There are too many obvious parallels to overlook what The Disciple seems to be emulating (viz. imitating). Instead of George and Martha, we have George and Mil. He's also a teacher but at a French Institut (""an intellectual Salvation Army""). And they are just as articulate while not as clever as they indulge in freeswinging, mutilating exchanges--reveal encysted hostilities and inadequacies--and play reciprocally destructive games. Gordon Graves, who washed out of school and was thrown out of the house by his stepfather, indeterminate, inferior, ""more ghost than man,"" becomes George's latest convert: he smokes his brand of cigarettes, wears his clothes, does his research (linguistics) and eventually literally and figuratively tails his cool, contemptuous, self-possessed wife to Madrid and Seville. Without any of Albee's devastating flair, this is still a competent, contemporary first novel, able to retain your interest even where it could hardly hope to be sympathetic.