Julian Booth (to whom this book is in part dedicated) is the kind, gentle, omnicompetent Briton who had been with my parents almost thirty years as cook and house manager. The nickname “Jules” was bestowed on him by David Niven. Jules nodded through his thick glasses and said quietly, “Yes, Christopher.” He is so even-keeled and sweet-tempered that he’d have responded exactly as he did if I’d said to him, “Jules, I am going to detonate a fifty-megaton nuclear device and destroy all life on planet Earth and usher in nuclear winter for a thousand years.” Yes, Christopher. A week after Mum’s death, the novelty—if that’s the right word—of it had worn off. Pup and I had run out of books to catalog, papers to sort. Now there was the matter of Mum’s memorial service, and over this we clashed, filling the dining room with the sound of dueling antlers. But Pup, the New York apartment can only hold, what, eighty, ninety people?
What do You think about Losing Mum And Pup (2009)?
