Charles Schulz died, and no death was as notable, in the arts or otherwise, this year. The indelible images he left on the American consciousness -- the universe packed within those comic-strip panels -- were an ongoing display of the perpetual human conundrum. "What's wrong will always be wrong," is how the poet Richard Hugo put it. Lucy would always pull the football away before Charlie Brown could give it a kick. The tree would devour the kite. The little redheaded girl would send her secret admirer into paroxysms of anxiety. Schulz knew that, for the most part, most of us, confronted with the reality of our own desires, are little more than frightened children with brown paper bags over our heads. Charlie Brown, the American Sisyphus, will always lose the baseball game -- and will always... More >>>