The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare (1596)

A complex tale of law, love, and loyalty, of marriage, mercy, and money, of racism, religion, and revenge, of debt, destiny, and disguise.

Play Review: The Merchant of Venice is one of the most striking examples of "of its time" I've ever read; this is comedy? The play itself is quick, easy, and enjoyable. I read for plot, wondered what might happen next in the twists and turns -- it seemed almost like a novel. The more I read Shakespeare the easier he is to comprehend. I've become accustomed to his poetic, metaphorical language. Once again Shakespeare creates indelible female roles, Portia being one of his best: strong, intelligent, and riding to the rescue with her brilliant "quality of mercy" speech, saving all the men. But once again in Shakespeare we have a woman whose marriage is held hostage by her father, even after his death. Portia knows she's more clever than all her suitors, regretfully telling her future husband: "I was the lord/ of this fair mansion, master to my servants,/ Queen o'er myself," but now all that will be his. Jessica must also be an incredible role to play in its complexity, an actor deciding how to play being torn between two worlds ("what a heinous sin is it in me/ to be ashamed to be my father's child," described by her lover as "wise, fair, and true"). It's far from clear that Jessica will ever be accepted by the Christian world.

But I'm delaying the inevitable, the strongest role in the play, and the elephant in the review. When reading novels I understand the societal influences of its time, recognize what would be unacceptable today, and can enjoy the book despite elements I couldn't tolerate in a contemporary book. But The Merchant of Venice seems mean-spirited, even for 1596. I can make excuses: Shakespeare apparently never met a Jewish person (Jews being expelled from England in 1290); the prejudice against Jews was common and accepted; good Christians were not to charge interest on loans; Elizabethan Christians were obsessed with converting the Jews (as represented in the play -- two of three Jewish characters are converted); and Shylock is allowed to provide some part of his side of the story. But on balance the scale still tips to the wrong side. Antonio is presented as a paragon of virtue, but he hates Jews, calls Shylock a dog, disparages his religion, kicks him, spits in his face. Shylock says (without dispute) that Antonio "hath disgraced me ... laughed at my losses ... scorned my nation ... heated my enemies -- and what's his reason? I am a Jew." This is not how a "good" Christian treats a fellow human. Shylock notes that the Christians, being slave-owners, have unclean hands. To justify his revenge upon Antonio, Shylock makes his famous speech: "Hath not a Jew eyes ... if you prick us, do we not bleed ... if a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge ... the villainy you teach me I will execute." Which could be Malcolm X and Ta-Nehisi Coates talking about the chickens coming home to roost. For me, every time Shylock is referred to as "the Jew," with or without other epithets, it's like a small slap in the face. (Portia's suitors come in for additional arrows.) At the end Shylock is forced to convert to Christianity (as his daughter did voluntarily). He also loses half his property to Antonio. The punishment seems cruel, but he was willing to kill Antonio in forfeit of his debt. Death for a debt (even contractually) seems barbaric, but this dramatic choice by Shakespeare also has the despicable smell of blood libel in Shylock's demand for a pound of flesh, and subsequent denial of a drop of Christian blood. Although The Merchant of Venice was written in his time, we read Shakespeare in our time, and cannot simply ignore what we know, cutting out conscience, ethics, and morals like Shylock's pound of flesh. Of course Shakespeare wrote his plays in savage times, when the horror of bear-baiting was considered good entertainment. But being of our time we can also recognize what I believe is Shakespeare's gentle and generous portrayal of Antonio's unrequited love for Bassanio. The Merchant of Venice is a play I greatly enjoyed, despite, except for, what was inextricably, regretfully, painfully, of its time.  [4½★]

