Shakespeare William Archives

Game of English Thrones

Fan fiction is a fascinating genre. Someone writes a book which becomes so beloved that fanatical readers cannot get enough of the characters and the world in which they live. Some of these fanatics start dreaming up new stories and other devoted fanatics gobble up these stories.

Truth be told, fan fiction is not particularly well-noted for the quality of the prose or the stories. It is mostly juvenile writing with adolescent plots.

A question which I had never pondered ere now is: Who is the Greatest Fan Fiction author of all time? The answer is surprisingly easy: William Shakespeare.

Shakespeare is a guy from some obscure town in England named after a popular cosmetic line of all things. He read George Martin’s Game of Thrones (or, to be pedantic, A Song of Ice and Fire) and obviously loved it. As is well known, Martin is a very annoying author. Only five of the seven books in the series have been published; and as Martin is growing long in tooth, there is a race between his inevitable demise and the completion of the remaining books. I don’t think anyone is betting on the latter at this point.

Game of Thrones is really good; the HBO series made it UberFamous, but, as with all such things, the books are even better. Young Billy Shakespeare was clearly so excited about the books that he couldn’t leave well-enough alone, so he started filling the void Martin has created.

Shakespeare’s first bit of fan fiction was Henry VI, part 2, which gives you a good idea of the ambitions of these fan fiction types. Later on, Shakespeare would write a prequel to his own work, cleverly entitled Henry VI, part 1. (I’m not making that up; part 1 was written after part 2.)

Now Shakespeare tries to mask his fan fiction a bit, presumably for copyright related reasons. So instead of the Lannisters vs the Starks, Shakespeare gives us the Lancasters vs the Yorks. Yeah, those name changes will confuse people.

The Lancasters are on the throne. The head of the Yorks thinks he should be on the throne. Civil War ensues. But wait! There are about a half-dozen other people with aspirations to the throne. All sorts of shifting alliances and betrayals. The King is a rather weak fellow, who clings to the throne because his father was Great. The Queen is a scheming woman, having an affair with another guy with royal ambitions. There are warring armies, pirates at sea, and beheaded people galore. One particularly upright lord has a wife who dabbles in black magic, hoping to advance his cause. She summons a spirit from “where Pluto is his fiery wagon sits,”—a veritable lord of fire. (Are you admiring Shakespeare’s shocking originality yet?)

Not content with just the single book, Shakespeare, like all fan fiction writers, finishes his book with the perfect set-up for a sequel. (Guess the title of the sequel to Henry VI, part 2.)

As far as fan fiction goes, Henry VI, part 2 is good. Actually, as hard as it is to believe, it is actually more than good. It is outstanding. The writing is superb. Honestly, it is better than even Martin’s prose. Shakespeare has this incredible way to take even tired ideas for scenes and overused witticisms and make them into something that feels fresh.

Consider Act IV, in which a new pretender to the crown shows up. In the midst of the rebellions and court intrigue, a clothier, Jack Cade, decides to rise up with a band of workingmen and claim the throne for himself. It is a popular rebellion! The people, tired of the games the nobility play, will take matters into their own hands. Cade promises a veritable worker’s paradise:

Cade: Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped pot; shall have ten hoops and I will make it felony to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in common; and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,—
All Cade’s Followers: God save your majesty!
Cade: I thank you, good people: there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their lord.
Dick (the Butcher): The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
Cade: Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That parchment, being scribbled o’er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings: but I say, ’tis the bee’s wax; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since.

OK, so that bit about killing all the lawyers has been done to death. But, note how Shakespeare turns a tired phrase into a much deeper point about how laws and contracts are made and how those who did not make the laws can suffer thereby.

Note also the preceding bit where Cade repeats the kinds of slogans we have been hearing from utopians for a couple of hundred years. Abolish money and have the government provide what is needed! Get rid of conspicuous consumption! There is no need for allowing a difference of opinion once the right people are in charge! All shall agree!

