"On a recent Tuesday evening there were two Edmund Whites at 59E59 Theaters. One was the nattily dressed, popular author, celebrating his 69th birthday and his new play with swarms of friends who kept buzzing by to give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek. The other was the quietly nervous neophyte, folding and refolding his hands during the performance and turning during the curtain call to ask: 'Did you like it? Did it seem like a play?'
"They sound contradictory, but those personae — the established author and the fidgety scribbler — are indeed part of the same person, and they evoke a late, unusual chapter in his career."