Stratford Sundries, 2017-5

City Hall
Stratford, Ontario
July 31, 2017

1. Last night we walked down to the Avon Theatre to see Treasure Island, a stage version of the Robert Louis Stevenson novel that I broke down and read a year or so ago (and loved, by the way). My first introduction to that story had been that old Disney film (the studio's first live-action film, I've recently learned)--Treasure Island (1950--I was six!), a film starring the awesome Robert Newton as Long John Silver and Bobby Driscoll as Jim Hawkins.

That film scared the hell out of me. And I loved it! (Link to a film trailer.)

Anyway, the play version we saw ...

Joyce and I both thought the first half was bad. Very bad. I was ready to leave. Gave it a chance after intermission--and was glad I did so. It became much more playful (among the characters--who also played with the audience); some of the special effects were great fun (like little boats on a string running from R to L); an "old Ben Gunn" who was, well, a young athletic woman who crawled around on ropes and drapes as if she were born among them--as if they were her element.

The play version has a frame story: modern-day Jim Hawkins, a father (the same guy later plays Silver) who tells the boy pirate stories at bedtime. The frame story returns at the end, and we learn something key about his mother, as well--and his sister, who shares a bunk bed (she's up, he's down). So it all has the texture of a dream, this version.

There was some real playfulness, too. One pirate picked up a skull and delivered Hamlet's speech about Yorick; another made a reference to the conch in Lord of the Flies; and there were others, too.

Very strong performance by Stratford veteran Juan Chioran (Dad, Silver), whom we'd already seen in two other productions this summer--Romeo and Juliet (Prince Escalus) and The Breathing Hole.

So ... lesson learned: Don't leave at the interval ...


2. Back to the room to read some Connelly and munch on some very necessary pretzels, merely, of course, for nutritional purposes.


3. This morning--off to Coffee Culture, where I finished my Kirkus book and roughed out a draft of the review on my iPad. Joyce joined me for breakfast, then it was up to Balzac's Coffee, where I read 50 more pp of the Joyce Carol Oates novel (I'll finish it tomorrow!) and talked with Joyce.  Back to the room, where I revised and filed the review with Kirkus and fussed with this very blog before lunchtime.


4. This afternoon--Twelfth Night down at the Festival Theatre. Rain in the forecast ... walk? drive?

... we walked--missed the rain again (whew!)--and saw one of the best productions of this play I've ever seen. A plain, unadorned production (no sets, very few props), simple (period) costumes. Just that amazing language delivered by amazing actors. That's all you need--though "all," of course, is a lot.

Sir Toby Belch was Geraint Wyn Davies, born, I'd say, to play the part--and Feste, the clown, one of the hardest parts in all of Shakespeare, seemed easy in the hands of veteran Brent Carver (see pic above), who handled the complicated speeches with swiftness and intelligence and wit. Dazzled me, I'll admit--and he sang beautifully, as well.

The other principals were all great, too--totally convincing. A great Malvolio (Rod Beattle), who revealed both the pathos and the pettiness of this character. I understood every single word he said. And laughed at many of them. Groaned at others.

Wow.

Walked home in a haze of wonder (avoiding, again, the rain!).


5. At the York Street Kitchen, "our" sandwich shop for our post-matinee supper every night, they told us tonight that they're going to name (for a while, not forever!) the sandwich I build every night (roast turkey, etc.) the "Danwich" and will put it on their menu board tomorrow. At which time I will definitely have a pic to post here tomorrow!

See, you legions of doubters: I did achieve something in life!


6. We're about to head out to our evening performance, our first this year at the Tom Patterson Theatre. It's Bakkhai by the Greek playwright Euripides. I've not seen it before--looking forward to some good old Greek gruesomeness!

Stratford Sundries, 2017-4

City Hall
Stratford, Ontario
July 31, 2017

1. Last night we saw a very strong production of The Virgin Trial, a new play by Canadian playwright Kate Henning, a play about the possibility that the young Princess Elizabeth (who would become Elizabeth I), had conspired, early, to bypass both her brother (King Edward) and her sister (who would become Queen Mary) to take over the throne. Sex and violence and lies and political intrigue and loyalty and cowardice and cruelty (one character is water-boarded; we see it)--all figure in this strong script, which is actually the second play in Henning's series about the Tudors (we did not see the first one--The Last Wife--which played up here two years ago).

