Be­ware the slings and ar­rows

The Compass - - NEWS -

It’s a stormy night ... dark too. Helen walks in the rain won­der­ing if she should poi­son Egret who — to thicken the plot — might be her fa­ther. She steps on a snail — ick — “ felt the crack of the shell as it splin­tered be­neath my bare heel” — dou­ble ick.

In the mean­time, Guy is lit­er­ally toss­ing and turn­ing, wracked by night­mares, im­paled on a moral dilemma, ques­tion­ing whether or not he should be part of the con­spir­acy. He vac­il­lates more than Billy the Bard’s in­de­ci­sive Dane. He frets and fal­ters more than Lady Mac­beth’s tor­mented hus­band. Su­per­im­posed scene: Mac­beth: Is this a dag­ger I see be­fore me? Guy: The vi­sion of a bloody knife cir­cled in my brain. And hold on till you see the troupe that in­ad­ver­tently cloaks the ac­tual as­sas­si­na­tion. One thing’s for cer­tain, you’ll never feel the same about jan­nies in your kitchen again.

For a short novel, ‘Cupids’ is as dark as the Old Boy’s thrice-charred heart.

Be­fore you go, think of Cu­pid, Valen­tine Day’s chubby cherub, with the bow and ar­rows. He has noth­ing to do with the novel Cupids. But con­sider this — the word ‘cu­pid­ity’ means ex­ces­sive de­sire for wealth; cov­etous­ness; avarice.

Do you think any of this stuff I’ve scrib­bled was in Paul But­ler’s mind as he wrote ‘Cupids’? Beats me. Thank you for read­ing. Be­ware the slings and ar­rows of ... what­ever.

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