At that moment I knew what the plebs were, much more clearly than when, years earlier, she had asked
me. The plebs were us. The plebs were that fight for food and wine, that quarrel over who should be
served first and better, that dirty floor on which the waiters clattered back and forth, those
increasingly vulgar toasts. The plebs were my mother, who had drunk wine and now was leaning against
my father’s shoulder, while he, serious, laughed, his mouth gaping, at the sexual allusions of the
metal dealer. They were all laughing, even Lila, with the expression of one who has a role and will
play it to the utmost.
This week's book is My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante and we'll be meeting at Ye Olde Cocke on Wilmslow Road in Didsbury — contact us for details.