Young Elizabeth--called "Bess" here--was played by a young Canadian actress, Bahia Watson, who was very strong. I was very impressed with her--as I was with Stratford veteran Yanna McIntosh, who played one of Bess' relentless interrogators.

We see "Bess" adopt and adhere to "the myth of the virgin" as her way to achieve popularity-/and popularity was her pathway, she knew, to the crown (which actually arrived via two convenient and early deaths of her half-siblings: illness in both cases).


2. We came back to the room afterward, talking continuously. Ate some potato chips because, you know, we needed them for nutritional purposes only. Nothing to do with pleasure, believe me! Read some more of the new Michael Connelly novel--which I'm enjoying.


3. This morning it was back down to Coffee Culture, where I read my Kirkus quota, read some online newspapers (NYT, PD, Akron B-J), then up to our other coffee shop, where I read some more of Joyce Carol Oates' new novel--A Book of American Martyrs--a brief (750-pp) novel whose end I'm nearing--should finish it on Saturday--at which time--if I've the energy--I'll tell you about it.

4. After Balzac's, we went over to the local and excellent kitchen store--Bradshaw's (where, in previous years, I have dropped more than a chunk of change on various baking "needs")--but I didn't see anything this year (yet!) that I, you know, needed. But ... we don't leave till Sunday ... so ...


5. We're back in the room now and will head down to the Festival Theatre for a 2 o'clock production of Romeo and Juliet (the first Shakespeare we've seen this year). More later ...

... a solid production with two good young actors (Antoine Yared and Marion Adler--who was great last night as Mary Tudor) in the impossible parts of R & J. The director (Scott Wentworth, whom we've seen act many times up here) chose to do the entire script--the Full-Meal Deal (no substantial cuts that I noticed)--but hurried it along by using a plain stage-costumes-props (as the Bard would have seen it), and so it came in under three hours. But--guess what?--it doesn't have a happy ending ... at least not for the star-cross'd lovers. (SPOILER ALERT!)

Joyce and I both noticed how, the older we get, the more the minor parts increase in relevance for us. In a way, we were like R&J--marrying quickly despite some parental ... reservations--not listening to the advice of those who suggested we take it a bit more slowly (we met in late July, married in late December). And now ... we relate to the Nurse, to the parents, to the Friar, etc. Even poor Paris doesn't seem like such a bad guy, you know?

But oh that lovely language that comes flying from the mouths of our principals! As usual, Mercutio (played wonderfully by the talented Evan Buliung--who also plays Sky Masterson up here) steals the first half of the show with his humor and with the (justly) celebrated Queen Mab speech, a speech I don't think I've ever seen delivered more effectively.

But Death emerges the victor, again. He is one determined dude, isn't he?

I've probably seen R&J more times than any other of the Bard's plays--and I'm a bit weary of it, to be honest. But each production does usually show me some things I'd not noticed before--or thought of before.

And that's why we keep coming up here, you know, year after year after year ...


6. We hurried up to the York Street Kitchen afterward, had our usual sandwichy supper (avoiding the rain that fell while the show was in progress--luck be a lady tonight!). On the way home we checked out the Scottish Shop (not far from our Inn), where I found a sweater I liked. Joyce bought it for my birthday, and one of the only advantages of being an Old Guy is that when my birthday comes (in November), I will have completely forgotten about it!

7. Tonight we go to the Avon Theatre to see Treasure Island, based on the Robert Louis Stevenson novel which I finally got around to reading a year or so ago. Looking forward to it!

Stratford Sundries, 2017-3

City Hall
Stratford, Ontario
July 31, 2017

1. Last night--down at the small Studio Theatre here in Stratford, we saw The Breathing Hole, a new work by Canadian playwright Colleen Murphy; it's a work the Stratford Festival had commissioned.

There were some odd things about it--beginning with the older woman (my age!?) sitting next to her husband (whom she absolutely ignored), right in front of us, where--before the show and during the interval--she played some fast and furious (and mostly losing) games of Candy Crush. When she lost, she seemed ... hurt. Did not turn to her husband for consolation.

Anyway, the play takes place in the Canadian Arctic. Two acts. Three scenes in each. Time span: May 1534 to New Year's Eve, 2033. Five hundred years of goings-on. The early scenes featured some Inuit actors--and  a very large polar bear, manipulated by a visible human (inside) (think: War Horse). Later, there were two of them--bears.

