Right now I’m teaching On Beauty and The Passion to an advanced novel-writing class and so have been rereading both novels. Maybe one of the reasons I love them so much is that they are about errant or unexpected love and that they each, in their own way, subvert domesticity. They remind me of my childhood family parties. Back when my parents were alive, we used to celebrate all the extended family birthdays, and every other occasion, with as many family members as we could gather, friends, and people invited on the spur of the moment. Not many of my father’s university colleagues were invited, even before the divorce, since according to my mother the mess of our family and chaos of the house embarrassed him. All the strange art covering the walls, the hoarded and treasured supplies, and then, at parties, fiery words and messy apologies, someone crying in a bathroom or hallway, people embracing afterward and assuring everyone of their love. Immersive family theater.