DaRK PaRTY ReVIEW
::Literate Blather::
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
5 Questions About: Shakespeare

(It’s the characters that bring you back to Shakespeare: Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Juliet, and Falstaff. DaRK PaRTY felt extremely erudite and approached Professor Jennifer Formichelli at Boston University about the Bard. Professor Formichelli earned a BA in literary history from Boston University, and a PhD in English literature from the University of Cambridge, England, where she was awarded the Charles Oldham Shakespeare scholarship in 1998. Her research and writing interests are in English poetry and verse drama from the 16th--20th centuries, with particular emphasis on Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot. She currently teaches in the Core Curriculum at Boston University, and is working on a book on Shakespeare and lying.)

DaRK PaRTY: First, let's talk about Shakespeare the man. Mark Twain once compared Shakespeare's biography to putting together a dinosaur from a few scraps of bone adhered together with plaster. What do we really know about the Bard?

Jennifer: Well, Schoenbaum has written an excellent biography, “Shakespeare's Lives,” which is put together with sound scholarship, and which does a fine job of knitting up the existing bones into a pleasant skeleton. We know that Shakespeare was a successful entrepreneur with some acting ability, who cared a good deal about property and money, and left his older wife his second-best bed (probably not a bad inheritance, however it sounds).

He had three pleasant years as a prosperous man in Stratford after the Globe burnt down, and died at a not very advanced age. He was survived at his death by his wife, daughter and son-in-law, so that his name was not carried on. He wrote 37 plays that were preserved – wonderfully -- by the publication of the First Folio in 1623. So, on the one hand, we don't know very much about Shakespeare's life, though at the same time we know all we need to know.

As T.S. Eliot remarked, if you look for Shakespeare, you will find him not in one of his characters, but in all of them. He is everywhere and nowhere.

DP: What do you think is the biggest misconception about Shakespeare?

Jennifer: In short, that he wasn't himself. I find these various theories, such as the idea that Marlowe was Shakespeare, or, on the other side, that Shakespeare was in fact the Earl of Oxford, or Francis Bacon, or whomever, silly and tiresome. The second biggest misconception -- though you didn't ask -- is that he didn't write any prose, when he was probably the finest prose writer in Renaissance England: for instance, much of “Henry IV” is prose, and “Hamlet,” like many of the plays, shifts between prose and verse in compelling ways, creating a perfect rhythm, a new sound.

DP: As an introduction to Shakespeare which play would you recommend first and why?

Jennifer: That's easy: “Hamlet,” because to my mind, it is not only the greatest play written in English, but the greatest play ever written. From a technical point of view, it also contains a mix of Shakespeare's old style and his new style, falling on the hinge of the 17th Century, and ushering in the wonderful tragedies. And also because you can't read it and help but want to read everything; it's the play that makes you understand, in a way, that, as Eliot put it, 'the whole of Shakespeare's work is one poem'.

DP: Yale professor and literary critic Harold Bloom is fond of saying that Shakespeare created characters more real than living human beings. Which three Shakespearean characters do you consider the most alive and why?

Jennifer: I admire Harold Bloom, and I understand the justness but not the justice of that comment. I would say that it lessens, in a way it oughtn't to, the accomplishment of creating characters as real as human beings, though perhaps inhabiting different realities. That being said, here you are:

Hotspur in “Henry IV,” that brave heart who, with his comedic, choleric temper and his disastrous disregard and dislike for flattery, is a worthy opponent to Hal, and who speaks so real one can hear him talking; Rosalind in “As You Like It,” because, in disguise, she gets to tell inconvenient truths, such as 'Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love'; and Lance, that dog at all things from “Two Gentleman of Verona,” because his mutterings to himself, his clumsiness, and his love of his dog Crab show-- even at the early stages -- Shakespeare's unique ability in creating characters who are both ordinary and extraordinary.

That rich and strange combination is one of the lovely things, to my mind, about literature.

DP: Which three of Shakespeare's plays are your favorites and why?

Jennifer: It is hard for me to rank most of Shakespeare's plays, as I tend to think of them together (excepting “Titus Andronicus,” which has always seemed to me quite crude and which is also likely a collaboration). But to have a good-spirited go at favorites, I would say the following.

“Hamlet:” first for love of the thing; second for he ways in which it gives me pause every time I read or see it; third for its beautiful and generous displays of friendship; and fourth because it is a profound exploration of the many different kinds of realities one can countenance.

Next, “Measure for Measure” because it asks questions that it has the courage to not answer patly, and considers fair-mindedly beliefs with which it does not agree; and “Macbeth” for the astonishing versification and speed of the play, and for its candid and searching presentation of a man who, not unlike Othello, is destroyed by the very things that make him great, his sense of honor and his conscience.


Read our essay "The Undiscovered Country" here

Read our interview about Charles Dickens here


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Friday, October 13, 2006
The Undiscovered Country
The commuter jet banked to the right as it sliced through the thick cloud cover, which pressed down on the city of Boston. The dreary morning suddenly flared to life as the plane burst into the sunshine above the clouds. The sky was a striking, cheerful blue and the clouds turned into a continent of rolling, white hills.

Beautiful.

