I just really love the satire, the style, the structure, subject matter and the plot. I really have to get my hands on some of his other books. The movie, as with all films based on books, loses quite a bit in translation.

The book is about middle class, suburban, 30 something parents of little children. There's Todd (he's Brad in the movie and played by Patrick Wilson) who the mums in the park call "The Prom King" because he's really hot. Sarah (played by Kate Winslet in the film) who is a plain Jane, lapsed feminist and graduate school drop out who accidentally fell into the mundane life she now finds herself living.

Within a couple of weeks of starting the PhD program though, she discovered that she'd booked passage on a sinking ship. There aren't any jobs, the other students informed her; the profession's glutted with tenured old men who won't step aside for the next generation. While the university's busy exploiting you for cheap labour, you somehow have to produce a boring thesis that no one will read, and find someone willing to publish it as a book.

Todd and Sarah have an affair (which every one knows because of the naked Kate and Patrick on the book cover). They have sex, his signature move is the corkscrew, when their children are napping in Sarah's daughter's room.

Sarah's husband is Richard, a much older man who she met when working at Starbucks.
He has a porn addiction and spends more time on the internet than with his own kid. He's addicted to Sluttykay.com a website he stumbled across when doing some research for a client and trying to devise a clever take on "Y2K".

Lately though Slutty Kay had become a problem. He thought about her far too often, and visited her web site several times a day. He was neglecting his work and his family and staying up until ungodly hours composing lyrical e-mails in her honor that he couldn't quite bring himself to send. It was as if he were back in high school, pining after some girl in chemistry class, knowing he'd never find the nerve to talk to her.

There's also Mary Ann, the "perfect" mother who schedules and plans everything including a Tuesday 9pm sex session with hubby, but she's just a minor character and Todd's beautiful wife Kathy (Jennifer Connelly in the movie) a film maker who wants her husband to pass the bar exam so that she can have it all - an artistic career and the lifestyle. Todd has failed twice - like JFK Jnr, as people keep reminding him.

Nothing much happens in this sleepy suburban town until a child molestor returns to town to live with his mother. The book isn't about the child molestor and the kids, but the parents who are the little children. Despite being 30 something year old middle class parents, they're still playing out their high school rolls. The popular girls, the core of the mother's group, the jock prom king, the nerd book worm who feels out of place. It's also about how the 30 something parents find themselves in lives that are less ordinary than the ones they had once envisioned for themselves.

Perrotta, plugging the event in the Boston Globe, figures this week's political foofaraw over teen pregnancy might help the paperback release of his most recent novel, The Abstinence Teacher (reviewed here). "Everyone's talking about abstinence," he says. "It's like free advertising." Maybe so: As of this writing the book is #14 on Amazon's bargain-books list.

So obviously I was excited to find an NYTimes essay by Stephen Heller called "Cover Stories," which details the connections that can sometimes develop between prolific novelists and artists that they choose to design their covers.

Heller explains that

Most authors have no control over their book covers... But some writers, by virtue of either their renown or contractual caveat, not only get to accept or reject designs, but also choose the designer.

And how nice for me— the three authors he chooses to highlight happen to be among my very favorite writers (well, certainly Roth and Murakami; Palahniuk is more of a fading infatuation). Indeed, are there any authors who deserve such control over their covers more than these three? I don't think so. These are writers with such dominant, unifying themes in their work—Roth with his neurotic, Jewish intellectuals and sex-hungry middle-aged suburban men, Murakami with his interweaving narratives of mystery, darkness, dreams and nature, and Chuck's obsessions with depravity, rare idiosyncrasies and scarring memories.

Milton Glaser's covers work for Roth's books because they are understated, classic, and subtle. Usually they contain, if any at all, one single image among block text, such as the cracked family photo on American Pastoral or the symbolic therapy couch on Portnoy's Complaint.

Meanwhile, a writer like Chuck, whose stories are so modern and of the current time period, demands covers that complement his zany, unrestrained (often too vulgar) attitude. That's why the sort of iconic, pop-art designs that Rodrigo Corral has done for him function so perfectly on covers like Invisible Monsters (with the optical illusion, cartoony beauty queen/old lady head) and Lullaby (with the striking image of a dead canary).

Murakami's work, meanwhile, appeals to Americans with whimsy and fantasy, while still being rooted in elements of traditional Japanese culture. Hence the appropriateness of the vintage Japanese that John Gall uses on particularly beautiful covers such as that of After Dark or The Wind-up Bird Chronicle.

Clearly I really enjoyed this little slice of art education. Great article. And as long as we're on the subject, I might as well share some of my very favorite cover designs.

