This is one of the two books I chose from late Uncle James’s collection(, partly because since quite some time ago I’ve become so much more focused on music rather than anything else, even when I was a literature major. In any case, this is a small book, and I do remember vividly the name David Lodge, together with his un-intrusive, oh-so-natural witticism.
I finished the book within much less than two days (while most of these two days were spent on coping with jet lag fatigue after returning from Paris). This novella (instead of a novel) is Lodge’s own adaptation of his stage play, and part of the reason I progressed so fast was that the novella consists of little more than dialogues. Sure it’s easy enough to digest, but do Lodge’s endeavors result in something other than promoting an originally stage-bound text for more readers? I’m inclined to say nay.
I just feel that so little is made of the potential. I have never read or seen the original play, but, as I said, the book really consists of very little more than just dialogues, hence the waste for the true potential of the novella/novel genre. Besides, while Lodge acknowledged the fact that the play didn’t even reach London, a number of plot potentials weren’t played out, such as the “semi-retired” writer Adrien’s touch of the tattoo on the bare shoulder of Fanny Tarrant’s.