Like many a utopian leader, Cade meets his end when the people prove fickle. Cade laments, “Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this multitude?” Therein lies the question which runs through this tale. Who should sit on the throne? In this game is there a claim which supersedes all others? Or is it merely a question of who plays the game best? In the game of thrones, you either win or you die? Shall we play? If you were the Kingmaker, who wins?

Ah, you are glad we no longer play such games where nobility engage in endless maneuvers moving up and down the halls of power. Popular sovereignty is best? You want Jack Cade as your leader? But alas, your people inevitably end up running to the person who promises them the most. Maybe you don’t trust the people after all.

A tricky problem, this question of who should rule. Let us hope that William Shakespeare is encouraged by his earliest efforts and will bring us more tales wrestling with questions of leadership. For ideas, I might suggest Plutarch’s Lives. (There is an excellent translation by North he could use.) I suspect it will provide even better source material than A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Weight of this Sad Time

Can it get any worse?

How long has it been since you asked that question? An hour, a day, a week, a year? Personal tragedy. Family tragedy. Friend tragedy. National tragedy. International tragedy. They pile up at times and you ask if it could possibly get any worse.

The Answer: Yes. Yes, it can.

Cf. King Lear. Things also just keep getting worse and worse in Shakespeare’s tragedy.

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:
Had I your tongues and eyes I’ld use them so
That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever
I know when one is dead and when one lives;
She’s dead as earth.
[…]
And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!

And then Lear dies.

What? Were you expecting a cheerful rumination on one of the greatest tragedies of all time?

Edgar can help.

O gods! Who is ‘t can say “I am at the worst”?
I am worse than e’er I was.
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
So long as we can say “This is the worst.”

See! It’s not so bad. It could be worse!

Tragedies are, by definition watching a fall, but the descent in King Lear is precipitous and unrelenting. There is the personal fall of Lear, but there is also the fall of his friends and the ultimately his entire kingdom. Before one crisis has even hit its crescendo, the next one is already nearing its peak. Dealing with one personal tragedy or national crisis at a time is hard. Overlay them, and it is quite literally overwhelming.

You know this. At times, you have felt it.

Curiously, however, the final lines of King Lear (spoken by either Albany or Edgar depending on whether you are reading the Quarto or the Folio version of the play) are oddly hopeful.

The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

We that are young, you and I and everyone who has lived after Lear, shall never see so much. We shall never live so long. Ah, the optimism of youth.

The spirit of those final lines lives on. Think about the last big national tragedy—it makes no difference when you read this, just pick whichever tragedy is in the news. How often have you heard people wondering “How could this happen? After all that we have accomplished, how can we have this problem?”

Why is it a surprise when tragedy hits? I undestand the surprise of personal tragedy; you know horrible things happen to people, you are a person, but even still, there was no reason to expect that particular horrible thing to happen to you.

That being said, however, why is it a surprise when we read about tragedies happening in in the world? People are genuinely surprised every time something bad happens. We know bad things happened to people in the past. But, we really do believe “we that are young/Shall never see so much.” We really have internalized a triumphalist narrative that major tragedies are in the past.

We live in a fallen world. We often forget that. There is no surprise that bad things happen. Tragedy should not shock us. Some tragedies, like Lear’s, are brought about by our own actions. But, many tragedies, perhaps most, are, like those of Gloucester and Kent and Edgar and Albany and Cordelia, brought about by others. We try to stand firm in a fallen world, and the world collapses around us.

The question is thus not whether tragedy will hit. The question is how do we respond? Lear is a warning. Lean into the tragedy, rail against the tragedy, refuse to acknowledge the tragedy and the result is madness and despair. Speak not what you feel, but what you ought to say, and the result is blindness and banishment.

The alternative? Remember City of God. As Augustine explains at length (at long length), we should not be surprised about tragedy in the City of Man. Since Cain slew his brother in the field, the City of Man has been nothing but an unrelenting demise. The City of Man is doomed. The tragedies you see today are simply part of the death spiral. They were preceded by other tragedies and they will be followed by fresh tragedies. The City of Man offers no hope.

