First, let me start out by apologizing for the lengthy absence. The only explanation I can give is to explain that I have in the interim completed four PhD applications, one 7,000-word (and I mean EXACTLY 7,000) essay, and one complete Oxford term.
That may not sound like that much, but let me elucidate the second of the above items, not necessarily as self-justification, but as an interesting conglomeration of cultural experiences. This paper is the one means of assessment I have for the term. If I were planning on applying to do a D.Phil here at Oxford, it would also be the primary means of assessment for getting into the program (yikes!). Thankfully, I am not in that situation. Yet I do want to do a good job. And much as I would like to say I left the stress-inducing insular bubble of Princeton behind me, I have discovered that even Oxford graduate students have an unhealthy tendency to talk about their coursework to the exclusion of everything else in their life; this promotes a drive to perform. [Side note: this was one of my pet peeves about Princeton. I HATED when people began conversations with "How's your thesis going?" or "How's your Dean's Date looking?"! "I AM NOT MY THESIS!!!" I wanted to shout. I even toyed with the idea of getting that printed on a t-shirt. We should not wallow in such conversational that is stress-inducing, unconducive to the broadening of the mind, and evidence of interpersonal superficiality.]
But I also just happen to like my topic. I'm writing on Timon of Athens, termed by one critic "Shakespeare's least-loved play" simply because, in my opinion, it is a bad play. It's boring, slow-moving, and lacks compelling, relatable characters. Also, it doesn't really make sense. In one scene, two characters enter many lines before a second entrance is given. And then one character suddenly comes out of almost nowhere to defend a friend before a trial of Athenian senators--a friend who we don't know, and whose crime is never even explained! And these aren't even all the problems frequently cited.
Hence, a bad play. We don't have any evidence that it was even performed in Shakespeare's lifetime; it almost certainly wasn't. Yet we, in our Shakespeare-obsessed age, insist on performing it, even as scholars have shown that Shakespeare collaborated on it with Thomas Middleton, another popular playwright. So, what do directors do with it? How do they explain the gaps in the storyline? That's what my paper's about.
So, of course, you know what that means: TRAVEL!! You see, in order to discuss directors' interpretations of the play, I had to have access to tons of material detailing different productions, and for that I had to go to Stratford-upon-Avon, home of the Shakespeare Centre Archives (think Royal Shakespeare Company). Thankfully, it's only a little less than two hours away by train, so a few weeks ago I loaded up my backpack, collected my ticket from the window (the electronic ticket machines just don't like American credit cards!), and set out for Stratford.
Now, Stratford is a gorgeous little town. And I mean LITTLE. I had been there before two years ago when I studied abroad, but I hadn't realized just how small the town really is. The archives people were kind enough to open for me on a day they were typically closed, but they forced me to leave for an hour so they could take a lunch break. During that hour I was able to criss-cross the town several times! It's really charming, with houses built Tudor-style, connected by rambling alley-ways, and SHORT. One of the things I'm always impressed with in visiting smaller English towns is their shortness. In the States, even smaller towns will have buildings with multiple stories. While English towns do have multiple-storied buildings, there are rarely more than two or three, and never give you the impression of height because they are connected in one long continuous stream of architecture. This, I think, adds to the sense Stratford gives of its small-town, country feel.
Furthermore, it doesn't have the touristy quality one would expect being the home of Shakespeare. Now, granted, it's winter, and an extraordinarily cold one at that. But the Stratford establishment has yet to latch on to the type of commercialism one sees in American tourist sites. Oh, sure, William Shakespeare-themed courses are entrees on the local menus (not that I've sampled them), but you don't see the souvenir stalls, gaudy Shakespeare marketing, or rampant remembrance of everything Bard. It looks largely like a typical small English town, complete with a weekly market selling homemade Christmas cards, exotic fruit, woolen clothes (you bet there's a market!), and fresh-made pasties. And most unlike an American tourist site: everything closes at 5, making it remarkably inconvenient for bored scholars passing the time before their 6pm departure.
More to come...falling asleep...
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