"The Book of Grace' in New York

Suzan-Lori Parks's new play, The Book of Grace, is determined to bludgeon every shred of hope, optimism and cheerfulness out of us until we succumb to her grim view of human beings, event outcomes and life generally. To say this show is a downer is to seriously understate the case. By the end of the evening, when the drama halted inconclusively, the audience had been stunned into silence— nobody knew if it was over, but I bet everybody hoped it was.

The setting is a border town in Texas. The oddly messy set (Eugene Lee) is an indoor/outdoor locale— a rug on a sand-covered floor, no walls, not much furniture: The TV sits on the floor, but there's a constantly used ironing board and a state-of-the-art iron. None of these peculiarities is adequately understood by play's end, despite the dialogue's endless explanations of what is already clear. What isn't clear is the play.

The title's Grace (the fine Elizabeth Marvel) is a chirpy, silver-lining sort of girl ("The good is all around"), a waitress in a pink uniform and sneakers, who lives in this dump with her tyrannical husband Vet (John Doman), who is the star of the Border Patrol: "It's all about us and them," is his motto. He watches the fence dividing us from them through binoculars, but the "them" never materializes, either in person or in plot.

Interracial tensions

When Buddy, Vet's black son (Amari Cheatom), returns home to the father he hasn't seen since he was ten, what is he hoping for? An apology? A home? A job? Revenge? Vet seems to be about to embrace him, but instead pats him down: "My version of homeland security."

So maybe this play is about interracial tensions— the problems of society viewed through the lens of the family. Or maybe it's about wife abuse. Or child abandonment. Or pedophilia. Or pornography. Or war. Take your pick: all are mentioned, none is developed.

Buddy is clearly damaged, highly strung and slightly unhinged; he has just returned from having won a bronze star in an unidentified war, so when he shows us the bag of grenades he keeps in his footlocker, we discover the play is about a homegrown terrorist (Ó la Timothy McVeigh).

Buddy quotes the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence endlessly: "When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary…." Uh-oh. But by the time we utter that "uh-oh," we've ceased to care what happens.

Happy endings crushed

Grace's book of the play's title is a secret compilation of pictures (Disney World's "magic castle") and stories where happy endings are snatched from the jaws of all the evidence of meanness, cruelty and injustice the world provides. This book, as you can guess, is not long for this world.

In her earlier play, Top Dog/Underdog, Parks found a way to combine— with thrilling theatricality— the political and the personal, society and the family. She attempts the same here, without any coherence— thematic or theatrical. The Book of Grace lacks, among much else, grace.♦


To read a response, click here.