Heaven?
Mr. Kushner’s plays are strict creatures of the theater in ways that many of his predecessors—and most of his contemporaries—are not. He is our foremost playwright of the imagination. I mean this partly in the sense that he can send characters darting off to Heaven or Antarctica without seeming foolish, but mostly in the sense that, on the stage, his plays demand that we engage our own imaginations.
Toooo exhausting. Shopping tomorrow. Nordstrom. Big sale. Imagination?
Hon-eeey, how do you turn off this computer thing?
link: arts journal