It's the history of the changes in the Arctic--including the ill-fated Franklin Expedition (probably the strongest scenes)--concluding with the selfie generation aboard a cruise ship into the ice-free Arctic (climate change, you know), where some of the passengers resolutely kill a dying polar bear, covered with oil, in the black waters. The bear is the same throughout--the "spirit" of it all, I guess. And although some of it was very moving--with some solid performances--I felt it was a bit too long (it didn't let out until after 10:30--began at 8) and perhaps a bit too obvious in places.

It was only the second preview, so there were some botched deliveries of lines--some awkward moments. But there were also some moments of great power and emotion.

We returned, exhausted, to our room, where I crashed about as hard as I have in all of my adult years!


1a. BTW: Joyce I and remembered that we had seen Tartuffe before last night ... but when? ... and where? I checked my journal. Found it. Saturday. October 18, 2003. Great Lakes Theater Festival. And here's the odd thing: That was the night that the symptoms of my Bell's Palsy appeared. Pain. Couldn't close my right eye. Right side of face ... absolutely dead. But--tough (i.e., dumb) guy that I am, I stayed till the end of the show, spent the night at home ("I'll be better in the morning"--I wasn't), and did not go to the ER until the next morning--causing me to miss Parents' Day at WRA, where I was teaching at the time. My recovery from Bell's has been incomplete. Still some problems with my right eye--my upper right lip. So it goes in Mortality Land ...


2. This morning--down to Coffee Culture, where I did some reading of Joyce Carol Oates--then realized I should have begun reading this morning the book I'm reviewing for Kirkus Reviews this week. Oops. Went back to the room; retrieved the galley; headed over to Balzac's Coffee; read my Kirkus quota; felt better about myself as, you know, a person ...


3. We're back in the room now, typing notes, etc., will soon have lunch before walking over to the Avon Theatre (a "traditional" venue downtown), where we will see Richard Sheridan's The School for Scandal at 2:00. Rain is in the forecast ... umbrella time ... sigh.

4. Rested a bit, reading some Michael Connelly before walking down to the Avon (no rain yet!), where we saw a great production of School--with members of the Stratford "A Team"--Geraint Wyn Davies, Tom Rooney, Joseph Ziegler, Maev Beaty, Shannon Taylor, et al. Time, well, flew with this energetic production (done in period costume--with some playfulness with cell phones here and there). The director was Anthony Cimolino, who is also the Artistic Director for the entire festival ... so ... let's just say that, uh, no expense was spared!

A play about gossip, "fake news," and the consequences of same. A play about the human heart--what it will endure, what it needs, what it loves (clue: another loving heart!).

5. Afterward--over to our favorite supper place, the cozy York Street Kitchen, where we had a sandwich and ceaseless talk about what we've been seeing, experiencing ...

6. Oh, do I love these Stratford trips ...

7. In about an hour, we'll head back to the Studio Theatre to see The Virgin Trial, about the young Tudor queen--Elizabeth. Don't know much else about it ... report tomorrow!

Stratford Sundries, 2017-2

City Hall
Stratford, Ont.
July 31, 2017

 1. Last night I finished one of my Bedtime Books (the stack I read from most every night), the 1862 novel No Name by Wilkie Collins, whose complete novels I've been slowly consuming. It's a story that concerns two daughters who lose everything (financial) when their parents die--and we discover that those parents had never been married. English inheritance laws at the time, well, disinherited them. We follow the story, mostly, of the younger daughter, who vows to recover what's lost by a variety of ways--all of which fail. The novel winds round and round the spool of coincidence (necessary in a 19th-century novel when no one had a smart phone!). And, of course, being a Wilkie Collins' novel, the story kind of works out ... with a lot of darkness before the sunrise. Love reading his work--always astonished at how those Victorians were so productive! And prolific ...

SPOILER ALERT: I loved the final few sentences: The younger daughter, Magdalen, has found a man to love, and it's not until the final page that each reveals to the other the nature of That Lovin' Feelin'. Here's how Collins writes it ...

She looked up, still clinging to him as she clung to the hope of her better life to come.

“Tell me the truth!” she repeated.

“With my own lips?”

