Culture
Book Review: ‘Mona Acts Out,’ by Mischa Berlinski
MONA ACTS OUT, by Mischa Berlinski
If not for the opiates in her system, or the weed she vaped to boost the pills’ effect, Mona Zahid might have handled Thanksgiving Day better — not ducking into the bedroom of her Manhattan apartment to hide from her quarreling relatives while dinner cooks, or emerging only to grab her affable beagle, Barney, and head for the front door. But in Mischa Berlinski’s novel “Mona Acts Out,” she is, fundamentally, very, very stoned.
So when, on her way through the building’s lobby, she finds a postcard in her mailbox from Milton Katz, the famous Shakespearean stage director who for two decades shepherded her acting career, its piteous message grabs hold of her fuzzy mind.
“I am dying, Egypt, dying,” he scrawls, repurposing a line from “Antony and Cleopatra,” and even though she well knows the charismatic Milton’s habits of shameless self-dramatization and precision-calibrated emotional manipulation, she worries that he speaks the truth. Ever since a #MeToo article in The New York Times got him expelled from his own legendary East Village company, the Disorder’d Rabble — the name is borrowed from “King Lear” — he has lived in disgraced exile.
Mona, who was one of his leading ladies and remains at least a semi-loyalist, hasn’t seen him in nearly a year. Her imminent turn as Cleopatra for the Rabble, without him at the helm, is only stoking her anxiety. His postcard suggests he knows it.
She must go to him immediately, she decides, and she will walk. That means an hourslong odyssey from Morningside Heights to Brooklyn Heights, but again, she is quite high — and trying to avoid her Trump-voting father-in-law, who is on the wrong side of the Shakespeare authorship question, as well as her doctor husband, with whom she is in a holiday snit.
And so the plot is set in motion in Berlinski’s book, which takes inspiration from a 2017 article in The Times by Jessica Bennett, about nine women accusing the veteran playwright and artistic director Israel Horovitz of sexual misconduct.
It’s unlikely fodder for a comic novel, yet Berlinski (“Fieldwork,” “Peacekeeping”) pulls it off, laughing not at Milton’s trespasses but at the ridiculousness of being human — especially in the theater, and especially in New York. As Mona’s sidekick, the joy-seeking Barney is like a furry little clown.
Structured in five acts and an interlude, this psychologically acute, Shakespeare-steeped tale is about both the aftermath of Milton’s downfall and its plentiful causes over many years. By the time of his banishment, he is something of a Lear figure, and Mona something of a middle-aged Cordelia. But the novel’s curiosity is less about Milton than about her and other women once in his orbit, who figure in Mona’s Thanksgiving.
Like Susan Choi in “Trust Exercise,” Berlinski has an intricate understanding of the dynamics of predation, the psyches of performers and the culture of theater, particularly the grittier, convention-trampling downtown variety.
Ambitious and egregiously self-absorbed — Mona and Milton have those traits in common — Mona always tolerated his aggressive handsiness, his middle-of-the-night phone calls, his chronic inappropriateness. “He’s kissed me more than you have,” she tells her husband. To her, enduring that was the price of making great art, a condition about which Milton had been “totally clear with everyone.”
This puts her at odds with Rachel, her beloved college-student niece. A target for Milton’s unwanted kisses as an intern at the Rabble, she became an anonymous source for the reporter from The Times. There is also Mona’s erstwhile friend Vanessa, once Milton’s latest young discovery, who fell fervidly in love with him, not realizing the danger to her nascent acting career if their affair should end.
The journey of “Mona Acts Out” is insightfully, entertainingly multitudinous. Its destination is a letdown. Too neat, too complacent, too contrived, the ending feels like a cop-out not because it fails to wrap up the story in a particular way, or at all, but because it places characters with a profound and important conflict between them in the same small space and pretends it’s a cozy tableau.
Perhaps Berlinski means this outbreak of placid coexistence to be hopeful, even a metaphor for a less fractured United States: its angry old men and outraged women enjoying a moment of détente.
