Harp
I'll Lock Up
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Should I have read Shakespeare at least one time in my life?
Naturlich, und Hegel, Schopenhauer, und Mann.
Should I have read Shakespeare at least one time in my life?
Kind of you to say so, thank you. Conspiracy theorists annoy me when they claim that Shakespeare didn't write the plays and sonnets. Nobody ever suggests that Chaucer wasn't the author of his work or that great composers like Mendelssohn and others were plagiarists of their day. What is there to be gained? Shakespeare left us a great legacy, just leave it be.
As for Shakespeare, just the other night I listened to Edward G. Robinson as Petruchio in a 1937 radio version of "Taming Of The Shrew." I loathe that particular play, but hearing Mr. Robinson do it was a genuine delight.
Should I have read Shakespeare at least one time in my life?
I enjoy Dickens a lot more than I enjoy Shakespeare, but it's important to remember that both were the "popular literature" of their day, not some sort of profound statement on civilization intended purely for the intellectual class, which is unfortunately the way a lot of people view them now.
The Western canon historical evolve is a tale told from experience rather than logic as Holmes might expound,
a cumulative account of life and death recorded for posterity and subsequently put to exactitude measure,
but subject to contemporary reason when writ or spoken. That Shakespeare has stood strong through
the centuries attest not just his unique gift but consummate timeless truth.
Truth is neither a singular sole possession of any caste or class, but a gift bestowed through love
of wisdom and innate human quest for the divine.
A bit flowery for my taste but that's the common view about S, and all classics, really, that they endure because they are rich in enduring themes and can be readily reimagined by subsequent generations. There's some truth to that romantic view.
Works also last because, amongst other things, vested interest groups like academics keep them alive. I've always found it curious that Tolstoy hated Shakespeare, finding his work bloated, insignificant and shrill. I've often found myself thinking this about Tolstoy. George Orwell wrote a fine essay on this subject.
A few years back, I was thrilled by my daughter's choice of university because it was mandatory that all freshmen take a year long course (Humanities 110 or something like that) that intensively covered the Western Canon from Gilgamesh through Homer through Dante and Shakespeare and Cervantes and all-those-guys (and they were "guys") right up to Samuel Johnson. Hers was one of the last years to take that class because it was recently axed because... oh, you already know why. I can honestly see both sides of the argument.
There is more than merely some truth in that view as veracity exacts punishing measure through time's glass.
The canon endures by truth, and truth lives by historic attest, not vested interest. Academics may keep
themselves alive by publishing, gaining tenure, attending to the scholarly lamp but the works stand on
their own merit. Tolstoy hated Shakespeare; James hated Tolstoy. Wilde hated Elizabeth Barrett Browning.,
whom Poe dedicated his Raven; James also hated Wilde. Wilde, I suspect, probably hated himself.
Envy is a cancerous plague among scholars and scribes, as is intolerance borne by insecurity.
Not sure the 'scholarly lamp' sheds much light these days, and I also suspect that Wilde had a junior capacity for this next to Tolstoy or James.
As to the lamp, flickering flames kindle eternal hope and promise against darkness.
Wilde I find more interesting than either Tolstoy or James-the latter having little regard for Whitman;
while the Irishman's purgatorial must have seared his soul. Aside from temporal trial his last hour
conversion to Catholicism evidences his personal triumph over adversity.
Now, I hasten to add that I suddenly remind myself that Wilde had a low regard for Whitman....
If you haven't found a novel in the interim that you like more, yes. "Favorite" is a measure of appeal, not time....You know you're getting old when you realize it's been twenty-five years since you read your favorite novel. Can it still be called a favorite after such an absence?