"This was a man" — Reading Notes
Edition facts
The source record for "This was a man" — Reading Notes measures this digital text at 23,633 words, 1 hr 43 min estimated reading time, and 10 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 9.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Comedy plays,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Read the complete public-domain text at its original source.
Read on Project GutenbergCoward opens This Was a Man in near-darkness, with only a fireplace glow and a reading lamp illuminating a studio set at 2:30 a.m. The stage direction specifying “mingled opulence and good taste” immediately establishes Edward Churt as a successful portrait-painter, while the late hour and the entrance of Carol and Harry in evening dress signal a clandestine return. The dialogue begins with hushed commands—“Don’t make a noise”—and a nervous exchange about a sleeping husband, setting a tone of controlled secrecy that will soon fracture.
Brittle Repartee and Subtext
The opening exchange between Carol and Harry is a masterclass in Coward’s signature style: short, clipped lines that carry emotional weight beneath their surface. Carol deflects Harry’s declarations of love with “What a silly question!” and later answers “Yes, it has rather” to his romantic summary, her qualification undercutting the sentiment. The stage directions reveal the physical tension—Carol holds her glass at arm’s length to avoid spilling it during an embrace—while the dialogue remains polished. This technique recurs throughout the play, as characters use wit to mask anxiety or aggression. When Evelyn later confronts Carol, the repartee sharpens into insults: “Pompous ass!” and “Fatuous prig.” The rhythm accelerates, with lines overlapping and interruptions, until Carol’s sudden fury breaks the pattern entirely.
Shifts in Pace and Power
Coward manipulates tempo to mirror shifts in control. In Act I, Scene i, the dialogue is leisurely, punctuated by pauses for drinks and cigarettes. The confrontation in Evelyn’s flat (Act II) begins with controlled sarcasm—“How discerning you are!”—but escalates into a physical struggle. Evelyn’s command “Shut up” and Carol’s scream “Help! Help!” mark a violent departure from the earlier banter. The stage directions become more detailed: Evelyn intercepts Carol, grasps her wrist, and drags her to the sofa. This abrupt change from verbal sparring to physical force underscores the collapse of social decorum. Coward uses these tempo shifts to expose the fragility of the characters’ composure, particularly Carol’s, who moves from flippant to hysterical within a single scene.
Setting as Emotional Barometer
The three-act structure is anchored by two distinct settings: Edward’s studio and Evelyn’s flat. The studio, described with “mingled opulence and good taste,” initially feels intimate and safe, but its darkness and closed doors (Edward sleeps in the adjacent room) create a sense of hidden threat. By contrast, Evelyn’s flat is the site of open confrontation, where Carol flings a glass of brandy into the fireplace—a gesture of defiance that also shatters the room’s order. The return to the studio in Act III, “the following morning,” suggests a restoration of normalcy, but the earlier violence lingers. Coward uses these spatial shifts to chart the characters’ emotional trajectories: from secrecy to exposure, and finally to an uneasy return.
Readers should attend to Coward’s stage directions, which often reveal more than the dialogue. The characters’ physical actions—tiptoeing, listening at doors, flinging drinks—carry the subtext that their polished lines deny. Note also how the play’s title, This Was a Man, echoes through Evelyn’s moral posturing and Carol’s defiance, though the excerpts offer no resolution. The comedy’s tension lies in the gap between what is said and what is done.
That rainy afternoon, Coward's razor-sharp couple wore me down with their polished cruelties, and afterwards I sat thinking about how exhaustion often masquerades as wit. Somehow my hand drifted to the shelf and pulled down a book about King Henry IV, Part 2 — Background and Themes. Hal’s weary London, its taverns and its politics, felt startlingly close to that drawing-room — both worlds, I realized, were just people negotiating what remains after the bright, careless beginning fades.
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