The Marlow Chronicles
TOBY MARlOW an Actor of the old school. Hugely larger than life, shambling, bear-hugging and hard drinking, his slightest declamatory whisper audible at a hundred yards, his heart of gold not just worn but flaunted on his sleeve, all the world his stage and all his lines a potpourri of other men's flowers. And Toby Marlow is dying. In six months he must shuffle off this mortal coil except that Toby Marlow will never shuffle like some slippered pantaloon. Rather he will roar and emote and charm and browbeat. He will marry the woman to whom he has been happily unfaithful for forty years, row with their actor son who is of the introspective and mumbling tendency, comfort the boy's pregnant waif of a girl friend, do ding-dong battle with all comers. He will strut and fret and rage and laugh. Toby Marlow is playing out his last part. He will be flamboyant, passionate, maudlin, brave and funny. And his last exit will leave not a dry eye in the house.