First of all, I really like the covers of Tom Perrotta's books (I'm still waiting patiently for the paperback release of his new novel The Abstinence Teacher, which I expect to be terrific). Like the three mentioned in the article above, Perrotta appears to have an exclusive designer, Henry Sene Yee. My favorite covers are the designs for Joe College and this one for Little Children, which effectively uses the childhood image of goldfish as a sad reminder of what's to come in the book: loss of innocence, and a lusty affair that begins at a playground, right in front of other children and their horrified stay-at-home mothers.

I also consistently like the covers of J.M. Coetzee's books, though I'm not sure if he chooses them or not. The cover of Disgrace is perfectly fitting for the story; it's completely white, a blank slate if you will, with the title of the novel written humbly in tiny type at the center. The cover for Slow Man, meanwhile, has a similar paucity of images or colors.

The look is all-white, again, but with a lone bicycle in the center that is bereft of one wheel (an overt representation of Paul Rayment's missing leg). As you can see, I really favor simplicity on novel covers.

questo è davvero un romanzo importante.

Parla infatti di normali (ma scandalose per alcuni) lezioni di un'insegnante di educazione sessuale che scatenano le reazioni rabbiose di alcuni genitori ultrareligiosi). Al liceo in questione viene quindi chiamata un'insegnante di astinenza sessuale che metta in guardia dai pericoli della passione.

Succede, ovviamente, in America, dove Tom Perrotta si diverte a costruire una storia che va dritta al cuore del nostro tempo. Intorno al piacere negato lo scrittore cuce una trama dove sessualità, aborto, diritti degli omosessuali danzano nel punto esatto in cui si scontrano libertà ed integralismo.

da pmaraone@hachette.it

In many of the chick lit books whose category I am trying to avoid, the story does revolve around a series of anecdotes. However, in some of the more literary novels I've enjoyed, the number of anecdotes is relatively small and do not always appear in chronological order.

In Tom Perrotta's The Abstinence Teacher, the story literally shifts every few paragraphs to the evening before. I don't necessarily think that is a great idea, but it works. And I am still reading the novel.

I can see that a lot of writing goes into details (specific is terrific) and the thoughts of the characters, and hwo something may trigger a memory. The not necessarily relevant detail helps paint a vivid picture of the scene and the characters.

Once I finish scribbling down the bones of my story, which is not terribly far off, although I confess it has been a few days too many without writing, then i just need to color in the lines, fill in the details. Somehow this information gives me a great deal more confidence. Knowing my story does not need this massive plot but can focus on more subtle developments is liberating.

The thinking, or so I imagine, is that readers will look at these women's body parts or backs and identify. "Why that's me!" or "That looks just like my old friend Susie!" In other words, they think we're stupid.

Those kinds of covers are usually a turn-off for me, but out of curiosity I turned to my trusty GoodReads to find the best and worst covers of books I've read lately.

	Ian McEwan's Atonement features an entire little girl sitting on some steps.
	The cover of Tom Perrotta's Little Children catches your eye immediately.
	The Monsters of Templeton initially had a lovely embossed silhouette cover...
	... but the next printing featured -- the back of a woman's head.
	McEwan's On Chesil Beach features an unidentifiable woman. It's a horrible book, so go figure...
	Another silhouette cover -- this is probably my favorite of all the books I've read in 2007-2008!

The winner of the Nadal/Chela match will face either Denis Gremelmayr or Nicolas Almagro in the semis. Gremelmayr continued his impressive run with a 6-4, 6-0 victory over #15 Dmitry Tursunov. Gremelmayr, don't forget, beat James Blake in the previous round. Almagro picked up a big win over unseeded Mario Ancic in the third round, taking the match 7-6(5), 6-2.

On the other side of the draw, second-seeded David Ferrer will face #6 Tommy Robredo and unseeded Albert Montanes will take on #14 Stanislas Wawrinka. Ferrer won a tough three-setter 4-6, 6-4, 6-3 over Nicolas Lapentti and Robredo beat #9 Guillermo Canas 6-1, 7-5. Ferrer is 2-1 against Robredo, with one of those wins coming on clay at Valencia earlier this year.

Finally, Montanes will take on Wawrinka in what is an unexpected quarterfinal match. In the second round, Montanes upset Ivo Karlovic 6-7(7), 6-3, 7-5 and then he beat Russian qualifier Mikhail Kukushkin in the third round 6-3, 3-6, 6-3. Wawrinka pulled off a big upset in the third round, and made it look relatively easy as he bear #3 David Nalbandian 6-3, 6-1. Wawrinka and Montanes are 1-1 against each other, with Montanes winning their only previous match on clay.

With the quarterfinals now set, Nadal definitely has to be the favorite (duh). I don't really see anybody that is going to stand in his path. Almagro could give him a good challenge in the semis, and Ferrer has the tools to push him in the finals (if they win their matches). But, Nadal has excellent clay-court records against both of them. He is 2-0 versus Almagro, and 4-1 against Ferrer (including a victory last week at Monte Carlo).

