twenty-two before 22
i’m reading 22 books before my 22nd birthday—in three monthsArchive for drama
#5 of 22
A Tempest (1969)
by Aimé Césaire
Play
59 pages
Beginning:
“MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Come, gentlemen, help yourselves. To each his character, to each character his mask. You, Prospero? Why not? He has reserves of willpower he’s not even aware of himself. You want Caliban? Well, that’s revealing. Ariel? Fine with me. And what about Stephano, Trinculo? No takers? Ah, just in time! It takes all kinds to make a world.
And after all, they aren’t the worst of characters,” (7).
Somewhere in the middle:
“ARIEL: It’s evil to play with their hunger as you do with their anxieties and their hopes.
PROSPERO: That is how power is measured. I am Power,” (32).
End:
“CALIBAN: FREEDOM HI-DAY! FREEDOM HI -DAY!” (66).
#2 of 22
‘Night, Mother (1983)
by Marsha Norman
Drama, One Act
89 pages
Beginning:
Mama: Jessie, it’s the last snowball, sugar. Put it on the list, O.K.? And we’re out of Hershey bars, and where’s that peanut brittle? I think maybe Dawson’s been in it again. I ought to put a big mirror on the refrigerator door. That’ll keep him out of my treats, won’t it? You hear me, honey? I hate it when the coconut falls off. Why does the coconut fall off?
Somewhere in the middle:
Mama: Jessie, how can I live here without you? I need you! You’re supposed to tell me to stand up straight and say how nice I look in my pink dress, and drink my milk. You’re supposed to go around and lock up so I know we’re safe for the night, and when I wake up, you’re supposed to be out there making the coffee and watching me get older every day, and you’re supposed to help me die when the time comes. I can’t do that by myself, Jessie. I’m not like you, Jessie. I hate the quiet and I don’t want to die and I don’t want you to go, Jessie. How can I—How can I get up every day knowing you had to kill yourself to make it stop hurting and I was here all the time and I never even saw it. And then you gave me this chance to make it better, convince you to stay alive, and I couldn’t do it. How can I live with myself after this, Jessie?
End:
Mama: Loretta, let me talk to Dawson, honey.
