The Tragedy of Macbeth by William Shakespeare (1606)

The classic Scottish tale of ambition, murder, and guilt, with witches.

Play Review: Macbeth is about nature -- human nature, the natural world, women's nature in a man's world. Shakespeare's play is first a study of the human soul, of our humanity, of what we as humans may do. On the stage he essays ambition, murder, and guilt, but beneath the plot is a choice anyone may confront: whether to do wrong. As in King Lear, Shakespeare writes about these concepts through complex characters. Each of the title roles is a laboratory, an experiment in human nature; rarely has a writer put so much possibility into parts. Macbeth, apparently a good, loyal, brave man, becomes none of these when the Weird Sisters suggest he may rule without consequence. At first he hesitates, that moment is his human nature. When that spark of humanity is extinguished by his wife, he learns there are consequences aplenty. One murder begets two more, and then more until wife and husband crack. After first demanding murder, Lady Macbeth is punished by her better nature. She becomes a Freudian symbol, the archetype of a guilty soul.

Shakespeare uses the natural world as both the impetus for, and a reflection of, human actions. As in Hamlet, Shakespeare begins with the fantastic. He displays the Weird Sisters who, bound to nature, spark the action by presenting a possibility. They share prophecies with Macbeth and Banquo. Banquo is tempted, but the spark doesn't catch; Macbeth is tempted, hesitates, then acts against his nature. Nature herself has a role in the play. Predicting Duncan's murder, the sun fails to shine, horses become cannibals, the shy owl kills the falcon. These extraordinary events parallel the characters' abnormal acts. Nature is used as metaphor throughout, as in Lady Macduff's bitter speech about her  unnatural abandonment by her husband, noting that even the "poor wren will fight against the owl." Later, the distraught Macduff compares his slaughtered family to his "chickens." Macbeth and his wife have gone against nature, both theirs and the natural order.

The three Weird Sisters embody nature, but also the strength of the feminine: maiden, mother, and crone. Shakespeare uses the feminine as a force of nature. The Sisters create the spark that Lady Macbeth fans, shaming her husband into murder by attacking his manhood. Lady Macbeth mocks her husband for not being man enough to do what she may not. She does all but wield the dagger. But after the murder she loses her resolve, conquered by her decent "female" nature, as Macbeth's "violent" nature takes over. Lady Macbeth, defying traditional roles, is contrasted with Lady Macduff who, relying on traditional roles, is betrayed by a husband who leaves her defenseless. Both die. Macbeth's executioner is one who "was not born of woman."

Macbeth is simple and straightforward. Shakespeare is confident his characters are strong enough to say what he wants to tell. Macbeth and his wife go against nature, and both disintegrate. Beneath the greater issues, we see a human need for hesitation and second thoughts, reflection before and after our acts, the pain of guilt to prevent us from future wrong acts, all so we may know what it is to be human. Simple thoughts, but powerfully shown.  [5★]

Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky (1864)

A sick, spiteful, wicked, unattractive man shares his philosophy and bits of his life. Also, his liver hurts.

Book Review: Notes from Underground was the first step in Dostoevsky's most productive and successful period, followed by Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot (1868), Demons (1872), and The Brothers Karamazov (1880). As such, the life of the underground man may hold keys to understanding the later books (for thesis writers, there are plenty of reflections of Raskolnikov in the underground man). Notes from Underground can be read on several levels. For those familiar with Russian history and literature, Dostoevsky includes a study of those intellectuals influenced by Western values and as such alienated from the land, religion, and their Russian heritage. These intellectuals are people of "heightened consciousness," as opposed to "normal" men, "direct" or ingenuous men, men of action; the two extremes are also identified as the man and the mouse, with the Westernized intellectual being the "mouse." This discussion includes many references to What is to be Done? (1863) by Dostoevsky's ideological opposite, N.G. Chernyshevsky. This reading of the book is of a contemporary Russian writing for contemporary Russians. This level of interpretation, however, isn't too profitable or entertaining for non-scholars and simple readers like me.

The book can also be read as a study of existentialism: the underground man is an existentialist. He is solely an individual, he has no meaning in his life, although he is searching but failing to find some meaning. The underground man is constantly upset, disturbed, impassioned, filled with anxiety. He lives in a permanent existential crisis, always vacillating, weak, miserable. He may not know who he is, but paradoxically (Dostoevsky calls him a "paradoxalist") he is himself. Discontented and resentful but unbound. He makes his own choices, always bad choices, but his own. He's lost his Russianness, but nothing has filled the void: "it is not at all the underground that is better, but something different, completely different, which I thirst for but cannot ever find!" My guess is that the underground man's world is what Dostoevsky saw in his dark nights of the soul. Although religious (if he is an existentialist, he made his meaning from traditional Russia and the Church), as an intelligent man Dostoevsky also had doubts, and he wrote what he saw in those moments of doubt. What was his gambling addiction except a manifestation of doubt, and in the throes of his addiction he had visions from the underground man's world.