What Nadal is doing on clay is unbelievable. His dominance on the surface is unparalleled, and I cannot state this enough. He is virtually unbeatable, and to think that someone could win 100/101 matches on one surface boggles my mind. I think Tom Perrotta made an excellent comparison in his article on ESPN, to a basketball player in the NBA. He also points out that Nadal has been tested, but in the end he always comes through!

I learned "Little Children" by Tom Perrotta may have been scandalously good. "The Abstinence Teacher" by Tom Perrotta, on the other hand, not so much. It's like watching a movie that ends just like you expected it, without really wrapping anything up at all.

But the important thing is, it was a quick read.

And now I noticed the due dates on the little soft-slippery library sheet stuck in the also-borrowed R.E.M. CD cover is creeping perilously close to June, and my baby's due date. And God forbid I miss a due date. I've not had a library fine since 2006. I'd bawl like being busted out at a party with a beer in my hand after curfew if I got one now.

I'm nesting for literature. And I use "literature" loosely here, obviously. I'm not reading Shakespeare.

I've read all of Jodi Picoult's books over the last couple of years (yes, all of them -- gotta love interlibrary loans), so she's out. Where do I go from here?

Someone, quick, recommend something juicy. I've got limited time left to spend on myself, and I'm panicking. THE CLOCK IS TICKING. Ohmygod.

I was intrigued by the play between left wing and right wing attitudes toward teaching children about sexuality and health. I wasn't quite sure which stance was being taken. I was curious to see what the moral of the story was. I'll let you read to find out rather than spoil the suspense.

I did wonder if it was fair to portray the right wing religious characters as, for the most part, being driven to religion by weakness or tragedy. There must be people who believe in an organized approach to religion simply because they believe it's right? Not because they need a crutch? I think the approach taken by Tom Perrotta makes a complex topic much simpler than the reality.

I found the ending deeply unsatisfying. I actually started cursing after I finished the last page.

The London Guardian reviews Peter Ackroyd's new biography of Edgar Allan Poe.

Tom Perrotta, whose most recent novel, The Abstinence Teacher, transcends its occasional script-treatment feel, is interviewed by Financial Times. (The book has just come out in the U.K., with a better cover.) I suspect there's a connection between his answer to question about the last book he couldn't finish (Tree of Smoke) and the question about what makes him cross to read ("Novels longer than 500 pages that are more about style than substance.")

And Hornby is one-hundred percent correct, and The Abstinence Teacher is about as culturally relevant and revealing as you can ask a book to be. The narrative follows two characters in two mostly separate plot arcs: Ruth is a recently divorced sex-ed teacher entrenched in a curriculum change and challenging the pro-abstinence group propelling it; Tim is a recently remarried recovering addict, a born-again Christian caught in The Tabernacle, Stonewood Heights’ newest strip-mall store turned Evangelical church.

And it’s worth noting that both characters initially seem “too easy:” Ruth is the jaded baby-boomer that dismissively rejects organized religion in theory and practice, while Tim is the recovering addict searching for something to fill a void. As the book progresses, however, and as Perrotta begins to build the characters, it becomes apparent that these aren’t cliches or caricatures, these are real people and real elements of our contemporary America. Perrotta effectively distills a nice chunk of the contemporary cultural rift into a compelling narrative and starts asking questions: What is compromised in an America fueled by fear and insecurity? And how does this climate divide our friends and families and choices? And what happens when these polarized worlds inevitably cross paths?

Much like Little Children, The Abstinence Teacher finds Perrotta writing adult characters entrenched in troubling personal and cultural matter. And in this departure from his earlier (and still excellent) work, Perrotta creates perfectly broken people, characters with tremendous wounds and no solutions beyond waking up again tomorrow. (Is this the world the modernists warned of?) Ruth and Tim feel tremendously real, like people whose grocery cart you’ve crossed in the supermarket. And it’s easy to dismiss many of the book’s characters as too simple or slightly cliched, but such a dismissal misses one of The Abstinence Teacher’s central conceits: our America is slowly becoming a place of assimilation, a place where individuality, or individual thought, was long ago bought and franchised, where our public school curriculum is entangled with arbitrary moral standards, and where fundamentalist churches sit next to (and look like) factory outlets.

Still, the book’s title ultimately becomes something of a head-fake: While sex-ed curriculum offers an inciting incident, The Abstinence Teacher takes larger aim, zeroing-in on an America where Mike Huckabee campaigns on promises to erase Amnesty and equates homosexuality with bestiality. And this is, and always has been, Perrotta’s specific gift, to point toward the absurdity around us, and still, even amongst the hatred and the indoctrination and the questionable actions, still manage to find something inherently human and humane in the mess. Perrotta isn’t the kind of writer that’ll blow you away with his lyrical chops: he’s telling a story, and you’re either on board or you aren’t. But in terms of pure narrative, in terms of capturing people entrenched in this bizarre present-tense, Perrotta’s Abstinence Teacher is one of the best.