I’d been plunged into an adrenaline-charged murder scene. With a bullet through your neck, numbskull of yours never looked so fine.Ĭlearly, I was not in some nostalgic, rural fantasia with a heroine in floral seersucker baking scones and looking longingly into a sunset. I was going to have to work if I wanted to engage with this play. No indication of who was speaking which line, no stage directions – just that the action occurred in a farmhouse out of town. There were no character names or descriptions – just one bald sentence: Three women play a mother and her two daughters. I vividly recall my first reading of Angus Cerini’s The Bleeding Tree.
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