Return of Banned Book Week 2017

In our culture no books are formally banned. Most book "banning" today takes place in schools, where librarians, parents, and teachers try to wrestle with the gray area of which books are age appropriate for which children. But there still are those who would try, on their say so, to ban a book. One of the worst things a book reviewer can say is "do not read this book." But I hear book reviewers say this quite proudly. Often it's simply because they believe the book is unreadable, poorly written, the author did a bad job. But to say "do not read" is just too arrogant for me, too conceited, it's authoritarian and something like telling the book "you're fired!" Who wants to be that person? Don't be that person. Usually the reason is bad writing, but sometimes it's a review that sets off a tweetstorm because the book doesn't meet some vague and artificial standard of "cultural sensitivity." This is the new censorship, the new book banning. A book has a character who says racist things? Don't read it! The author is a racist! So I can't read Merchant of Venice (anti-semitism), Taming of the Shrew (misogyny), or Othello (racism). I may choose not to read them (I am going to read them), but certainly not on the word of someone else. What I read is my choice and I will decide for myself. I can't make any substantive comment on a book I haven't read. Neither should anyone else. As an aside, there are authors I feel I can't support, and make a point of only obtaining their books used or from a library. But that's because I don't want to put money in their pockets. And because I'm cheap.

As mentioned above, no books in our society are actually banned. Any real limitation takes place at the publishing level where certain books simply don't get accepted for publication. But self-publishing is still available (see Joy of Cooking, The Martian, A Christmas Carol). So really this talk about "banning" is somewhat exaggerated. But only somewhat, as I see the hysteria of Banned Books Week as a bulwark against censorship yet to come. As recently as the 1960s efforts were made to actually ban books in the U.S. Other countries still have banned books. I see First Amendment warriors as pushing Banned Books Week with such enthusiasm to maintain a weapon for use against any future government effort to actually ban a book. Can we say, in times such as these, that it's impossible? So "thank you!" to those who stand on guard today, for that tomorrow when the book burnings start.  🐢

Banned Books Week 2017

Banning books seems futile. Stupid, in fact. Banning may well validate the ideas in a book by marking those ideas as important and meaningful enough to ban. Trying to silence a work may make the entity look weak and afraid. Or censorship may make the book seem like forbidden fruit such that readers are all the more eager to read this mysterious morsel. Perhaps condemning books brings attention to a book that otherwise might just fade away due to lack of interest. And banning may engage those people who disagree with a book's sentiments, but will defend to the death the right of those sentiments to be heard.

The most common books bans are for being age-inappropriate. These are partial bans that restrict a book from people of a certain age or at an individual school, when people can still obtain the book, just not quite as easily. While it's worthwhile debating such books and the gray areas they create, probably a majority of people would agree that some books should be kept from some children; in our society we try to protect children. At least from sex. Usually we keep "dirty" books from children, such as Catcher in the Rye. In the past, we've also tried to protect adults from literature that's a little too sexy. This has happened with notable literature such as Lady Chatterley's Lover, Ulysses, Lolita, A Farewell to Arms, and even a poem, Allen Ginsberg's Howl. Today it seems unlikely that much is censored from adults for being too sexual, but the church will try, because religious censorship is another huge force in the world of book banning. After obscenity (too much sex), the next big category for religious censorship is blasphemy such as The Satanic Verses, Candide, and (believe it or not) Carrie, The Da Vinci Code, and Animal Farm. Even Faulkner's As I Lay Dying was censored for questioning the existence of God. But I could've written that as "god." Given the theocracies that still exist in the world, there's an overlap between religious and political censorship (see above, The Satanic Verses). The biggest political book banners are dictatorships and other authoritarian regimes. That means books like Animal Farm, Dr. Zhivago, The Master and Margarita, and probably anything written by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Yet even The Communist Manifesto and Mein Kampf have been forbidden in democratic countries. While there are other categories, one last common reason relates to "lifestyle," such as novels portraying homosexuality, drug use, or promiscuity -- a bewildering combination. I'll make no suggested reading for Banned Books Week, because every week is banned books week.  🐢

A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare (1595)

In city and in wood, four couples span the spectrum of love.

Play Review: A Midsummer's Night Dream is a play about love and the imagination, perhaps written by someone who was in love at the time. The various elements of the play echo the elements of love. There is fantasy and magic, passion and crudeness, jealousy and anger, beauty and confusion, comedy and tears. Lovers' quarrels and the games lovers' play, all are here. Who hasn't felt like an ass when struck with love? Even oafish but lovable Bottom, seemingly the last person to ever to fall in love, suddenly encounters the unexpected and doesn't quite know what to make of it. The play spans the spectrum of love (of the time) from the quiet, stable passion of Theseus and Hippolyta, to the spell-struck love of Titania and Bottom, to the comically and clumsily enacted love story of Pyramus and Thisbe (similar to Romeo & Juliet). There is also desire, not only the desire of the couples for each other, but the desire of the audience for the young lovers to succeed. (Well captured by the 1968 British adaptation of the play, with Judi Dench.)

