The very early history plays known as the three parts of Henry VI are the subject of my next lecture at the Atwater library (Tuesday, March 1 at 11 am or Wednesday, March 2 at 7 pm), and they have been unfortunately overlooked for the better part of 400 years. In fact, it was only in the 1960's that they began to be performed again, albeit sporadically. There were a number of reasons for this, including the undeniable fact that they compare poorly to the Henriad (i.e. Richard II, the two parts of Henry IV and Henry V), but in comparison with these, what plays don't? Compared to the work of any other playwright, in other words, these plays stand up very well. Also, we have to keep in mind that these works were necessary to Shakespeare's development. Through them he learned more about his dual crafts of drama and poetry, while sharpening his philosophical and psychological insights, and, in my opinion, coming to a realization about the use to which he was going to put his incomparable talents. My contention here is that because the content of these plays is so relentlessly dark, treacherous and violent, they created a need for him to try to understand human motivations and to help his audience do so as well. If Harold Goddard is right in saying that the over-arching theme of Shakespeare's work is the futility and evil of war, then it was with these plays that it became apparent to him.

Further to yesterday's post regarding editors, I must mention Gary Taylor's splendid job in editing and commenting on Henry V for the 1998 Oxford edition. I highly recommend it for anyone who would like to gain insight into this astonishing play. Taylor's contention that Shakespeare's interest in the character may have been a result of his identifying with the experiences of a historical figure who had to choose between his perceived mission and the perception of his humanity by others is compelling. And while there can be no comparison made between the accomplishments of the two (Shakespeare's being infinitely more contributive and important), there are perhaps parallels that could be drawn regarding their philosophical and psychological development. And the thought that Shakespeare may have seen another point of comparison in his theatre company vis a vis Henry's happy few is a fascinating one. It's one of many in Taylor's excellent edition.

The work of editors is of vital importance to readers of Shakespeare. Their role is complex and demanding. It's their task to use the various existing versions of the particular play with which they're working to put together its clearest and most accurate version. Every word, every mark of punctuation requires a choice and sometimes several. They must then supply footnotes and introductory material to explain these decisions and to improve accessibility of the play's contents for the average reader. In fact, some of the most interesting and up-to-date Shakespeare scholarship can be found in these introductions. One reason for this fact is the sheer amount of time that an editor must spend with the play in question. And it seems like it never fails to be mentioned how that effort has led them to an increased appreciation and affection for it. The more time one spends with a Shakespeare play, in other words, the more one likes it. Thanks to the efforts of Shakespeare editors, the rest of us also have that opportunity.

I've spent a lot of time reading about and trying to imagine performances in Shakespeare's time recently and I keep coming back to a comment that I received regarding my December 20 post of last year. The gist of it was that Shakespeare may have incorporated comic characters into even his most intense tragedies, the Porter in Macbeth for example, to keep his great comic actors, such as Will Kempe and Robert Armin, in work. This strikes me as very likely indeed, and it has led me back to another comparison with Duke Ellington, who wrote parts with the specific personalities and talents of his leading instrumentalists in mind. It seems logical to assume that Shakespeare must have done the same. And like Ellington, who collaborated not only with his players, but with Billy Strayhorn and others throughout his career, the most important thing was always to get the work in front of audiences. I remain convinced that Ellington's career is the career that most closely resembles Shakespeare's in terms of working methods and results.

The Oxford edition of Henry V features an excellent introduction by its editor, Gary Taylor. Among its many interesting points is a discussion of the significance of the play's minor characters, and particularly the Eastcheap crew left behind by Falstaff (who dies offstage during the play): Mistress Quickly, Bardolph, Pistol, the Boy (a.k.a Falstaff's page) and Corporal Nym. One of Taylor's really interesting contentions is that each of them have specific verbal and behavioural characteristics that have inspired many twentieth century playwrights, more specifically Pistol's mixture of high language and low deeds influencing Steven Berkoff's play, East (1975) and the fact that "Nym's whole style anticipates to a remarkable degree the repetitiveness, understatement, incoherence, and menace now regarded as the unique preserve of the plays of Harold Pinter." Since I'm one of those who has always advised young people interested in writing to try to learn everything they can from Shakespeare, reading of this was an affirming moment.

Many current critical approaches to Shakespeare seek to place his work firmly in his time period, the product of the social and political forces of his day. But I'm rarely convinced that they're onto anything. Yes, it must be granted that these things were factors in his output (as was food to eat and air to breathe), but they were transcended by a superior power: the force of his mind. To not understand this is to not understand Falstaff or Hamlet or the history plays. In fact, it is the history plays that are often brought up in these contexts, and having spent quite a bit of time with them recently, I'm even more convinced than I was before: Any attempt to diminish Shakespeare's work, to consider it dated or of decreasing relevance is to bring these results upon one's own. Think about it: how could the creator of Falstaff, a character who easily slips out of any attempt at ideological restraint, allow it to happen to himself?

It's very interesting to think of the influence that the theaters used by his company during Shakespeare's career may have had on his writing. Apparently, the reconstructed Globe in London gives a unique sense of what it would have been like to attend an Elizabethan era play: one big difference, according to those who've been, is the visibility of the other members of the audience. This brings me back to a point I tried to make in a recent post about how much Shakespeare must have learned from his audiences. And it's interesting to consider that his plays did become more experimental when the company moved to the Blackfriars (and its picture or proscenium stage, rather than the thrust-stages of the earlier ones) in later years. By the way, if you haven't visited the Globe's website, here's the link: http://www.shakespeares-globe.org/.