From time to time, I am filled with soul searching doubt; a searing moment which proves the catalyst for much introspection. What, am I a writer? Why am I in New Hampshire? These thoughts usually accompany the return of my graded works. It is often hard for me to reconcile the hours of labor, not to mention the occasional insight I invest in my English compositions with the letter grade and scant comments of which they are deemed worthy. In short, my grades generally fall well short of my expectations, and I suppose a true pragmatist would remain stoic in the face of such inevitable adversity. Adversity, is of course a charitable term. One could write a thesis on the backward philosophy of academics but one would also, inevitably, receive a poor grade on it. But I digress. The salvation of my major -- that being English -- lies not in the new and inventive ways to prolong sentences, but in the opportunity to study the ever relevant works of William Shakespeare. His works alone are justification for a world of academic injustice.
Long the very bulwark of the English literary canon, Shakespeare's works have, almost from inception, held the cachet of credibility in our Eurocentric society. I am not a Europhile. Something about my Irish heritage demands an inherent resistance to all things aristocratic. Canal Diggers Do Not Aristocratic Snoot Mongers Make. That would make a great bumper sticker -- hand it out on St. Patrick's Day. Sure, Shakespeare is loaded with cultural baggage, but even those surly Post-Colonialists will agree that Shakespeare's works are universal tales of timeless relevance.
If you have ever burned with passion, then Shakespeare is for you. If you fear old age and the impotency of irrelevance, rankle from unbridled sibling rivalry, or simply dislike your stepfather, Shakespeare is for you. If you have not seen "Shakespeare in Love," I wholeheartedly encourage you to go. In an anachronistic yet tightly scripted movie (thank you Tom Stoppard) "Shakespeare in Love" gives a very pleasing glimpse of the hilarity, passion and tragedy of a Shakespearean play. Gotta love that Gwyneth Paltrow, what an actress -- a credible English accent, and a whole lot more. Need I say more? Go see it. Take a date -- get romantic. Who knows, you might have a good time.
As for the plays themselves, the language barrier often proves the most dissuasive factor when tackling Shakespeare. But, as my favorite English teacher, the late Mr. Katzenbach, exhorted, don't read the lines -- speak the lines. Read it aloud. Then read it with meaning. Because the beauty lies in the rhythm born of nearly extinct oral traditions. Oral traditions of an antiquated world devoid of television and constant visual bombardment. The words, his words, are beautiful -- full of life and love, hate and envy, anger, despair, betrayal, and transcendence. In short, the whole of the human existence.
So go rent "Hamlet." No don't rent "Hamlet." Far too much unbridled Branagh ego. I'll settle for the Mel Gibson version. Definitely rent McKellan's "Richard the III" And I'm betting that Julie Taymor's "Titus Andromachus" should be, at the very least, a visual treat. And certainly get your hands on some Shakespeare. Like Machiavelli's "The Prince," it should be standard material for everyone at an institution of higher learning. Don't think of it as a chore; think of it as an education.
