"Dear Brutus" by J.M. Barrie: Drawing its title from Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," J.M. Barrie's "Dear Brutus" examines what makes us who we are, whether it's fate, luck, or something even more sinister, ourselves.
Eight strangers are invited to spend a pleasant week in the country, all because they apparently share something in common. Their host is a devilish imp of a man named Lob, who, while completely hospitable and generous, won't share the reason for the get-together. The members of the party are a seemingly diverse lot. Mr. and Mrs. Coade are an old married couple, blissfully content with their comfortable lives. In contrast, Mr. and Mrs. Dearth find themselves in a loveless marriage, he an alcoholic failed painter, and she his cold, bitter wife. Mr. and Mrs. Purdie are having marital problems of their own, due mostly to his wandering eye, which has most recently landed on Joanna Trout, an impressionable young women with a fondness for romance. Lady Caroline Laney, a prissy socialite wanna-be who's been trained to snare a wealthy husband, rounds out the troop.
As their time together wears on, the women become restless and hatch a plan to discover the exact meaning for their gathering. It seems Matey, Mr. Lob's butler, is a bit of a thief and helps himself to some of the ladies' rings. The women use this bit of info, and the threat of a telegram to the police, to blackmail Matey into revealing his master's secret. But even Lob's trusty Matey doesn't know why these particular people were selected, only that his employer opens his home to guests once a year during Midsummer week. He also warns them that under no circumstances should they enter any woods that evening. The women find this a rather odd warning considering there are no woods anywhere near the house. Ah, but they weren't reckoning on enchanted woods that appear only once a year on Midsummer Eve and grant all who enter a second chance at life, an opportunity to make different choices, dispelling any past regrets. Enchanted woods are sneaky like that. Needless to say, almost all of the guests, not to mention Matey himself, end up succumbing to the temptation of a second chance. The results are rather unexpected.
"Dear Brutus" is a play in three acts, although it easily reads as a novel since even the stage directions and other asides are comprised of marvelously rich prose. It was written in 1917, some 13 years after Mr. Barrie found such enormous success with the stage production of "Peter Pan." And there are definitely some echoes of the earlier masterpiece, particularly during a scene in which Mr. Dearth is conversing with the daughter he could have had. Mr. Barrie depicts children and childhood with such a deft hand; it really is quite extraordinary.
The star of the show is, indeed, Mr. Dearth. He could be one of my favorite characters in all of literature. For some reason, an alcoholic failed artist just strikes a chord with me. Who knew? But Dearth is involved in two magnificent exchanges, the aforementioned loving chat with his "daughter" and a contentious verbal sparring match with his wife, Alice, that are permanently etched in gold upon my memory.
After experiencing "Peter Pan," I wanted to read another of Mr. Barrie's works to see if it was just a fluke or if he was able to sustain that level of excellence. Well, "Dear Brutus" certainly confirms the suspicion of greatness. Once again, his writing is charming, clever, and effortlessly graceful. He's always in total command of his stories, allowing them to unfold with a casual ease that is wonderfully endearing.
Making it seem easy is the hardest thing a writer can do. Mr. Barrie must have worked very, very hard.
RATING: 