When Harold Pinter's death was announced, I sat down to write a few lines about his work. I didn't want to repeat cliches about menace and silence, but realised I couldn't remember enough about his plays to provide a personal impression .
I haven't looked at anything by Pinter for a decade or so, but before that I read much of what he wrote. The major plays, I read more than once. I can recall clearly many passages and characters from works by Arthur Miller, Beckett, Ionesco, Tom Stoppard, even John Osborne, though it's been a long time since I read any of these writers.
The failure of my memory in the case of Pinter suggests I over-rated his contribution to theatre, or at least to my understanding of it.