Finally, if Notes from Underground can be read apart from historical and existential interpretations, it can be read as a story. The book (novella?) is divided into two parts. In the first, we are virtually only exposed to his inner life, his mind's constant rant, and we have barely any description of the real world around him. This can seem to go on too long, which was Dostoevsky's point, but still wears on the reader: we get it already! In the second part, we have more interaction with other people, "friends" and a lover, Liza, but he's still always wretched and miserable. The underground man is someone you may have seen, that person in class or in the office, the loner down the block who just seems pathetic, never happy, never fitting in, a "loser." He feels superior because of his intellectual capacity, but also knows that he's less than other people. He's read too many books. But he still needs human contact. He wants to join, to connect, but he can't make contact, adapt, conform, get along. He can only live his own way, which is always self-defeating relative to the real world. He cannot even be honest with himself, telling Liza "I look upon my poverty with pride. I'm poor but noble." But in the same discussion he says, "I'm ashamed of it most of all." The "underground" is his own diseased mind, that he can't let others see. The underground man cannot connect with other people, and would rather stay in his fantasies than suffer the humiliations of the real world. He'd rather "be left alone in the underground." Living life has "crushed" him, that it is "even difficult ... to breathe." He would like to conform, gain the admiration of acquaintances, but he is unable, his nerves, his narcissism, prevent him from interacting in any kind of normal manner. We don't know how he came to be this way.

This is not a light and easy read; few people will be able to read this purely for enjoyment. Notes from Underground is a book for those who want a challenging read, want to expand their vision, to grow a little. A work of the mind as much as the heart.  [4★]

FilmLit: I Am Not Your Negro (2017)

James Baldwin's words mesh with American history to create a crushing documentary you must watch. You can thank me later.

Film Review: I Am Not Your Negro is necessary. See it. Please. (If you don't trust me: it has a 98% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.) Get it from the internet, check your local library, wherever, and help us all become the people we were meant to be. If you've seen Eyes on the Prize, this is that turned up to 11 and transported to 2017. Ken Burns with a passion and a mission. If you've read Ta-Nehisi Coates, this is him on steroids with visuals (Coates himself being influenced by Baldwin). This is James Baldwin (1924-1987) brought back from the grave so his zombie corpse can speak to a time in which Black Lives Matter is a thing and introduce Medgar, Martin, and Malcolm to a time that has forgotten it needs them; hearing them in their own words is mesmerizing. This is the book he began in 1979 but never completed, now resuscitated and given a new and more powerful voice. All the narration is from Baldwin's words, read immaculately by Samuel L. Jackson (who's never given a better performance -- straight from the heart). We remember what a brilliant writer Baldwin was. He is the center of I Am Not Your Negro through clips of interviews and speeches, interspersed with bits of films (Baldwin was a movie fan) and visuals from throughout American history, photos and footage of the civil rights struggle from the 1950s to 2017. We see how so much of what was feared in that time has come home to roost today. For Baldwin's "Birmingham," the viewer can substitute Charlottesville, or any city in which an unarmed black man was shot dead by the government. Too many similarities still exist from then to now -- recent events have made Baldwin's words not only prophetic, but contemporaneous. We learn that seeing through others' eyes is necessary, but blacks and whites in our national book club are reading two different books, and then discussing as if it's the same book. We can also see that this is not solely a racial problem, but a human problem, an American problem, in which no Americans should be treated as some Americans are treated. One third of America consists of racists and racist enablers. This documentary is not for them, as watching it will only make them purchase another gun, buy a new lock for the front door, and feel a certain smug nostalgia while watching the swastikas and frothing mobs try to prevent small black children from going to school. This film is for decent Americans and traditional liberals, and for those who lament Charlottesville, routinely vote for civic improvement, and can stare unflinchingly at racism without seeing it. I Am Not Your Negro may help us all see the world just a little more clearly. Maybe we'll all move closer to reading the same book.  🐢

We Were Eight Years in Power by Ta-Nehisi Coates (2017)

An article from The Atlantic for each year of the Obama administration.

Book Review: We Were Eight Years in Power embodies my mixed feelings when I hear the name Ta-Nehisi Coates. The first dozen or so times it was being thrown in my face, variations on "even that Coates guy? He thinks Obama's a joke." I didn't enjoy having to simultaneously debate America's favorite intellectual and some random dude's efforts to de-legitimize the first black president. But that's okay, because these eight articles (and even more valuable epilogue) are necessary, educational, and (mostly) riveting; the book's subtitle is "An American Tragedy." In just two books (haven't read his first, yet) and a series of stellar articles in The Atlantic, Ta-Nehisi Coates has become required reading. His insights change how readers see the world, and the next time there's something in the news, something about the Civil War, something from the President, the reader will think about it a little bit differently. Even those who don't agree with everything Coates espouses will still hear his voice saying, "Yeah, but ... ." While he's opening eyes, he's opening minds.