But it comes across as a willful skirting of confrontation — as if our storyteller had averted his gaze and stepped away, humming cheerfully. In that, though, he is merely following the master’s template. Shakespeare’s comedies often behave similarly, culminating in scenes of harmony that the playwright has essentially magicked up.
“Mona Acts Out” is a comedy, too, but its affinity for Shakespeare gravitates at least as much toward the tragedies, and there remains a swirl of stubborn trauma at the novel’s center. A smudge of complexifying darkness would not have gone amiss in its final moments, just before the Act V curtain falls.
MONA ACTS OUT | By Mischa Berlinski | Liveright | 304 pp. | $27.99
Culture
6 Poems You Should Know by Heart
Literature
‘Prayer’ (1985) by Galway Kinnell
Whatever happens. Whatever
what is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
“I typically say Kinnell’s words at the start of my day, as I’m pedaling a traffic-laden path to my office,” says Major Jackson, 57, the author of six books of poetry, including “Razzle Dazzle” (2023). “The poem encourages a calm acceptance of the day’s events but also wants us to embrace the misapprehension and oblivion of life, to avoid probing too deeply for answers to inscrutable questions. I admire what Kinnell does with only 14 words; the repetition of ‘what,’ ‘that’ and ‘is’ would seem to limit the poem’s sentiment but, paradoxically, the poem opens widely to contain all manner of human experience. The three ‘is’es in the middle line give it a symmetry that makes its message feel part of a natural order, and even more convincing. Thanks to the skillful punctuation, pauses and staccato rhythm, a tonal quality of interior reflection emerges. Much like a haiku, it continues after its last words, lingering like the last note played on a piano that slowly fades.”
“Just as I was entering young adulthood, probably slow to claim romantic feelings, a girlfriend copied out a poem by Pablo Neruda and slipped it into an envelope with red lipstick kisses all over it. In turn, I recited this poem. It took me the remainder of that winter to memorize its lines,” says Jackson. “The poem captures the pitch of longing that defines love at its most intense. The speaker in Shakespeare’s most famous sonnet believes the poem creates the beloved, ‘So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.’ (Sonnet 18). In Rilke’s expressive declarations of yearning, the beloved remains elusive. Wherever the speaker looks or travels, she marks his world by her absence. I find this deeply moving.”
“Clifton faced many obstacles, including cancer, a kidney transplant and the loss of her husband and two of her children. Through it all, she crafted a long career as a pre-eminent American poet,” says Jackson. “Her poem ‘won’t you celebrate with me’ is a war cry, an invitation to share in her victories against life’s persistent challenges. The poem is meaningful to all who have had to stare down death in a hospital or had to bereave the passing of close relations. But, even for those who have yet to mourn life’s vicissitudes, the poem is instructive in cultivating resilience and a persevering attitude. I keep coming back to the image of the speaker’s hands and the spirit of steadying oneself in the face of unspeakable storms. She asks in a perfectly attuned gorgeously metrical line, ‘what did i see to be except myself?’”
‘Sonnet 94’ (1609) by William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
“It’s one of the moments of Western consciousness,” says Frederick Seidel, 90, the author of more than a dozen collections of poetry, including “So What” (2024). “Shakespeare knows and says what he knows.”
“It trombones magnificent, unbearable sorrow,” says Seidel.
“It’s smartass and bitter and bright,” says Seidel.
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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Culture
Classic and Contemporary Literature From France, Japan, India, the U.K. and Brazil
Literature
FRANCE
According to the writer Leïla Slimani, 44, the author of ‘The Country of Others’ (2020).
Classic
‘Essais de Montaigne’ (‘Essays of Montaigne,’ 1580)
“France is a country of nuance with a love of conversation and freedom and an aversion to fanaticism. It’s also a country built on reflexive subjectivity. Montaigne reveals all that, writing, ‘I am myself the matter of my book.’”
Contemporary
‘La Carte et le Territoire’ (‘The Map and the Territory,’ 2010) by Michel Houellebecq
“Houellebecq describes France as a museum, where landscape turns into décor and where rural areas are emptying out. He shows the gap between the Parisian elite and the rest of the population, which he paints as aging and disoriented by modernity. It’s a melancholic and yet ironic novel about a disenchanted nation.”
