Playing

I've decided to devote some of my reading time in June to plays. To that end, and because I'll be teaching it the back end of next term, I read Athol Fugard's wonderful "Master Harold"... and the boys today. Time well spent. A small piece with such big ideas. And how well it survives its period - almost as if apartheid becomes a metaphor for something deeper than its narrow, tawdry self. Tremendous emotional wallop. I'd love to see it staged but never had the opportunity - so it just plays in my head, which is sometimes enough.

Moved on immediately to O'Neill's All God's Chillun Got Wings. I suppose because I was interested in another white writer and his treatment of race (from an age when a lack of authenticity seems guaranteed. We'll see.) And because I have a huge soft spot for O'Neill - surely the least gifted of all the truly great writers.

Finished Tony's manuscript, by the way - a testimony to its readability. Looking forward to letting him know just how good I thought it was, but trying to think of some useful criticisms to help him along. Always difficult when you've really loved something.