“Yes!” she answered, eagerly. “Say what you think of me with your own lips.”

He stooped and kissed her.

2. This morning we began our routines here: down to Coffee Culture, where we eat breakfast and read, then to another coffee shop (Balzac's), where we read some more; then back to the room to work on the computers and have a quiet lunch together (a nice little fridge in the room!).

Our first show this afternoon (2 o'clock at the Festival Theatre, the Festival's prime venue) is Tartuffe, the 17th-century comedy by Molière (1622-73). Will write more about it in a few hours! ...

... a wonderful, inventive production with two of our Stratford favorites: Tom Rooney (title role--the sneaking, lying, deceptive man who has insinuated himself into the life and family of Orgon (Graham Abbey)). A very funny contemporary rhyming translation with some naughty words, a flash of Tartuff'e's bare butt--and more than one allusion to Pres. Trump (bigly, kovefe, et al.)--each of which got a huge laugh, I must say. Canadians! (Okay, I was laughing, too.) Minor characters--all good, too, especially the caustic grandmother (played by Rosemary Dunsmore), who just will not believe that Tartuffe is a con artist.

3. While resting after lunch I continued reading more of the new Michael Connelly novel--The Late Show--a novel that introduces a new lead character for him, Renée Ballard, an LAPD detective who's fallen out of favor for reasons I'll talk more about when I've finished the book.

Anyway, what made me smile today was some of Connelly's metafictional horseplay. (Connelly's fans know that he's written many novels about Harry Bosch, a cranky older LAPD detective now featured in an Amazon streaming series--Bosch.)

Here's what he does in The Late Show: Ballard recognizes a dead woman as a minor actress who has played some minor TV roles ...

She had played a part in an episode of a television show called Bosch, which Ballard knew was based on the exploits of a now-retired LAPD detective who had formerly worked at RHD [Robbery Homicide Division]. The production occasionally filmed at the station and had underwritten the division's last Christmas party ... (40).

4. Tonight--we go to the Studio Theatre (where they do their more experimental productions) to see The Breathing Hole--a play about which I know zilch! I will blog about it tomorrow!

Stratford Sundries, 2017-1

Stratford City Hall
Stratford, Ontario
31 July 2017

We're back!

A couple hours ago we arrived--again--in Stratford, Ontario, where, tomorrow afternoon, we begin our annual Orgy of Plays. We'll see eleven plays in six days here at the Stratford Theatre Festival--something we've been doing for more than fifteen consecutive years now. We are enormously fortunate, enormously grateful.

At the end of April this year I believed there was no way I'd ever be here again. I could barely walk I was so dizzy, and I even spent a night in the ER up at UH in Chagrin. Test after test after test ...

But I've been getting better--slowly, slowly--and here we are. As is our wont, we've parked the car in our hotel's parking lot, and we will not drive again until we leave for home on Sunday next. Walk everywhere.

There are four main theater venues here--the Festival, the Avon, the Studio, the Tom Patterson--and we will see shows at all of them. Only the Festival is a bit of a walk; the others are pretty close to where we "live."

We left Hudson about 10:45 this morning, arriving here about 5:30. If we could have driven straight across Lake Erie, it would have, you know, been quicker--if wetter. Instead, we drove all the way west to I-280, then up I-75 to Detroit, crossing the Ambassador Bridge there to Windsor, Ontario (where I once spent a wonderful day at the University of Windsor Library chasing down stuff about the Northwest Police for my Jack London/Call of the Wild research). And then we basically reversed our morning trip--this time along the northern edge of Lake Erie.

I love the rural parts of Ontario--reminds me so much of boyhood trips in the Midwest before urban sprawl ... Lovely sights of farms and small towns and many farmers bringing in their hay crops and ... Dear Memory held my hand and whispered in my ear ... and I felt. And listened.

Joyce and I are now unpacking and getting ready for a busy week. For a lovely busy week, and I will post here about the shows we're seeing--and about all the other excitin' stuff we do!

Sunday Sundries, 152

1. AOTW--Well, this week, the prize has a literal as well as a figurative meaning. The other evening, off on our wonted post-supper drive, we saw a couple walking their dogs--two of them, leashed. The humans paused, let each pup poop profusely in someone's yard, then strolled on, no effort whatsoever to impound the poop and dispose of it properly. So it goes in AOTW World.

