Why I Loathe Harold Pinter
I’ve been an avid consumer of Antonia Fraser‘s lively royal biographies since childhood, so I’m sure I’ll browse her new memoir about life with her husband, Harold Pinter, in a bookstore. But there’s no question of buying the tome: Pinter, to me, is the most over-rated, consistently dull great playwright in the English language. Fraser’s latest merely confirms my loathing of Pinter‘s anti-American, champagne socialist ways: Pinter, according to the Times’ review of the book, “loved hotel suites and chauffeured cars.” Exactly.
