It’s a comedy of manners - a spoof on the snobbish upper crust society in London. According to director Carol Lanspeak, it calls for stylized acting, not realism. Their self-important posturing goes with their lofty opinions. Example:
'To lose one parent, Mr Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.'
The plot is wacky, if not totally insane. One young bachelor has invented a wicked brother named Ernest, another has invented an invalid relative named Bunbury. Why? You'll have to see the play.
Figuring prominently in the plot is a handbag - not a woman's purse, but a small piece of luggage, just large enough to carry . . . You'll have to wait and see!
Then there's the matter of cucumber sandwiches! A young gentleman sends out invitations to an afternoon tea and orders cucumber sandwiches as refreshments. They are so good that he eats the whole plateful before the guests arrive.
I asked food writer Mildred Riker what is so special about cucumber sandwiches. She said, 'To make the classic sandwich, cut a round of bread, spread it with softened butter, layer it with crisp cucumbers sliced paper-thin, and top it with another round of buttered bread. They're delicious! You can't stop eating them!'
Some of the playwright's witticisms are still being used today:
'Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London is full of women of the highest society who have remained thirty-five for years.'
Every evening at eleven o'clock, Qwilleran put a cap on the day by phoning Polly Duncan, the chief woman in his life. On this night she sounded weary.
'You've been working long hours again!' he chided her. 'There's so much to do!' she cried. 'I spend mornings at the library and then seven or eight hours at the bookstore.'
'You must shake loose and come to the opening night of the new play. I know you like Wilde.'
'Oh dear! That's the night of the library board's farewell banquet for me!'
Well, that's important. We'll catch it later. They're doing the play for three weekends. But I'll miss you on opening night. Everyone will ask about you.'
There followed scraps of the unimportant news exchanged by persons who have known each other for a long time.
'You should drink a cup of cocoa and go to bed,' he finally advised. 'Is there anything I can do for you tomorrow?'
'Yes,' she said promptly. 'You could pick up Dundee!'
Chapter 2
Dundee was a marmalade cat named after the Scottish city famous for marmalade. As a kitten he had been donated to the new bookstore being built in Pickax — as a mascot, a bibliocat. He had an outgoing personality that would make friends and influence customers. His luscious tabby markings were cream and apricot, and his eyes were a lively green.
A small apartment in a corner of the office awaited him, equipped with basket-bed, feeding station, water bowl, and 'facilities', as Polly called them.
She explained to Qwilleran, 'We think he should get acquainted with his new environment now, while friendly staffers are setting it up — and before the squealing customers arrive.'
The breeder was the wife of Kip MacDiarmid, editor in chief of the
That was where they had lunch on the day of the Dundee Expedition, as Qwilleran would later call it in his personal journal.
While driving to Lockmaster, he reminisced about Winston, the dust-coloured longhair with plumed tail who did the dusting in the late Eddington Smith's dusty old bookshop. Customers went into the shop to say hello to Winston and always bought a pre-owned book for a couple of dollars. Most, if not all, of Qwilleran's books came from Edd's shop before arson reduced it to ashes. Winston had escaped and taken shelter in the weed-covered vacant lot that would now be a park bearing his name. His full name was Winston Churchill, but it was not generally known that he was named after the American author and not the British prime minister.
As soon as they were seated in the restaurant, Kip said in his usual bantering style, 'I see you guys in the boondocks are up to your old tricks, stealing our best people. First you lure our doctors, then our weatherman, and now Alden Wade!'
Qwilleran's retort was prompt. 'We can't help it if they find our quality of life superior.'
`Seriously,' Kip said, 'Alden is a sad case. Do you remember the sniping incident last year? The victim was Alden's wife!