But, the City of Man is not the whole story. The City of God is a story of hope. The City of God runs parallel to the City of Man, offering beauty and joy. The surprise is not that there is tragedy. The surprise is that there is love and hope.

Why does this matter so much? In a time of national tragedy there is a very real temptation to anger and despair. You know this because you have felt it. As King Lear so perceptively demonstrates, that way lies madness. Instead, try loving your neighbor today. You may not feel like loving your neighbor when it seems like the world is burning down, but that is the perfect time to do so. That small act of love you perform today will benefit not only your neighbor. Showing love today will remind you that the City of God wins in the end, that this world contains something so much bigger than tragedy. This world contains Beauty and Truth. That truth shall set you free.

Prospero’s Island

now, ‘t is true
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples.

Thus says Prospero, breaking the fourth wall, at the end of The Tempest (by Shakespeare, but you knew that already).

Prospero, a magician with an island of his own, decides to forgive all those who wronged him, set everyone free, break his staff and drown his book and reclaim his status as mere human. Lots of interesting things to contemplate there, but for now, let’s just look at this epilogue.

The play has ended; everyone is going home. But, then Prospero walks out and announces to the audience (that would be you), that his fate now has to be decided. If you clap, he gets to go home. If you don’t clap, he will forever be trapped on his island in this play. Which will it be?

Now, you, like most of my students, may think this is a pathetic bid for applause at the end of a performance. But, give Shakespeare a little credit here and imagine this is a rather important part of the play itself. You have just become part of the play. You not only have the opportunity to decide Prospero’s fate, you must decide his fate. Either you clap or you don’t. Prospero is waiting.

You are still thinking, “It’s just a play.” But wait. Earlier in this play, Prospero puts on a play of his own, and that play gets interrupted when Prospero remembers he has other things he should be doing.

These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Here is the question: in that last sentence, who is the “we”? Just the people in the play? Ah, but remember that epilogue? You are one of the actors in this play.

Are we the stuff which dreams are made on? Dear Reader, are you and I characters in a play? Is all the world a stage (different play, same author)?

The question of whether we are all just characters in a play left a room full of normally quite boisterous Mount Holyoke students silent. Truth be told, I am not sure whether the silence was born of deep contemplation or incredulousness that I was asking such a painfully silly question.

But, as I sit here writing my monologue, there is nobody else on the stage with me right now. There are a couple of distant figures walking across the lawn in the background outside the window of my office. But the only conversation going on is me talking to you, the audience, Dear Readers.

Of course in the play that is your life, you are right now reading a letter written to you by a character (me) who is off-stage right now. Maybe there are other people on the stage with you right now. Maybe not. I have no idea—that’s not my play.

Prospero doesn’t want to be left on his little island in his play. To get off, he needs you to clap. Did you help him out yet? Or is he still stranded there? Of course, as soon as you clap, you are acknowledging that Prospero is real. So maybe you shouldn’t clap and just leave him on his island in his play.

Prospero is begging you to help.

Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.

You and Prospero aren’t all that different, are you? You too lack spirits to enforce and art to enchant. You too are on an island in your own play, bound by the limits of your humanity. You too need others or your end truly is despair. You too are asking for prayer to assault Mercy itself that you will not be left alone on your island with all your faults unforgiven, bereft of the power to leave without the aid of others who have no more reason to aid you than you have to aid Prospero.

A decade later, John Donne picked up the theme.

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Is that just wishful thinking?

You are surrounded by Prosperos, not the magician with the staff and the book and the power to create a world, but the human at the end who lacks the power to escape the island. All you have to do is clap. But to do that, you have to notice Prospero first, you have to delay leaving the theater just a moment, linger briefly on the stage of the other person’s life before dashing off to the next exciting adventure in the play of your own life.

Smile and say “Hi” to someone today…even to the stranger who wanders briefly onto your stage by mere accident.