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It was much easier and more exciting to start out as a playwright than as a novelist. A playwright could write a hundred pages in a few weeks, most of which were white space, and it would last two hours on stage, and on Sunday Kenneth Tynan would devote a quarter of a page of the Observer to it, even if you were a completely unknown person and the play had no scenery.
“It is a question of reality—whether reality is only something you can touch, or whether there is an unreal reality—as I think there is.”
Stoppard has often said that he is a playwright in search of a plot and that when the idea for a play springs at him it’s “as though at the far end of this gilded hall, the double doors have opened and a butler bearing a silver tray turns up and slowly approaches with the idea…which he just puts in front of me while the trumpets sound.”
