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THE BEGINNING OF CALAMITIES by Tom House

About the Book

It’s early spring ’73, Long Island, and the snow has melted on the grounds of Our Lady of Perpetual Help elementary school; at last the students will be allowed outside again for recess. Happy day? Not for spazzy, stuttering redhead Danny Burke. He racks his nerdy, fifth-grade brain for a ploy to avoid the roughhousing and illegal games of keep away that ensue, and, borrowing liberally from Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the budding dramatist comes up with his own version of “The Passion of Christ.” His impressed young teacher, Miss Kaigh, quickly secures permission to stage the play, and the rehearsal schedule keeps Danny safely indoors. But a new set of troubles is just beginning. None of the popular students wants anything to do with Danny-the-fag’s weird crucifixion pageant, and the cast quickly becomes (in the uncharitable thoughts of Miss Kaigh) “an assembly of the shyest, most awkward students in the entire class, a veritable company of outcasts and misfits, in short, a little leper colony." Worse, Danny’s prevented from playing Christ by both his teacher and mother, who fear, understandably, that one so painfully self-conscious could never pull off the starring role. Their meddling backfires. As Danny watches boy after boy fumble through and quit the part, his determination and religious zeal soar to new, obsessive heights. Aided by an imaginary biblical companion—a racy slave boy named Arram—he secretly grooms himself for his startling debut. On the appointed day, the entire student body files into Our Lady’s Music Hall, prepared to be bored or benignly appalled; but at the first hair-raising cries from the Garden of Gethsemane, it becomes clear that this will be a kind of bathrobe drama they’ve never seen before.

“A brave debut, brimming with originality, that accurately captures the humor, poignancy and horror of an outsider’s childhood.” (The Weekly News)

Discussion Topics

1. How would you describe the narrator of The Beginning of Calamities? Do you imagine anyone in particular? Is this person good-looking, or not really? What color hair? And does this person’s voice, especially in the book's preface, remind you of anyone or anything? (Like maybe the beginning of one of the Gospels??) Be honest—does your picture of the narrator resemble the author photo? And if so, is it time to remind yourself that it’s gauche to equate narrators with authors? Do you have a firm impression of your author/narrator’s attitude toward God and Catholicism? Is it like your own attitude? Do you think you voted for the same presidential candidate?

2. The novel employs the “selective omniscience” point of view. (Isn’t that a kickass term? But kind of oxymoronic?) We’re privy to the thoughts of the three main characters: Danny, the 11-year-old hero; Carol Burke, his mother; and Liz Kaigh, his teacher. Why do you think House stops there? Do you think he just likes the number three? Do you wish he’d included more points of view, or that he’d limited his mind-reading to the boy? What would be gained or lost in either case? Scrap that; he wrote what he wrote. So, which of these principals do you identify with or like the most? (Sorry if that’s not the same character.) Do you know why exactly? Do you especially dislike any of them? How do you think the author would feel if he knew?

2a. Who’s your favorite secondary character? Juanita? Patty? Sister Regina Mary Murphy? Lazy Mr. Larkin? Or how about Duke, the banished spaniel? Or the wildly painted, life-sized cross Danny made from the Kenmore refrigerator carton? (Remember it reminded Carol of the talking trees from The Wizard of Oz, so maybe it qualifies for some kind of supporting part.)

3. Does anyone ever really know what anyone else is thinking—in this novel, or in life?

4. Most of Danny’s family, and notably his father, are “offstage” in the book. What effect does this have on the story and the reader? Do you think the author was right to sideline the family this way, or did he make a huge mistake? Freud famously called God an “exalted father.” Do you see any heavy-handed parallels in the book between the treatment of Danny’s earthly father and heavenly Father? In your opinion, does the heavenly Father ever appear in this story? That’s a large question; you may want to come back to it later.

5. In what other ways, besides this offstage/onstage business, is the novel like a play? (There are quite a few of them; keep looking.) Do you think that was a clever idea—making a novel about a play playlike—or do you not really care about those kinds of fussy touches?

6. Is Danny gay? In general, do you believe that children can be gay and that an 11-year-old in the early ’70s could have been? Some readers have tiptoed around this notion, describing Danny as “destined to be gay” or “pre-gay.” Does the fact that he’s prepubescent and pre-experience (so very pre) mean his sexual identity hasn’t been formed yet? Is there such a thing as a gay sensibility or personality? When do people begin to have one? Be honest again—when you were just asked, “Is Danny gay?” did you picture him marching in a pride parade or hanging out at a bar in Greenwich Village? And did you wince and say to yourself, “He’s too young for any of that”? Are you blushing now? Are you blushing now? This could mean very little; maybe you just blush a lot, like Danny.

7. What do you make of Danny’s imaginary friend, Arram? Do you have a clear picture of him? Do you enjoy the fact that he’s always naked, or does that bother you? What role do you think he plays in Danny’s life? Is he leading him down the garden path, so to speak, or is he some kind of angel of Danny’s self-discovery? Maybe he’s something else entirely? Late in the novel, Carol has her son swear on the Bible that he’s not “this boy”—ostensibly, the streaker who’s been seen in the yard. She can’t know about Arram exactly, or that he and Danny have been running around “together” outside, but how much do you think she does know that she’s not letting on? And so what exactly is she asking him to swear to? Did you have an imaginary friend when you were young? How many do you have now?

