{"id":84634,"date":"2015-04-09T17:34:57","date_gmt":"2015-04-09T21:34:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=84634"},"modified":"2015-04-09T18:30:07","modified_gmt":"2015-04-09T22:30:07","slug":"family-units","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/04\/09\/family-units\/","title":{"rendered":"Family Units"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"soprano_4_3901296080\"<\/a>

A poster for a production of The Bald Soprano<\/i> at the Pearl.<\/p><\/div>\n

Around 1963, my dad was in a summer-camp production of Eug\u00e8ne Ionesco\u2019s\u00a0The Bald Soprano. <\/em>He played M. Martin. Sometimes, decades later, he would quote from it to my brother and I. We know from theatre of the absurd, but we thought the bizarre dialogue\u2014the playwright was influenced by the stilted dialogue of the Assimil English\u2013teaching method\u2014was about the most hilarious thing we\u2019d ever heard. We were especially enamored with\u00a0a story one of the characters relates in the course of the evening.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\n

Once upon a time, another snake said to another fox, \u201cIt seems to me that I know you!\u201d<\/p>\n

The fox replied to him, \u201cMe too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen,\u201d said the snake, \u201cgive me your money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA fox doesn\u2019t give money,\u201d replied the tricky animal, who, in order to escape, jumped down into a deep ravine full of strawberries and chicken honey.<\/p>\n

But the snake was there waiting for him with a Mephistophelean laugh. The fox pulled out his knife, shouting: \u201cI\u2019ll teach you how to live!\u201d<\/p>\n

Then he took to flight, turning his back. But he had no luck. The snake was too fast. With a well-chosen blow of his fist, he struck the fox in the middle of his forehead, which broke into a thousand pieces, while he cried: \u201cNo! No! Four times no! I\u2019m not your daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

We quoted this a lot. Oftentimes, my brother and I would demand money from each other merely in order to prompt the dialogue. People outside our family found it less hilarious.<\/p>\n

We liked other lines from the play, too: \u201cAll this is very subjective \u2026 but this is my conception of the world.\u201d And: \u201cAll cats are mortal.\u201d My brother, in particular, would say \u201call cats are mortal\u201d on the slightest pretext. This continued into his adult life.<\/p>\n

Then, one day a few years ago, he was tending bar in Brooklyn and a regular came in looking very blue. My brother asked him why.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy cat died,\u201d said the man.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Well, you can imagine what my brother said.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Only recently, my brother ran into the man again. \u201cI\u2019ve always hated you,\u201d the man said. \u201cI\u2019ll never forget how insensitive you were when my cat died. I almost kicked your ass.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was still angry,\u201d said my brother, sounding genuinely regretful.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he try to hit you?\u201d I said.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cThe snake was too fast.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Around 1963, my dad was in a summer-camp production of Eug\u00e8ne Ionesco\u2019s\u00a0The Bald Soprano. He played M. Martin. Sometimes, decades later, he would quote from it to my brother and I. We know from theatre of the absurd, but we thought the bizarre dialogue\u2014the playwright was influenced by the stilted dialogue of the Assimil English\u2013teaching […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":178,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13115],"tags":[8017,2186,5400,17724,17725],"class_list":["post-84634","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-cats","tag-death","tag-eugene-ionesco","tag-the-bald-soprano","tag-theater-of-the-absurd"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhen Children Meet Eugene Ionesco<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Sadie Stein on her childhood encounters with the theater of the absurd.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/04\/09\/family-units\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Family Units by Sadie Stein\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"April 9, 2015 \u2013 Around 1963, my dad was in a summer-camp production of Eug\u00e8ne Ionesco\u2019s\u00a0The Bald Soprano. 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