Here's a swftch a valentine from a mother to her son; the son is world-famed Tennessee Williams his thematic dramatic credits include murder, cannibalism, rape, queerdom- in short, the Freudian hope chest. But you'll find nothing approximating that in Mama Williams' Hallmark Card confessional, a prideful PTA appraisal of the forces that shaped her boy's career and life. There are, of course, the dark spots: sister Rose as a lobotomized half life creature; father Cornelius, ""hell bent on destruction"", calling son Tom ""Miss Nancy"", dying drunk and alone in a hotel room; Tom himself fighting physical and emotional Illness but writing, writing; finally, the late Diana Barrymore, his ""love"", winding up with too many sleeping pills. Yet over all, over the verbatim collection of 'om's letters to his grandparents, over his earnest. New Orleans bohemianism and his never-before-published early poetry or notes on a down South-depression, there emerges gloriously and gushingly the shabby genteel remembrances of a former belle of the ball, like Menagerie's Amanda, a woman of charm, character and cozy conquetry; flowers were her passion and ""Our Lord, Jesus Christ"" her true psychiatrist. The real mother-son relationship remains only between the lines. For gaga first nighters not the Williams scholars.