JAPAN
According to the writer Yoko Ogawa, 64, the author of ‘The Memory Police’ (1994).
Classic
‘Man’yoshu’ (late eighth century)
“‘Man’yoshu,’ the oldest extant collection of Japanese poetry, reflects a diversity of voices — from emperors to commoners. They bow their heads to the majesty of nature, weep at the loss of loved ones and find pathos in death. The pages pulse with the vitality of successive generations.”
Contemporary
‘Tenohira no Shosetsu’ (‘Palm-of-the-Hand Stories,’ 1923-72) by Yasunari Kawabata
“The essence of Japanese literature might lie in brevity: waka [a classical 31-syllable poetry form], haiku and short stories. There’s a tradition of cherishing words that seem to well up from the depths of the heart, imbued with warmth. Kawabata, too, exudes more charm in his short stories — especially these very short ‘palm-of-the-hand’ stories — than in his full-length novels. Good and evil, beauty and ugliness, love and hate — everything is contained in these modest worlds.”
INDIA
According to Aatish Taseer, 45, a T contributing writer and the author of ‘Stranger to History: A Son’s Journey Through Islamic Lands’ (2009).
Classic
‘The Kumarasambhava’ (‘The Birth of Kumara,’ circa fifth century) by Kalidasa
“This is an epic poem by the greatest of the classical Sanskrit poets and dramatists. The gods are in a pickle. They’re being tormented by a monster, but Shiva, their natural protector, is deep in meditation and cannot be disturbed. Kama, the god of love, armed with his flower bow, is sent down from the heavens to waken Shiva. Never a wise idea! The great god, in his fury, opens his third eye and incinerates Kama. But then, paradoxically, the death of the god of love engenders one of the greatest love stories ever told. In the final canto, Shiva and his wife, the goddess Parvati, have the most electrifying sex for days on end — and, 15 centuries on, in our now censorious time, it still leaves one agog at the sensual wonder that was India.”
Contemporary
‘The Complex’ (2026) by Karan Mahajan
“This state-of-the-nation novel, which was published just last month, captures the squalor and malice of Indian family life. Delhi is both my and Mahajan’s hometown and, in this sprawling homage to India’s capital, we see it on the eve of the economic liberalization of the 1990s, as the old socialist city gives way to a megalopolis of ambition, greed and political cynicism.”
THE UNITED KINGDOM
According to the writer Tessa Hadley, 70, the author of ‘The London Train’ (2011).
Classic
‘Jane Eyre’ (1847) by Charlotte Brontë
“Written almost 200 years ago, it remains an insight into our collective soul — or at least its female part. Somewhere at the heart of us there’s a small girl in a wintry room, curled up in the window seat with a book, watching the lashing rain on the window glass: ‘There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. …’ Jane’s solemnity, her outraged sense of justice, her trials to come, the wild weather outside, her longing for something better, for love in her future: All this speaks, perhaps problematically, to something buried in the foundations of our idea of ourselves.”
Contemporary
‘All That Man Is’ (2016) by David Szalay
“Though he isn’t quite completely British (he’s part Canadian, part Hungarian), Szalay is brilliant at catching certain aspects of British men — aspects that haven’t been written about for a while, now updated for a new era. Funny, exquisitely observed and terrifying, this novel reminds us, too, how absolutely our fate and our identity as a nation belong with the rest of Europe.”
BRAZIL
According to the writer and critic Noemi Jaffe, 64, the author of ‘What Are the Blind Men Dreaming?’ (2016).
Classic
‘Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas’ (‘The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas,’ 1881) by Machado de Assis
“Not only is it experimental in style — very short chapters mixed with long ones; different points of view; narrated by a corpse; metalinguistic — but it also introduces an extremely ironic view of the rising bourgeoisie in Rio de Janeiro at the time, revealing the hypocrisy of slave owners, the falsehood of love affairs and the only true reason for all social relationships: convenience and personal interest. After almost 150 years, it’s still modern, both formally and, unfortunately, also in content.”