Coates has done much valuable reading and research, but at times the endless statistics and unrelenting litany of racism, discrimination, violence, and other barbarity in his articles becomes numbing (as with some Holocaust literature). Emotional overload. After a while I simply can't assimilate another crime or instance of savagery without saying, "Yes, I'll stipulate that American history consists of horrors piled on horrors, but then what?" As President Obama is quoted: "Yeah, we can talk about this. But what are we going to do?" Coates seemingly enjoys research -- rather than simply including the strongest anecdote or most convincing statistic, he tends to include all of them (most notably in the "Reparations" and "Incarceration" articles). But his greatest strength lies in his insights and analysis, as when he finds inconsistencies in prevailing theories, contradictions in carefully constructed arguments, exposes when politicians are trying to defend the indefensible. Fortunately, We Were Eight Years in Power has many examples of this strength. He destroys the myth that blue-collar whites supported Trump due to economic displacement; deconstructs the national response to the opioid and crack epidemics; identifies black cultural conservatism (what he calls "the organic black conservative tradition"); explains why Obama particularly appealed to white America; and provides a short but devastating contrast of the candidacies of Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Coates also notes that not all who voted for the current president are white supremacists, but they all voted for one.

As noted above, although he now regards Obama as "one of the greatest presidents in American history," Coates was not above challenging President Obama: he's "written several blog posts criticizing" him, and records that due to his criticism the Obama camp believed he was the "wrong journalist" to interview the President. But Obama and the author have more in common than Coates will admit: Obama was white America's black president; Coates is white America's black intellectual. Obama was acceptable to white America as long as he didn't act black; so far, Coates has been unable to offend the white reading public. Coates himself raises the question: "Why do white people like what I write?" He provides no answer (someday there should be a book aimed at a black audience). We Were Eight Years in Power is just as accessible as Between the World and Me (maybe more so), just as valuable, and entirely different.  [4★]

The Tragedy of King Lear by William Shakespeare (1603)

An aging king's vanity brings wrack and ruin to his country.

Play Review: King Lear is Shakespeare's play about old age (and ageism), just as he had previously examined sexism (The Taming of the Shrew), racism (Othello), and antisemitism (The Merchant of Venice). Shakespeare, always so far ahead of his time that he's still relevant today -- it's interesting to see how society has changed (and is unchanged) in the last four centuries. A play set in England (for a change), the aged King overconfident in his kingship to the point of arrogance and tyranny. Approaching his dotage or madness, Lear decides to ease the burdens of his duties by dividing his kingdom among his three daughters. But his favorite, Cordelia, the youngest, refuses to flatter him (believing her love should be enough) and is banished. When Lear's most faithful retainer, Kent, speaks in Cordelia's defense, he too is banished. But as the play continues Lear's faithless daughters turn on him. Goneril and Regan seem almost more like wicked stepsisters, but are complex characters and carry the play whenever they're on stage. The parallel for Lear is the also-aging Gloucester and his two sons (yes, sons as well as daughters are untrustworthy). Gloucester also foolishly trusts the child who betrays him (his illegitimate son Edmund) and banishes the faithful child. So the teams are drawn and we have the battle of the filial children, Cordelia and Edgar, against the serpent's teeth of the thankless children, Goneril, Regan, and Edmund. The two daughters just seem like bad seed, using Lear's decaying age and foolish trust against him to take his power and transform him into a homeless king. Edmund, at least, has an understandable motivation in desiring the patrimony a society that punishes the innocent bastard (but not the sinner) would deny him. Unlike Iago trying madly to destroy the Other, Edmund's only goal is to right an unfair world, at least as he sees it. King Lear is a more plotted play than usual, more emotional than psychological. Emotions run high for both characters and audience as both encounter almost endless suffering from start to finish. Extreme suffering, leavened only by periodic black or inappropriate humor, but not all that funny; sardonic is the word I'm looking for here. Again, as we're accustomed in Shakespeare's tragedies, by the end of the play the bodies have piled up and litter the stage. This is more straightforward play than some of the others. King Lear is accessible, less dependent on and susceptible to deep criticism, but more emotionally wrenching and a sad commentary on the perils of aging in an ungrateful world. Rather than appreciate the contributions of our parents and the older generation, we only want them to get out of the way.  [4½★]

Dark Tales by Shirley Jackson (2017)

Seventeen disturbing stories by the author of The Haunting of Hill House and "The Lottery."

