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288 pages, Paperback
First published January 18, 2024

I recall the night Gelon told me he wanted to do this. He sang a song from Medea's chorus ……… when the kids are dead, and it gives a weird sense of time merging, and for a moment, I have the feeling that the future and the past aren't separate at all, just different snatches of single song, always sung, given consequence when heard.
And like that, we're flush. It hits me, sudden, how foolish we've been. Directors without a producer are like a ship without a sail, the medium of wind to endeavours nautical being equivalent to coin in all theatrical, and till now we've had _ all of that. Tuireann, for that's the queer-sounding name of our producer, thinks staging a play with the Athenians is genius. See, he's always been fascinated by the theatre but felt there was something too safe about the surface level of its pageantry that put him off investing. Now, at last, with us, he's found his kind of show. In fairness, I have my reservations about Tuireann, and his talk is most peculiar, but he's minted and understands talent, and that will do for now.
"The Trojan Women? The finest I've ever seen..' He hesitates. 'Once, something very much like that happened:
War, sure it happens all the time.' He smiles sadly and nods.
Yes, it does. It truly does. But this happened in another world entirely. Not the dusty plains of Ilium, nor Syracuse. No, it was in a land of rain and woods, a green-growing world, but yet it happened in almost exactly the same way. The hearts of men are alike wherever you go. The rest is scenery.'


