The full title of this play is Suitcase Or, Those That Resemble Flies From a Distance, the first part of the title is inscrutable (to me, at least,) and the second a reference whose provenance I don’t know the relevance of. The title, I mean to say, is as resistant to classification as the rest of this work.

On the surface it seems straightforward: there are two women, friends, who live in the same apartment building and are both working on their dissertations, as they have been for a long time. There are two men, acquaintances, who are the partners of these women and are trying to see their girlfriends.

Over the course of the evening we see the women wrestle with their chosen paths (in love and in academia) and the men do the same. The language is sparse, often repetitive, and we are frequently listening to three conversations simultaneously, as all the people involved search for meaning and for purpose and for happiness.

Of all the plays I’ve read this year none but this has made me want to dive back in immediately after leaving. The clear musicality with which the play is written almost demands to be spoken aloud (yes, all plays do this, but rarely does it feel so vital.)

As a Writer
I’ve omitted this section from the last few because there was nothing not glib to say about the writing: Wolworth Farce expounds on the value of confusion, Minotaur perhaps has something to offer about authenticity and simplicity. Suitcase, however, is a clear repudiation of the writing I do. Where my writing is dense, frequently lining up words precisely in order to build an image and then contort it at the last moment for a perfect lay-up laugh, this play is sparse, almost empty, relying on the pain of silence and the strangeness of response to give glimpses of character, and to allow for laughs (for which there are plenty) to drift by like delicate bubbles that are popped if one leans too heavily on them.

It is something I don’t know if I am capable of, which of course makes me want to dive right in and find out.