The Dwarfs: A Novel (Pinter, Harold)

The Dwarfs: A Novel (Pinter, Harold)

Harold Pinter

Language: English

Pages: 192

ISBN: 0802132669

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


“A fascinating work . . . possessing extraordinary power. Masterful.” —San Francisco Chronicle

“Brilliant, cranky, and eccentric, and the narrative passages are some of the most thrilling ever written.” —Library Journal

“Some of the author’s most enduring themes—notably, sexual jealousy and betrayal—are present. . . . The narration shows traces of writers as various as Joyce and Beckett, e.e. cummings and J.P. Donleavy.” —The Washington Post

“The Abbott and Costello meet Samuel Beckett dialogue . . . makes you laugh out loud.” —The Village Voice

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book, eh? Pete said. Len covered his eyes with his hands. - Doesn’t matter about that, Pete said. Watch this. See how many I can do. - What? - Keep a count. Pete lay stomach down on the floor and began to propel himself up and down, on his forearms. Len leaned forward, watching him. - How many? Pete grunted. - Fifteen. Pete continued, staring in front of him. - Twenty. - Uh. - Twenty-five. - Uh. - Twenty-nine. - Enough. He relaxed and grinned, sitting on the floor. - Not bad, eh?

course, most women have minds like mouldy larders. It could hardly be otherwise, I suppose. I remember the last time I saw Marie Saxon. She was in a swimming costume. Her breasts were flopping about like washing on a line. She exists within that framework, such as it is, of course. Her life naturally resolves itself into a neverending bout of selftitillation. That’s what she understands by life. But if you’re falling into that error, I’m disappointed, to be quite frank. I’ve told you before where

that garden. I told you I was cold. You knew what I said. I am a bat. I must not be a bat. I shall leave you. Twenty-three - Shakespeare! Pete exclaimed, placing his mug with a thump on the table, what was Shakespeare? Only a jobbing playwright. A butcher’s boy with a randy eye. And yet he made his point. You know what you look like when you drink that beer? A porpoise with all its suckers working. - That’s it, Mark said. Where these people go wrong is in trying to give him a name and number.

the dressmaker for the whole business. Pete came in with a brown paper parcel under his arm and placed it on the table. He flapped the parcel open and took out a white summer dress, which he handed to her. She took off her sweater and skirt and changed into it. - Stay still. She stood, turning. - Go to the window. She walked to the window, held her skirt, turned, gazed at her reflection in the mirror. - Like it? Stay where you are. The sun’s down your sides and on your neck. You look

- I never look. Probably tickling each other in the vernacular. I keep well out of it. - Do they let you? - They don’t come near me. They know I’d cut ‘em into tripes. - Was it hot today? - Hot? I was mummified. The sea air did me good. Nice to watch the muck float. Virginia walked to the mirror and looked at herself. She turned. - Pete? - Yes? - What do you think of: the sun? - What do I what? - How do you look upon the sun? - What do you mean, how do I look upon it? - No, it doesn’t

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