8. Is Madame Sarah truly psychic?

9. Do you side with the misfits in the novel? Were you one of those kids who walked the periphery of the playground, or were you in the thick of the “rushing, whooping swarms”? How do you think your own school experience influenced your reading of this novel? Did the story dredge up any uncomfortable childhood memories? Do you resent the author for this?

10. How would you describe Liz Kaigh? Why does she get so emotionally enmeshed with the “lepers”? Is she sexually definable? Is she asexual? What about her reaction to Kevin’s slurred “homos” in chapter 4, and her strange treatment of Mrs. Burke’s red robe? What kind of significance does red begin to have in this book, anyway? And what the hell do you make of her “connection of the reds” thought during the performance? More importantly, do you like her director’s outfit? Do you agree that she ends up “looking like a Neanderthal,” as she thinks to herself when the beard-fuzz gets stuck to her fingers?

11. Has Calamities forever ruined The Messiah for you, or was that ruined long ago?

12. The narrator tells you the play is going to be a disaster in the first line of the novel. Did you form any early theories as to just how it would go wrong? And did the actual outcome differ from what you anticipated? Did anything take you by surprise? Play devil’s advocate. What goes right in this book? In what ways does this calamitous Passion actually succeed?

13. Do you think it’s significant that the Resurrection scene is never performed?

14. How would you summarize Danny’s emotional and physical condition in the last paragraph? The narrator describes him as having an “ecstatic blush.” What kind of ecstasy is this? Has Danny gone insane? Is he in a state of grace? Is he having some kind of proto-orgasm? The author recently gave a talk on his novel which he called “Ecstatic Humiliation.” Do you think that’s a good description of the boy’s state? (Writers don’t always get the point of their own books.) The author’s therapist has remarked, “He’s also just pretty damn dehydrated!” Do you think her observation applies? And did you know Christ was depicted in certain outré Renaissance paintings as having an erection at the moment of his death? How did you yourself feel when the book ended? Sad? Relieved? Strung out? Exhilarated? Sick? Horny? Triumphant? Furious? Do you think this talking point has run on or lost focus?

15. Is Calamities a religious book? Is it a comic book? A tragic book? A coming-of-age book? A gay book? A literary book? Is it a good book? A book you’ll recommend to a friend?

16. Chances are you’re a woman. Do you think Calamities particularly appeals to the reading sex? (God help it if it doesn’t, right?) Do you find the mother and the teacher convincing female characters? If not, do you like the story anyway? Please? Do you often say that men can’t write women? Even gay men? Even Henry James? Do you think this novel will appeal to straight women or lesbians more? Or does the reader’s sexuality, and her attitude toward gayness, have nothing to do with it? Is this a book Oprah Winfrey or Anna Quindlen might like, if they were to ever find out it existed? Ellen Degeneres? Do you have any way of contacting these people?

For the not-women: Chances are you’re a gay man who attended parochial school. Do you sympathize with Danny? Did you yourself feel persecuted as a child? Did the slings and arrows of your own outrageous fortune leave you predisposed to melodrama? Were you ever in a Passion play yourself? What was your role? Peter? Simon? Mary?

For the not-women and the not-gay men: Can you feel the skepticism here?

For the not-women, the not-gay men, the not-closet cases, the not-bisexuals, -fluids, or -metros, the not-questioning-in-any-way’s: Dear Sir! The author wishes to express his boundless admiration for your large-mindedness and very cool bucking of all prevailing trends. Are you a professor? Did the author once take your classes and send you the book himself?

17. Do you like the title of this novel? Calamities is plural. Ha. So, what other disasters might it be referring to, besides the production of the play? Do you find this a bitter kind of title for a story about childhood? Or do you think it’s just realistic, apt? (You say the glass is half empty, don’t you?) And did you gather from the epigraph—do you read epigraphs?—that this portentous phrase is taken from the New Testament? In particular from a section of the synoptic Gospels in which Christ relates the first terrible things that will befall the apostles as they continue his ministry? Is that a smoke smell? Has the irony scorched your eyebrows?

18. Describe three of the many ways you find The Beginning of Calamities superior to Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ.

19. Do you think the author has explained his book too much in this reader’s guide? Do you feel you may have been led by some of these questions? Have they been fun, fruitful, irritating, unhelpful? Do you think this was a good book for your reading group to discuss? How are reading groups like school?

Extra credit. House has called himself—just now—a “novelist of the classroom.” Do you think this is a fitting epithet? Do you feel sorry for him?

About the Author

Tom House is an internationally obscure fiction writer whose narrative strengths have been compared to no one’s just yet. In the fifth grade, he starred as Christ in his own Passion play at a Long Island Catholic elementary school, and suffered one of the greatest humiliations of his life. He never forgot it. The Beginning of Calamities is his fourth, first-published novel. Prior to this he went to college, did some time in grad school, thought he might become a professor, didn’t, bartended, and placed a score of short stories and orphaned-novel excerpts in well-regarded literary magazines and anthologies that a handful of highbrows read. He continues to live on Long Island. Not much more information can be found on his homespun website, www.HouseStories.net (created in a four-meeting HTML course at the state college continuing ed. program), but you will encounter a forlorn guestbook there (ahem), as well as the last decent portrait taken of the author before the bloom of his youth had completely faded.

“Reading Group Questions” first appeared in New England Review.