Read cousin Halley's play, having bought it for myself when it came out a few months ago. It's very dark and painful, which I suppose I knew already. It's also the first play I've read in a long time, and maybe the first contemporary (i.e. non-Shakespeare, non-Greek) play I've read since high school. The closeness of alignment between the script and the production surprised me, although I'm not sure why it did. Perhaps because in reading a work of prose, or even poetry, the way you're challenged to imaginatively invest in a scene is much more a collaboration between the author's writing itself and your own imagination. A play script is spare.
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