The world of A Midsummer Night's Dream is divided into the sensible, civilized city and the wild, chaotic wood. The city is ruled by the restrained logic of its King, Theseus, and the wood by the untamed emotions of its rulers Oberon and Titania. In the city Egeus can make harsh demands under the law (he insists she marry a man other than the one she loves -- much like Juliet) and receive an orderly hearing (he accuses Lysander of having "bewitched" his daughter -- little does he know!). In the wood anything is possible and everything can happen, no rules, no limits. "Bewitched" is an understatement.

All the female roles are especially engaging, well rounded and individual, compelling and attractive: the Queen of the Amazons, strong, proud, and reserved; the Queen of the Fairies, strong, fanciful, but deceived; and two lovely girls whose only wish is to love and be loved. Helena and Hermia are best of friends become bitter rivals. The interplay between the four lovers is complex, both comic and heartbreaking. Hermia has two suitors though she loves only one (though Demetrius first loved Helena before Hermia, fickle as Romeo), then Helen has Hermia's two lovers, but believes neither. Helena is as irrationally (or youthfully) infatuated with Demetrius ("I am your spaniel ... to be used as you use your dog") as Demetrius is with Hermia (she says, "I give him curses, yet he gives me love," "The more I hate, the more he follows me"). Hermia boldly swears to meet her love, Lysander, "By all the vows that ever men have broke/ (In number more than ever women spoke)." Helena challenges social norms and Demetrius' gentility: "Fie ... Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. We cannot fight for love as men may do. We should be wooed and were not made to woo." But at night in the wood, Hermia modestly tells Lysander, "For my sake, my dear,/ Lie further off yet. Do not lie so near." Egeus, Hermia's cruel father, is the only unredeemed character in the play, Theseus generally seeming fair and sensitive (for the times, I like how in the first scene he carefully left Lysander and Hermia alone to commiserate). Oberon is more mercurial, but not without his better moments; he's capable of wrong, but also does right. Lysander and Demetrius are ruled by their passions, enchanted and otherwise.

Throughout the lovers' play, there is the comic relief provided by Oberon's servant, the mischievous Puck (Robin Goodfellow), and by the rustic tradesmen awkwardly attempting to stage a romantic play for the Duke's wedding. And the faint reminders of Romeo and Juliet. But there's also the Duke's insight that "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet" all live solely in their imaginations. Imagination and love is the essence of A Midsummer Night's Dream, as it ends with a horde of wild fairies from the magic wood invading the Duke's palace to bless the happy couples.  [4½★]

FilmLit: Stranger than Fiction (2006)

Film Review: Stranger than Fiction is a fictional and fantastic account of an author meeting her novel's protagonist. Too clever for its own good? Nope. Just clever enough. The film begins with a voice-over, which we soon learn is the author writing her book, and simultaneously narrating the daily life of our hero, Harold Crick (Will Ferrell). Crick is a lonely IRS agent with such a minimal life that he seems to live his life only as if waiting to die. He begins to hear the voice describing all he does. We also see the author herself, Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson), struggling with a 10-year writer's block, helped by a quietly competent assistant (Queen Latifah) hired by the publisher. In each of Eiffel's books, the protagonist dies. To deal with the voice Crick futilely goes through therapy then ends up talking with a literature professor (Dustin Hoffman), who decides he has to determine whether Crick is in a comedy or tragedy to tell which author's book he's the subject. Simultaneously, Crick finds love. The film is full of gentle, subtle humor with touching moments that make this a rich, though quiet, emotional experience. Stranger than Fiction consists of the typical great-novel questions: life, death, love, time. It'll also change how you feel about getting flowers on a date. This is one of Will Ferrell's best roles, toned down, under control, and projecting just the right mix of bewilderment, pathos, and hesitant determination. Emma Thompson is brilliant portraying the desperation of an author with an endless case of writer's block. The cast also includes Maggie Gyllenhaal, Linda Hunt, Tom Hulce, and that guy from the Sonic commercials. This is a film about authors, books, inspiration. How many movies mention Italo Calvino, third-person omniscient, and dramatic irony? Stranger than Fiction is one of the films I was thinking of when I came up with the idea of FilmLit -- a movie about writing, and the struggles of writing. Literate, intelligent, romantic.  🐢

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett (1952)

Two men talking while waiting on a road near a tree.