2. I finished only one book this week because I'm also reading the massive recent novel by Joyce Carol Oates (American Martyrs, some 750 pages). I've read more than 400 and hope to finish it this week. So far, so good ...

     - I did finish the recent John Grisham novel, Camino Island, which is not a courtroom thriller (though some lawyers do appear here and there); no, this one is a thriller-thriller. A caper story. A group of men steal from the special collections library at Princeton University a number of manuscripts by F. Scott Fitzgerald, including The Great Gatsby and the unfinished The Last Tycoon (a dramatization of the latter is now streaming on Amazon Prime!).

We follow the Bad Guys for a while, then turn to the efforts to recover the priceless materials. The story focuses on Mercer Mann, a young woman writer (currently blocked!), whom the authorities enlist to help recover the manuscripts since the prime suspect is a rare books dealer on this Florida island Mercer is familiar with. Bruce Cable is his name. Cable is "married"--but the relationship is open, and Mercer is quite able with Cable.

I liked the book (for what it is), though I must confess that I figured out a big plot twist well before it happened. When this happens (occasionally, not often), I feel simultaneously proud of myself and disappointed. One of the reasons I read thrillers is to be surprised, so when the Big Surprise turns out to be what I thought it was ... well ... diminished pleasure.

3. Last night I saw Spider-Man: Homecoming at Kent, and I both enjoyed it a lot and not so much. I know that I'm now officially an Old Guy because I prefer the sort of "personal" scenes to all the action. I felt the director could have cut the thing by a half-hour, and no one would have noticed. Really, the action is always, for me, just More of the Same, but I liked watching the relationships among Peter Parker and his high school classmates, between Parker and Tony Stark (aka Iron Man), who is Parker's mentor in the film. (I'll see Robert Downey, Jr. in anything!)

One other thing I'll say: In films aimed at a youth audience, most of the adults are clueless or dopey or both. Only the kids are kind of ... With It. The teachers at Parker's high school were basically all cliches and caricatures: boring or inattentive or so laissez-faire that they seem almost spectral in the lives of the kids. It's a rare film that has ever shown me a teacher who resembled an actual one. Even more rare: a film with a great teacher.

But I'm probably just being too ... sensitive ... about my own 45-year career in the classroom ...

Link to film trailer.


4, Final Word: A word I liked this week from my various online word-of-the-day providers ...

     - from the Oxford English Dictionary ... check 2nd meaning ...

morigeration, n.

Pronunciation:  Brit.       /mɒˌrɪdʒəˈreɪʃn/, /məˌrɪdʒəˈreɪʃn/,  U.S. /məˌrɪdʒəˈreɪʃ(ə)n/, /mɔˌrɪdʒəˈreɪʃ(ə)n/  [KIND OF RHYMES WITH REFRIGERATION--MOHR-RIJ-UHR-A-SHUN]

Forms:  lME morigeracioun, 16 18– morigeration.

Frequency (in current use): 

Origin: A borrowing from Latin. Etymons: Latin mōrigerātiōn-, mōrigerātiō.

Etymology: < classical Latin mōrigerātiōn-, mōrigerātiō... (Show More)

Now rare.

†1. With modifying word: character or nature (of an illness). Only in evil morigeration. Obs.

?a1425   tr. Guy de Chauliac Grande Chirurgie (N.Y. Acad. Med.) f. 21   Som [inflammations] bene made of humours noȝt naturale And..in þam yuel qualitee or yuel morigeracioun, i. maneryng [?c1425 Paris euel manere; L. mala morigeratio], appereþ more þan bolnyng.

?a1425   tr. Guy de Chauliac Grande Chirurgie (N.Y. Acad. Med.) f. 158v   He exemplyfied in 3 maneres strengþ of sikenesez: For principalite of þe particule, as in þe heued or þe wombe ysmyten; For magnitude of disposicoun, as in woundez so grete þat hem nedeþ sewing; And for yuel morigeracioun..as in articulis ybrissed or crusshed.

 2. Obedience, compliance; deference to superiors, obsequiousness.

1605   Bacon Of Aduancem. Learning i. sig. E1v   Not that I can taxe or condemne the morigeration or application of learned men to men in fortune. 

1642   J. Howell Instr. Forreine Travell v. 59   For the Spaniards, of all other, love to be respected at their own homes, and cannot abide an insolent cariage in a Stranger; On the other side, Courtesie and Morigeration, will gaine mightily upon them.