Book Review: Dark Tales has some stories that will keep you up at night -- at least they did me. But first a quick origin story (or history lesson) for those obsessed Shirley Jackson fans out there. Despite writing one of the most anthologized stories in history, "The Lottery," and writing loads of other stories to pay the rent, Jackson released only one story collection in her lifetime (originally titled The Lottery or, the Adventures of James Harris), now commonly known as The Lottery and Other Stories. Posthumously, three Jackson story collections have been published: Come Along with Me (1968), Just an Ordinary Day (1996), and Let Me Tell You (2015). The stories in Dark Tales were selected from just these last three collections. Although Penguin says that these are her "scariest stories," it may also serve as something of a "best of" Jackson's later shorter work, since the three previously published collections are considered somewhat sketchy (the last two compendiums may be scraping the bottom of the barrel -- two collections are on my shelf, I'll report back). Now, back to the book. Dark Tales starts strong with four amazing stories. After that, subtle, intelligent, disturbing stories mix with ones that are a little less powerful, as sometimes Jackson telegraphs her endings, being just a little too obvious, though still unsettling. Jackson writes about worlds that are just little off, worlds where we're not in control, worlds that are against us; she writes about worlds that are close enough to be familiar, but just different enough for chills. The unexpected may be expected in Dark Tales. There are stories where paranoia isn't paranoia, where city folk refuse to listen to country folk, even a couple stories reminiscent of "The Lottery." Jackson is is an  expert at the vague, the ambiguous, the suggestive. Dark Tales is an excellent collection, every story worth reading. And reading again.  [4★]

The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice by William Shakespeare (1603)

The great general is brought low as he succumbs to the plots and snares of Iago, and his own tragic flaw.

Play Review: Othello is a psychological battle between two men: the deceitful, devious, and depraved Iago, and the simple, honorable Othello, who suffers the tragic flaw of jealousy. Iago spins his web, falsely manipulating his confederate Roderigo, pouring poison into Othello's ear, entrapping Cassio, exploiting his own wife, all to his own evil ends. Early on, Iago is dismayed that the post of Othello's second-in-command is given to Cassio, and decides to win it for himself through a complicated scheme that ensnares everyone in his plot. The parallel is that he loves position and power as much as Othello loves Desdemona. Othello, though a great general, a "noble Moor," is portrayed as a trusting and simpler man, without the breeding and refinement of the Venetians. As such, even though he has won the true love of aristocratic and beautiful Desdemona, he still feels not quite worthy of her, not quite believing in his good fortune. He feels what others feel, that he is not deserving of her, and this insecurity is his fatal flaw; he can be lead into jealousy by Iago's manufactured hints and signs. Even after Othello has named Iago to Cassio's post, it is too late, by then Iago is caught in his own web. His dupe, Roderigo, has spent his last ducats on jewels he asked Iago to give Desdemona, but Iago has taken them for himself. He cannot have Roderigo carrying tales, and must have Roderigo kill Cassio to tie up loose ends. The play revolves around two key axes. One is the way the scheming Iago manages to sway Othello, intelligent as he is, into believing that the faithful Desdemona is not. The lengthy Scene 3 in Act 3, shows Iago twisting Othello's mind, overcoming each of Othello's objections, slowly painting a picture in Othello's mind of an unfaithful Desdemona entwined with a duplicitous Cassio. That scene is a subtle but brilliant masterpiece of the two men in a mental battle, a struggle that decent and trusting Othello loses to the wily Iago. The other axis is that Iago's utter amorality is almost too much to accept. He has some cause: he believes he was unfairly denied the lieutenantcy, appears to believe that Othello has slept with his wife, and may be in love with Desdemona himself. But his resultant acts are beyond all reason. Why? Although perhaps these motivations might be enough for the deviant Iago, I believe that Shakespeare has to take it the next level. Iago's evil is unrestrained because Othello is a Moor, and as such Iago believes that Othello is unworthy of command, undeserving of Desdemona, and has no right to have any control over the cultured Venetian, Iago. The twin roots of Othello's tragedy stem from his race: a black man in a white world, he feels he doesn't merit his good fortune, and so succumbs to mortal jealousy; a simple soldier he is easy prey to Iago's unreasoning and overwhelming racial hatred, as no one would believe that any man was capable of so much loathing, going to such inexplicable lengths. Othello is a play that works on levels, and although not the central characters, Shakespeare has once again written roles of depth and intelligence for women, in Desdemona and Emilia. Though narrower in focus (so few characters!) than other plays, Othello actually ventures into more profound waters. This is as good a psychological drama as Hamlet (300 years before Freud tried to figure out this stuff). Wow.  [5★]