![]() ![]() And now, Miranda is recently dead too, of meningitis, while her father was in a rehearsal room, probably the same one, with instructions not to be disturbed for anything. But… three years ago, his wife died after giving birth to their daughter Miranda. ![]() The stage has always been his life, to the extent that nothing else matters. It sounds absurd, sewn out of the plush fabric skins of toy animals, their plastic eyes glittering. Along with all his other belongings piled up next to his rusting old car in the car-park is the cloak he’d had made. He’s in the middle of directing what sounds like a self-indulgent production of the play-with himself, inevitably, in the role of Prospero-when… suddenly he isn’t. Just think of it: a middle-aged actor-director, too busy to notice the signs of the impending coup, is escorted from the rehearsal room of his beloved theatre before he can take in what’s happening. In the wrong hands, her chosen scenario would have been dreadful. ![]() Margaret Atwood, presented with the challenge of re-imagining The Tempest, has come up with this. ![]()
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