Play Review: Waiting for Godot is a play that the viewer is compelled to interpret. What does it mean? Who is Godot? Why do Vladimir and Estragon live as they do? What are Pozzo and Lucky's roles? Why does Pozzo go blind? Why is it so funny? Where does the symbolism begin, and end? Because everything is this play seems symbolic. Not a word is spoken or a boot removed that doesn't seem like a symbol of something. But what? Since this is known as an existentialist work, I suppose it's safe to say the play is about humanity's search for meaning, while at the same time we're scrutinizing the play for meaning. What could be more existentialist than that? But what if the viewers sit back, perhaps with cups of espresso, and just watch Waiting for Godot on its own terms, for our own enjoyment, just accept it for what it is, and don't try to probe it for meaning or allegory. That actually seems a little more existential to me. But I may be (to paraphrase Roxane Gay) a bad existentialist. Because I want to interpret this, it's fun: is Pozzo Capitalism incarnate and are the proletariat the ironically named Lucky? "Godot" sounds like "god-oh." Is he God? Is Godot an inversion of "doggo," meaning concealed or hidden? What if Godot is a woman? Is Godot actually Beckett (Godot has agents, "critic" is the worst insult of all, he does nothing (clearly an author), and has Gogo's and Didi's future in his hands)? A play of two men trying to find something to give them the impression they exist, trying to find ways to live a meaningless, pointless, purposeless, absurd existence. Trying to deal with nothing, waiting, repetition. They consider many methods, including suicide. They're Sisyphus split in two and dressed in music hall costumes. Nothing lasts, nothing is sustained, in the end nothing changes. Somehow they believe Godot will save them, but we know he'll never arrive. They want to do something while they have the chance (after all, it's not every day that they're needed). The whole play is an existential crisis on a minimalist set. While enjoyable on the page, viewing the Irish version on YT helped, too. In the end I think Waiting for Godot is a play the viewer can profitably analyze endlessly, or just sit back and simply enjoy for its comic absurdity. A work of genius.  [5★]

The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1970)

A Colombian Navy sailor is swept overboard and drifts for 10 days on a raft.

Book Review:  The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor harks back to the days in 1955 when Gabriel Garcia Marquez was a staff reporter for a newspaper. He conducted 20 six-hour interviews with the nationally-famous "shipwrecked" sailor, which were then published by the newspaper in 14 non-fiction installments, written as a first person narration "by" the sailor. This book's extended (I mean extended) title is "... who drifted on a life raft for ten days without food or water, was proclaimed a national hero, kissed by beauty queens, made rich through publicity, and then spurned by the government and forgotten for all time." That sounds like GGM to me. The newspaper accounts were first published as a book in Spain in 1970 because, as Garcia Marquez writes, "the publishers are not so much interested in the merit of the story as in the name of the author, which, much to my sorrow, is also that of a fashionable writer." The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor does not sound much like the Marquez we know and love. Marquez had to write in the "voice" of the sailor to make it credible (as anyone who's ghosted term papers knows) to the newspaper-reading public. Imagine having Gabriel Garcia Marquez as your ghostwriter! Even so, there are a few scenes in which the reader may see Marquez peeking out: a visit by an old but friendly seagull; a close encounter with an enormous, yellow turtle; the story of the fakir; and the reception by the townspeople of Mulatos. The introduction written by Marquez in 1970, also gives a wonderful sense of the man, mentioning: "the U.S. Panama Canal Authority, which performs such functions as military control and other humanitarian deeds." The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor is not a novel, is not fiction, but does show Marquez as a writer and reporter. It's the exciting story of a resourceful, but in some ways just average, man, a sailor whose "heroism" consisted of not letting himself die. A good story in its own write.  [3½★]