1659   J. Evelyn Let. 3 Sept. in Diary & Corr. (1852) III. 116   That fond morigeration to the mistaken customs of the age.

1889   Dict. National Biogr. XVII. 238/1   A large number of letters remain..addressed to her by her son Charles Lewis, but he certainly gave her reason enough for discontent, both in his politic morigeration to the Commonwealth men in England and in his cold-blooded treatment of herself.

1903   Edinb. Rev. Apr. 384   Morigeration served their turn during the first part of their Asiatic journey.

1958   Stud. in Renaissance 5 186 (note)    In the many works deriving from Bacon's treatise on fortune, morigeration is perhaps best exemplified in Chesterfield's advice to his son on the necessity of cultivating ‘the art of pleasing’.

That Nobel Prize, That Nobel Speech

I don't think I reacted too much, publicly, when I heard the news last October that the Nobel Prize for Literature had gone to Bob Dylan. (Link to New York Times account of the announcement.)

To say I was ambivalent is both accurate and an understatement.

I've loved Dylan since the git-go. When he first emerged on the scene in the 1960s, I was still whanging away at my guitar with dreams of joining the Kingston Trio and others in the folk music pantheon--dreams about as realistic as those I'd had, only a couple of years earlier, about being the catcher for the Cleveland Indians.

And I remained a fan of his for a long, long, long time. Joyce and I, in fact, early in our marriage (the Big Day was December 20, 1969), saw Dylan perform at the Cleveland Public Hall; he was acoustic the first half, electric the second. Scandal!

In 1973, two of my obsessions merged: Bob Dylan and Billy the Kid. That was the year the film Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid came out--with music by Bob Dylan (including the hit "Knockin' on Heaven's Door")--and Dylan also had a small part in this Sam Peckinpah film. (Link to film trailer.)

Although I haven't listened to much popular music in recent years (okay, decades)--other than what I hear in the air at coffee shops and elsewhere--I still greatly admire Dylan and what he did for music in my generation--and the next couple, too!

But ... a Nobel Prize for Literature?

When the news came out, people took sides on Facebook--dear friends on all sides of the issue. I generally stayed quiet, though I have to say that I was stunned by that Nobel decision: Musicians have all kinds of awards (Grammys, etc.)--and now popular songwriters are going to be eligible for the Nobel Prize in Literature, as well?

It just seemed odd to me that, say, Joyce Carol Oates (I think she deserves the Prize--hasn't won it), labors in a much different vineyard--and in a much different way--with much different tools. Etc. But I guess I didn't feel motivated enough to get involved publicly in the debate. Though Joyce and I talked about it quite a bit.

Then, not long ago, the text of Dylan's Nobel Lecture became available online. I bookmarked it--but didn't do anything for quite a while.

Then, the other day, I downloaded and printed and read it. (Link to the Nobel Lecture.)

And--to be honest--I thought it really was pretty ordinary stuff--or worse. Although I did like the early paragraphs (about his musical influences as he was growing up--Buddy Holly a major one), he then launched into the major part of his speech, which dealt with the influences on him of some major literary works: Moby-Dick, All Quiet on the Western Front, and The Odyssey.

And from here on ... I thought it read like a weak undergraduate essay by someone trying to impress a prof. I just didn't buy it.

I'm not saying I don't think Dylan read those books--or that they didn't have an influence on him; I'm just saying that he didn't write about any of it very well--or very uniquely. It was, well, just ordinary stuff--kind of like a feeble lyric he would have tossed after he tried it out.

He should have written a song cycle. Should have gone to his strength.

I should say that I've read all three of those books--Moby-Dick (multiple times--I taught some Melville), The Odyssey (multiple times--I taught it for two years at Western Reserve Academy), All Quiet on the Western Front (just once--in high school--study hall--bored by study hall, not the novel).

And I can't say that Bob Dylan, the Nobel Laureate, said anything remotely unusual about any of the three. Nothing remotely arresting.

Anyway, perhaps I'm sounding snooty now (elitist!), but I guess that's not all that bad a thing: is it? The Nobel Prize--in any category--is supposed to go to someone who's the elite of the elite.

In popular music, that's Bob Dylan, no question at all; in literature, it's someone else.