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A ripe era for wartime espionage makes for a hugger-mugger entertainment in Lou Ye’s black-and-white historical drama “Saturday Fiction.”

Cornwall, a cottage in a dark hollow surrounded by woods in the hugger-mugger days following the birth of my first son, our horizon hidden behind fat dark rain clouds, November, mud, puddles, bitter winds.

His smile when he poses with voters is a rictus, he ducks fund-raising calls, and he lacks patience for the backroom hugger-mugger required to pass legislation.

Which is why in many instances the interests that Pinker dismisses as irrational hugger-mugger, everything from astrology to spiritualism, have tended to strengthen during periods of real scientific ferment.

He carried it out hugger-mugger—books, dishes, the downstairs rocker, all in a great mix—and carted it right down the middle of Parker Head.