I have always been fascinated by stories told by older generations: working in a café, I hear my fair share of them. So, the quote on the back cover of Lore Segal’s Ladies’ Lunch And Other Stories – “five old friends meet to muse on life after 90. Join their table…” – pulled me straight in. Ladies’ Lunch itself was published in the New Yorker in 2017. With its author now aged 95, Segal’s story returns with added vignettes of wisdom and comedy – a novella combining Ladies’ Lunch with new stories, plus unconnected and autobiographical pieces previously published elsewhere. 

Manhattanite friends Ruth, Bridget, Farah, Lotte and Bessie meet monthly for discussions which usually lead to reflections – on joyous memories, and the trials and tribulations that come with age. They take a pain-free knee as a sign of a good day, select restaurants based on whether their bathrooms are on the same level as the dining area, and “calmly look around the table wondering which of [them] will be next.” Their friendship group is founded upon stories. Even if most of those stories don’t add up, the ladies’ natter is a lifeline.

They are the ultimate girl gang, disapproving of the only husband left alive because he is “a man of large property and the wrong politics”, and plotting to save their friend from the Green Trees care home. They just must wait for Farah’s 18-year-old grandson to pass his driving test to assist their mission. 

Lotte goes slightly mad, abusing her caregivers and claiming to have bought a new car while in the care home, yet her dark wit remains: “I am dead. If I saw Dr Barson, or any doctor, they would look down my throat and see the four yellow spots dead people have.” Even after Lotte actually dies, her resilient friends follow their ‘rule’, which permits them 20 minutes “to talk aches, pains, meds, etc.” before moving on to their agenda.

Alongside the ladies’ tales, we hear of divorce, of the author’s bedroom with its view of the Empire State Building, and of a rabbi bringing together Jewish and gentile Austrians. Pneumonia Chronicles injects humanity into the hospital experience mid-pandemic; Relative Time analyses different types of people and their concept of time, categorising the latecomer, early-arriver, and those that are always just-on-time. 

Finally, we are reunited with the lunching ladies in a delightful piece about their pandemic meeting over Zoom. Amidst repeatedly forgetting what they’re trying to say, a pleading interjection – “Oh, let us not stop talking” – captures the essence of Segal’s collection.