Casey Character Analysis

JERRY: The funny thing was that the only thing I really felt was irritation, I mean irritation that nobody gossiped about us like that, in the old days. I nearly said, now look, she may be having the occasional drink with Casey, who cares, but she and I had an affair for seven years and none of you bastards had the faintest idea it was happening.

Pause

EMMA: I wonder. I wonder if everyone knew, all the time.

JERRY: [Casey’s] over the hill

ROBERT: Is he?

JERRY: Don’t you think so?

ROBERT: In what respect?

JERRY: His work. His books.

ROBERT: Oh, his books. His art. Yes his art does seem to be falling away, doesn’t it?

JERRY: Still sells.

ROBERT: Oh, sells very well. Sells very well indeed. Very good for us. For you and me.

JERRY: Yes.

ROBERT: Well, to be brutally honest, we wouldn’t actually want a woman around, would we, Jerry? I mean a game of squash isn’t simply a game of squash, it’s rather more than that […] You really don’t want a woman within a mile of the place […] You see, at lunch you want to talk about squash, or cricket, or books, or even women, with your friend, and be able to warm to your theme without feat of improper interruption. That’s what it’s all about. What do you think, Jerry?

JERRY: I haven’t played squash for years.

Pause

I’m a bad publisher because I hate books […]. I mean modern novels, first novels and second novels, all that promise and sensibility it falls upon me to judge, to put the firm’s money on, and then to push for the third novel, see it done, see the dust jacket done, see the dinner for the national literary editors done, […] all in the name of literature. You know what you and Emma have in common? You love literature. I mean you love modern prose literature, I mean you love the new novel by the new Casey or Spinks. It gives you a thrill.

JERRY: The funny thing was that the only thing I really felt was irritation, I mean irritation that nobody gossiped about us like that, in the old days. I nearly said, now look, she may be having the occasional drink with Casey, who cares, but she and I had an affair for seven years and none of you bastards had the faintest idea it was happening.

Pause

EMMA: I wonder. I wonder if everyone knew, all the time.

JERRY: [Casey’s] over the hill

ROBERT: Is he?

JERRY: Don’t you think so?

ROBERT: In what respect?

JERRY: His work. His books.

ROBERT: Oh, his books. His art. Yes his art does seem to be falling away, doesn’t it?

JERRY: Still sells.

ROBERT: Oh, sells very well. Sells very well indeed. Very good for us. For you and me.

JERRY: Yes.

ROBERT: Well, to be brutally honest, we wouldn’t actually want a woman around, would we, Jerry? I mean a game of squash isn’t simply a game of squash, it’s rather more than that […] You really don’t want a woman within a mile of the place […] You see, at lunch you want to talk about squash, or cricket, or books, or even women, with your friend, and be able to warm to your theme without feat of improper interruption. That’s what it’s all about. What do you think, Jerry?

JERRY: I haven’t played squash for years.

Pause

I’m a bad publisher because I hate books […]. I mean modern novels, first novels and second novels, all that promise and sensibility it falls upon me to judge, to put the firm’s money on, and then to push for the third novel, see it done, see the dust jacket done, see the dinner for the national literary editors done, […] all in the name of literature. You know what you and Emma have in common? You love literature. I mean you love modern prose literature, I mean you love the new novel by the new Casey or Spinks. It gives you a thrill.