I wrote this as a programme note for the Complicité theatre production of Olga Tokarczuk’s novel Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead. (Thanks to them for asking me.) But as that’s now sadly no longer touring (it was great), I think I can share this here.
Who knows, perhaps you might even leave the theatre a vegetarian? (That is, if you aren’t one already.)
Because, whether you like it or not, you’re about to get into a massive argument — with yourself.
There’s a lot of anger awaiting you, supplied by you, aimed at you; opposing energies that you didn’t even realise were building over the course of your lifetime.
Especially since you stopped being a child who learned to read with stories of loveable animals and became an adult who accepted that some of these animals are, in strict legal terms, fair game.
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