Reading complex matter is a bit like riding a horse at a high speed. Any misunderstood word can become an obstacle, and lead to an unplanned dismount. We have a tendency to think of reading as simply passing our vision through a series of words, and that after doing so, we'll "get it". But this isn't accurate. To improve at anything requires that we slow down and exaggerate the process. In terms of reading, this means that we must build the meaning of the material one piece at a time - letters, words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, etc. And because Shakespeare is both the most demanding and the most substantial literature, it is the best place to build these skills. Its complexity forces everyone to read like a beginner.

Love's Labour's Lost is known for its wordplay and the complexity of its syntax. This fits in with one of its primary themes: language itself, its use and misuse. For example, many of the characters speak in ways that are intended to hide their true natures, and much of the play's abundant humour comes from these discrepancies and watching them be found out. But there is a lot of work to be done to get to it - fortunately - as it is the most intellectually rewarding work to be found.

One of the most fascinating moments in Love's Labour's Lost, a play that concerns the place of scholarship in a productive life, is Berowne's seemingly simple question: "What is the end of study?" Berowne, along with two other young noblemen, has agreed to join the King of Navarre in making his court "a little Academe" by studying hard and living ascetically for a three year period - "plain living and high thinking", in the words of Wordsworth, but he finds the terms increasingly frightening as the day approaches:

So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,

That is, to live and study here three years.

But there are other strict observances;

As, not to see a woman in that term,

Which I hope well is not enrolled there;

And one day in a week to touch no food

And but one meal on every day beside,

The which I hope is not enrolled there;

And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,

And not be seen to wink of all the day—

When I was wont to think no harm all night

And make a dark night too of half the day—

Which I hope well is not enrolled there:

O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,

Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

To which the King's reply is essentially: Too bad, you already agreed (I'm paraphrasing, of course; here's the full scene: http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=loveslabours&Act=1&Scene=1&Scope=scene). And then comes the question above, which not only hovers over the rest of the play, but can haunt an audience member for some time afterward. More on this tomorrow.

Last night, I saw Love's Labour's Lost in a splendid production put on by the drama students of Dawson College. The performances were exuberant, filled with discovery and humour; I can't remember the last time I heard an audience laugh out loud so frequently during a play. And what a funny play it is, in both common senses of the word. It's not one of Shakespeare's most popular, I think it's safe to say. In fact, William Hazlitt once wrote, "If we were to part with any of the author's comedies, it should be this". I learned of this unfortunate moment (in an otherwise fine career), and much more about the play's history and contents, in H.R. Woudhuysen's excellent introduction to the Arden Shakespeare edition (1998), which I'll be writing about in the next couple of posts. For now, let me recommend this: the next time that you hear of a student production of a Shakespeare play - go see it. I wish William Hazlitt had seen this one.

I ended yesterday's post by using an unacknowledged quotation from Hamlet. (By the way, it seems as if Shakespeare is the only writer whom it's OK to quote without citation - otherwise we'd be swimming in footnotes.) It's from Ophelia's mad scene, and it's another fascinating example of how some of the passages containing the greatest wisdom come from some of the most unlikely sources: in this case a character who has gone mad, and who beforehand, had revealed of herself very little, and certainly not this kind of philosophical depth. The exact line is this: "Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be", and it is often overlooked because it's hidden between two lines more in keeping with our perceptions of how a mentally troubled person would speak: "They say the owl was a baker's daughter" and "God be at your table!". But just as Lear's madness brings out his most sane reasoning - as opposed to the beginning of the play when he's technically sane but his actions are the opposite - so does Ophelia's. For the first time in the play, she understands the horrific results of the ambition, treachery and violence that have infected the court and her life. And although it is too late for her, she passes from the play with words and actions "no stronger than a flower", but which have retained their beauty and depth in the imagination of everyone who has read or seen the play.

While preparing for my upcoming lecture on Romeo and Juliet (next Wednesday at 11 am at the Atwater library), a realization came to me regarding Shakespeare's use of poetry. It occurred to me that no other form of writing could contain all the complexity of life - its changes and ambiguities, the fact that we have to search and think to find meanings in events, our psychological upheavals and lack of inner consistency, the way that words and objects can have meanings far beyond themselves - all of these are best expressed, and perhaps only expressed, through poetry. Shakespeare, the "Chief Poet", as Keats called him, allows us to see the workings and potentials of our minds through the unwavering quality of his poetic writing. And even his prose is poetic, as you know from this justly famous passage: "What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!" Shakespeare shows us not only what we are but also what we may be.

The final quality that should be considered in poetic diction, according to John Ciardi and Miller Williams' How Does a Poem Mean? (1959), is that "a word is a picture", by which they mean that the origin of most words can be found in some sort of poetic image. Shakespeare's work provides thousands of examples of this for two main reasons. The first, as we know, is that he created so many words himself. The second is that he never settles for a tired expression in his writing, and thus the reader is constantly surprised by its contents. For example, when Iago tells Roderigo his age, he doesn't say, "I'm twenty-eight years old", but instead, "I have looked upon the world for four times seven years", which gives us an entirely new way of considering the nature of existence. And for an example of pure imagery, have a look at this passage from Antony and Cleopatra (3.6), during which Octavius reacts angrily to being surprised by his sister Octavia's arrival. She's married to Antony at this point, we must remember, so Octavius is looking for reasons to be offended. But my point here doesn't regard the plot, rather it's the way the words evoke the power and splendour of Rome through the use of words as pictures:

Why have you stol'n upon us thus! You come not

Like Caesar's sister: the wife of Antony

Should have an army for an usher, and

The neighs of horse to tell of her approach

Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way

Should have borne men; and expectation fainted,

Longing for what it had not; nay, the dust

Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,

Raised by your populous troops: but you are come

A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented

The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown,

Is often left unloved; we should have met you

By sea and land; supplying every stage

With an augmented greeting.

The third of John Ciardi and Miller Williams' four sections concerning the nature of words (from their 1959 handbook, How Does a Poem Mean?) begins with the heading, "A word is a history", and goes on to explain why poetry has always played an inordinate role in the development of languages: "With a few exceptions every word traced back far enough is either a metaphor or an onomatopoiea." Therefore, the poetic concept itself is responsible for the creation of many words. Of course, Shakespeare is renowned for the number of words and expressions that he invented, but even more importantly, he set the template for the evolution of English into the world's most expressive language. And he is its de facto figurehead because of his way of working, which is at once deeply informed by writing of the past (and not only in English) as well as infused with creativity, flexibility and inclusiveness. To put it plainly, I really can't see how it is possible to have a serious appreciation for English without having the same for the works of Shakespeare. In fact, without them, it is very unlikely that the language would still be in use.