Death of a Salesman
It seems that I have confined myself to a single form of literature, which is the novel. I don't know how or why. But I know that my readings in the novel exceed my readings in poetry, short stories, and drama.
After reading this drama, I put my hand on an answer that satisfies me, in part of the question, which is why don't I read in drama? Because its reading is simply incomplete. The drama is written to be performed, so its reading will always be incomplete.
This drama is difficult to read. The past and the present intersect in it. We live the tragedy of Willy Loman, the traveling salesman, who is a character that Arthur Miller invented in his formulation, as he also invented in making us get to know him and his fate scene by scene. Willy Loman is a man who always tried to be loved, respected, and valued by others. This was his constant advice to his sons. But with his style and his mistakes, he destroyed himself and them. And now we are witnessing in this drama the remaining ruins, the self-deception that Willy practices on himself and on his sons to beautify the bleak reality.
This story, the story of the man who bet on an idea or a set of ideas and then tried to live on its ruins after many years, is the story of millions around us. It is always the story of man, whether in a heroic and tragic form like Loman or in a diminished form for many.