So it was odd that my thoughts were on death. It’s eventuality. How death is the end goal of every single life form. But I’ve been reading essays and literary criticisms about “Hamlet” lately and the play is filled with death. Hamlet – thoughtful, mournful and passive – manages to kill just about everyone in the story.

In my more reflective moods – like at that moment on the plane – I fear death. I fear losing the identity that I have spent my life growing into. I’m me. I don’t remember a time before me and I’m almost certain I won’t remember a time after me.

This life of mine – when it ends – will be washed away.

That’s a terrifying thought while barreling across the sky at thousands of miles per hour. How can it be that at some point I’ll never be able to hold my wife again or to feel the gentle breath of my two daughters against my cheek? Yet it’s going to happen. I can’t change that. No one can.

On the plane, I had a visceral reaction; a rush of blood to my head, heart banging against my ribs, and a hollowness spreading across my gut. I was nearing panic. So I closed my eyes and tried to focus on breathing. One deep breathe at a time. “Not today,” I told myself. “I won’t die today.”

That brought some comfort. As I fell into a tranquil state, I began to wonder how my own death would occur. Because we all will die in one way or another. Rarely, does this happen in a comfortable feather bed surrounded by loved ones.

Mostly it’s messy and unexpected.

Car wrecks on the freeway. Cancer invading breasts, lungs, and prostates. Falling off of ladders. Heart attacks while shoveling snow. Suicides and murders. War. Bombings. Household accidents.

What did the future hold for me? Would I die tomorrow? Would it be in five years? 10? Or, hopefully, 50?
I thought about my Uncle Eddie. Eddie was a former Boston cop who had been shot three times in his life.

The first time was on a beach in the South Pacific during World War II. A medic found him near the surf line lying face down in the sand. The medic noticed that my uncle wiggled his finger.

Later in life – when he was a cop – he inadvertently walked in on a robbery in progress at a cinema on Washington Street. He the ensuing gun battle he was shot in the chest and was in a coma for more than a week.

The third and last time, Eddie had retired to south Florida and was living with his sister. He had recently been diagnosed with brain cancer. He waited for his sister to leave the bungalow for her daily chores. Then he spread a plastic sheet over the living room carpet, loaded his service revolver with a single bullet, and put a bullet in his head.

I sometimes wonder what my uncle was thinking in those final seconds of his life. Did those seconds stretch out for an eternity as he reflected on the life he had lead? Did he think about his two sons and his grandchildren? Was he in a peaceful state of mind – or was he afraid?

No one knows, of course. The only certainty is that my uncle died alone and under circumstances he controlled. Very Shakespearean, this death of my uncle.

The plane banks to the right again. The sun is bright, nearly blinding and the sky has become a washed out beach blue. The pilot announces our descent to New York City and we dipped towards earth.

My panic – my fear – has dissipated. Death seems faraway again and back as a plotline in “Hamlet” – an abstract rather than a reality. This, I suppose, is as it should be. Carrying death so close would make life impossible – unbearable. It needs to be distant so we can do things like shop, eat, shit, and sleep without the terror that this time may be the last time.

“Hamlet” is running through my mind again and a line from the play reminds me of my uncle:
“To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.”

But then the plane lands and I have meetings to attend, business to conduct, and death will have to wait.


Read about 10 Unusual Literary Deaths here


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Monday, July 24, 2006
Rome911 & JULZRULZ

"In cyberspace no one can hear the Bard screaming."

(What if the greatest playwrite in history was born in 1985 instead of 1564? DaRK PaRTY brings you Shakespeare's famous balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet as written by WSHAKE2b. Need translation services? Try our No Fear WSHAKE2b resource at: http://da.co.la.ca.us/pok/poklist.htm.)


ACT II, SCENE IISomewhere in Cyberspace

(Rome911 logs into IM.)

Rome911: I’ve got an APB out for my OLL JULZRULZ. KOTL!

JULZRULZ: GRRRR!


Rome911: She speaks! WU?

JULZRULZ: O, Rome911, where R U? You know my dad H8 U!

Rome911: WTF. Tell him I’m somebody else. NUFF!

JULZRULZ: LOL! A rose by any other name!

Rome911: I H8 my name anyway!

JULZRULZ: He’d kill me if he knew I was talking with U.

Rome911: KEWL! I’ll kick his ass!

JULZRULZ: EM? I’m serious!

Rome911: FYI. U R worth it!

JULZRULZ: HUGZ!

Rome911: ILU

JULZRULZ: R U Serious? Swear U Luv me!

Rome911: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear.

JULZRULZ: LAQ!

Rome911: OMIK!

JULZRULZ: GGN

Rome911: Not yet! I want U!

JULZRULZ: POS!

(JULZRULZ logs out. Rome911 posts on his blog.)

Rome911: A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

(JULZRULZ logs back onto IM.)

JULZRULZ: Rome911?

Rome911: My dear?

JULZRULZ: Let’s meet tomorrow

Rome911: At 9?

JULZRULZ: NP! Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow

Rome911: LOL!

JULZRULZ: CUL!

(JULZRULZ logs out.)

Rome911: FISH

(Rome911 logs out.)


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