I snuck Millennium Approaches between two other books I wanted when I brought it to the counter at Barnes and Noble so my parents wouldn't see. (When Stephen Spinella thanked his boyfriend--"the husband of his heart"--when winning the Tony that year, my parents fell silent. Years later, in a less careful moment, my father found that and Perestroika on my desk and said "why are you reading that play?")
Everyone involved with the production of the play and the book obviously fired all all cylinders at the time, because the logo designed for the Broadway production--a beautiful chalk angel on a paper bag background--just made you want to see and read it. It called you in. Even the font of the published version seemed to beckon . . . Hard/soft italic script heading up each act and scene, and a flowing, embracing serif creating the text on creamy, vanilla paper.
All that beauty belied the anger and drama within. Sure, there was beauty, but the beauty wasn't about chalk angels or fonts--it was about the search for survival in a world that felt like it was crumbling, like the sky was falling literally in huge chunks around everybody. It was also about the earth shattering personal realization--my own angel crashing through the roof--that I couldn't change myself.
Now I love the play because of that, but also because it's big and brave and messy and funny and smart and scary and overlong and talky and astonishing and heartbreaking and magical. Mr. Kushner has been a hero since I read it and saw it--not just because of the story, but because of the way he punctuates, thinks, talks, and hopes.
Happy Birthday Angels in America. Click the title link to hear an interview on Talk of the Nation.