The Power of Art

Last night when I got into bed I read a short story by a great writer named Russell Banks. He has won many awards, written many best-sellers, and looks like a decent sort in his book jacket photo. His fiction is incredibly real, and usually a tad on the dark side, but his lyrical way with words makes the accompanying sadness worth it. At least until this particular strange tale called "Blue." It's about a perfectly ordinary and endearing 47-year-old lady -- she happens to be African-American just because, and on the poor side -- who goes to buy her first car after having saved up for one for three years.

Most of the story is about how she inadvertently gets locked inside the used car lot after hours, and is then chased by the savage pit bull guard dog, reaching safety only by climbing on top of an SUV. After many hours, late into the night, when she mistakenly thinks the dog is asleep, she attempts an escape and, the author makes quite clear, is killed by the dog. For no good reason. Now why would anyone write such a story? And how was I supposed to fall sleep after reading that? (Good thing there are so many sleep aids on the market.)

Just an hour before "Blue" bummed me out, I watched a movie on Netflix that was funny and fabulous despite being about death and murder. Bernie came out two years ago but somehow I missed it, and if you did too, then find it somewhere ASAP. Directed by Richard Linklater and starring the always great (and oddly underrated) Jack Black, Shirley MacLaine in one of her best roles ever, and Matthew McConaughey as the ultimate Texan, it's a docu-dramedy based on a true story that will lift your spirits and have you fall asleep smiling.