Summary
The title of this memoir provides a poignant form of bookends to this account by popular biographer and mystery writer Lady Antonia Fraser of her relationship with playwright Harold Pinter. The eponymous phrase that he uttered when she was leaving the party where they met in 1975 and that inaugurated their decades-long love affair and marriage, becomes a kind of leitmotiv for her when he is dying of cancer more than 30 years later.
Ms. Fraser's account of this cruel process that ravaged the last seven years of their idyll is a model of its kind: tender, judicious, tactful, unsparing of the terrors it wrought on them both, always mindful of who was the prime sufferer and managing to be respectful of his dignity while not flinching from the awful reality.See the full content of this document
Extract
Rosily Portraying the Playwright
Her account of their decades together recalls a great deal of mutual happiness despite a variety of obstacles that they had to overcome. She paints a picture of an outstandingly uxorious man, thoughtful, kind ...
See the full content of this document
Sponsored links