Contemporary
‘Onde Pastam os Minotauros’ (‘Where Minotaurs Graze,’ 2023) by Joca Reiners Terron
“The two main characters — Cão and Crente — along with some of their colleagues, plan to escape and set fire to the slaughterhouse where they work under exploitative conditions. The men develop sympathy for the animals they kill, and one of them becomes a sort of philosopher, revealing the sheer nonsense of existence and the injustices of society in the deepest parts of Brazil.”
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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Culture
6 Myths That Endure
Literature
The Myth of Meeting Oneself
“This is evident in Virgil’s ‘Aeneid’ (circa 30-19 B.C.) when Aeneas witnesses his own heroic actions depicted in murals of the Trojan War in Juno’s temple, and again in Miguel de Cervantes’s ‘Don Quixote’ (1605-15) when Quixote enters a printer’s shop and finds a book that has been published with fake details about his quest even as he’s living it,” says Ben Okri, 67, the author of “The Famished Road” (1991) and “Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted” (2025). “In both stories, individuals throw themselves into the world and think they encounter objects, personae, obstacles and antagonists, but what they actually encounter is themselves. In our time, where our actions meet us in the echo chamber of social media, the process is magnified and swifter. Now a deed doesn’t even have to take place for it to enter the realm of reality.”
The Myth of Utopia
“I’ve always had trouble with the idea of utopia, feeling it derives its energy more from what it wishes to dismantle than what it wishes to enact,” says the T writer at large Aatish Taseer, 45, the author of “Stranger to History: A Son’s Journey Through Islamic Lands” (2009). “Ram Rajya, or the mythical rule of the hero Ram in the Hindu epic ‘Ramayana’ (seventh century B.C.-third century A.D.), like all visions of perfection, contains a built-in violence.”
The Myth of Invisibility
“Invisibility bears power and powerlessness at the same time,” says Okri. “In ancient cultures, it was a gift of the gods. Jesus, for example, walks unrecognized among his disciples, and in Greek myths, Scandinavian legends and ancient African tales, heroes are gifted invisibility in the form of cloaks, sandals or spells. Modern works like the two ‘Invisible Man’ novels, by H.G. Wells (1897) and Ralph Ellison (1952), and the ‘Harry Potter’ novels (1997-2007) by J.K. Rowling reach back to those ideas. But today, people talk about visibility as the highest form of social agency, while invisibility can render a whole class, race, caste or gender unseen.”
The Myth of Steadiness vs. Speed
“‘The Tortoise and the Hare,’ one of Aesop’s fables (sixth century B.C.), doesn’t necessarily strike a younger person as promising — possibly it has a whiff of morality in it,” says Yiyun Li, 53, the author of “A Thousand Years of Good Prayers” (2005) and “Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life” (2017). “But the longer I live and work, the more I understand that it’s the tortoiseness in a person that carries one along, not the swiftness of the mind and body of the hare.”
The Myth of Magic
“Ancient magical tales like Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ (late eighth to early seventh century B.C.) were allegories of transformation, of secret teachings,” says Okri, “whereas modern forms of magic are narrative devices and tropes of storytelling that continue the child’s wonder of life. I think of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’ (1925), Gabriel García Márquez’s ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ (1967) and, again, the ‘Harry Potter’ books. The intuition of magic persists even in these atheistic and science-infested times, where nothing is to be believed if it can’t be subjected to analysis. This is perhaps because the ultimate magic confronts us every day in the mystery of consciousness. That we can see anything is magical; that we experience love is magical; and perhaps the most magical thing of all is the imagination’s unending power to alter the contents and coordinates of reality. It hides tenaciously in the act of reading, which is the most generative act of magic.”
The Myth of the Immortal Soul
“ ‘The soul is birthless and eternal, imperishable and timeless and is not destroyed when the body is destroyed,’ says Krishna in the ‘Bhagavad Gita’ (second century-first century B.C.). This belief in the immortality of the soul — what used to be called Pythagoreanism in ancient Greece — is still the most pervasive myth in India,” says Taseer, “and has more influence over behavior and how one lives one’s life than any other.”
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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