"Listen. Just because Miss Jeanette ain't real doesn't mean she can't help people. You saw how it worked for your momma. She still sober?" Yes. Cased closed. Sing the night that made you. "Once she finds out about you, she'll be drinking again!" I'll bring it all down, if it's not real. I've always thought the perfect balance between Sookie and Tara was the way Sookie can't stop listening and Tara can't stop talking; Tara says the things Sookie can't say, and Sookie feels the things Tara can't feel. But this is true too: If it's not real, if it's destructible, Tara Mae will bring it down. And once you destroy the whole world -- when you discover that holy madness she's racing toward at a thousand miles an hour -- you can find truth. If you survive the journey. "Well, maybe she don't have to find out? Faith's a powerful thing." Can you lie to save a life? Nancy can. Tara can't, because what makes you awesome is always also what makes you suck. She shoves the wig into Nancy's stomach like a blade and stomps off, singing her favorite song as Nancy stares after, tired and sympathetic and sad and lonely: "Fuck fuck fuck fuck."
Georgia shouted at Jonathan, to turn off the record player, the stop that song about Lady MacBeth, who destroyed as she was creating; to stop the voice of her broken father in its tracks. She wanted to take on all the horror of her father's dissolution -- the drinking, the whoring -- but none of the glory; it made Shields scream. "Make up your mind! You hate him, and you build this shrine to him. He died over ten years ago and you've been holding your own private wake ever since. You can't be a star in a cemetery! Because he was a drunk, you're a drunk. Because he loved women, you're a tramp. But you forget one thing. He did it with style."
"You're a Lorrison," he said: "Haunted, born to live by make-believe."
"Look at you," he said. "You're acting now, playing the doomed daughter of the great man. Well, let me tell you something: The acting isn't good enough. It's the cheap performance of a bit player, not a star. And that's all it'll ever be, until you can pull yourself out of this tomb."
He said: "Until you can see people as they really are, yourself as you really are, until you can do this to your father's picture..." -- and he drew a mustache on her father's portrait -- "...And laugh the way he would have laughed. That's not a God talking, Georgia, that's only a man." He smashed the phonograph record, her master's voice; she threw a liquor bottle at him, and attacked.