So far, The Winter’s Tale is my least favorite play of Shakespeare’s. Having only read Act I, perhaps that will change. The problem I have is mainly with Leontes’ quickly spurned jealousy and motivation to kill Polixenes. At least Othello had Iago in his ear to persuade him, Brutus felt the pressure of the Roman Empire–I just can’t understand why Leontes would turn on his best friend and his wife so hastily. Maybe he was always a misogynistic jerk who had it out for his friend.

Leontes says that “many a man there is, even at this present,/Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,/That little thinks she has been sluiced in ’s absence,/And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by/Sir Smile, his neighbor (1.2 240-245). He is so confident of adultery’s prevalence that he claims “Should all despair/That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind/Would hang themselves (1.2 245). I think this passage really illustrates what Leontes believes is happening between Hermione and Polixenes; in his mind, it’s inevitable.

Leontes character lacks loyalty to anyone. In Othello, Othello loves Desdemona more than anything until he’s corrupted by Iago’s manipulative ways. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the love potion was responsible for the lovers’ change of hearts. Even Brutus still claimed Caesar was his best friend (that he just so happened to murder). In Act 1.2 when Hermione asks Polixenes about his childhood memories with Leontes, I find it telling that Polixenes does all the talking:  “We were as twinned lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun/And bleat the one at th’ other. What we changed/Was innocence for innocence. We knew not/The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dreamed/
That any did” (1.2 85-89). After re-reading this passage, it seems like Polixenes is foreshadowing Leontes’ “ill-doing”; Polixenes becomes a lamb drawn to the slaughter. 

Besides the possibility that Leontes could have been harboring some kind of childhood grudge towards Polixenes, in my opinion the text seems to point to his madness. During the live performance clip we watched in class, Hermione and Polixenes’ actions seem heavily misconstrued by Leontes. The “paddling palms and pinching fingers” combined with “practiced smiles” (1.2 146-147) are all figments of Leontes’ imagination. Hermione’s sighs in the clip were from labor-pains, not from a sexual desire for Polixenes. But if we only rely on the text, I think the obvious answer is that Leontes has gone mad. There’s no evil henchman whispering in his ear–it’s himself. He even doubts poor Mamillius, who hasn’t done a thing but agree that he’s his father’s “wanton calf” (1.2 160-161). I’m interested to see the evolution of Mamillius as the play continues. Will he “take eggs for money” (1.2 201) or will he fight his father’s madness?

The Tragedy of Julius Caesar was one of my favorite plays we read this semester. Having never read the play before, I was surprised at how quickly Caesar is murdered in Act 3.1. As we said in class, it’s not Caesar himself who is a tragic character–it’s the event of his death. By the end of the play, I felt like the play should have been called The Tragedy of Brutus because the play richly illustrates his own demise.

All of the tragedy is foreshadowed by the Soothsayer, who warns “Beware the ides of March (1.2 19). Of course, Caesar ignores this: “He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass” (1.2  26). That he ignores the repeated warnings of the Soothsayer coincides with Cassius’ description of Caesar as “bestrid[ing] the narrow world/Like a Colossus”, and that he and Brutus are “petty men”, “the underlings” (1.2 136-137, 142). It’s as if Caesar is this larger than life figure that Cassius cannot bear to approve of; he will not be the little guy while Caesar is the Colossus.

While it’s easy to chalk Cassius’ villainy up to jealousy and power plays, Brutus’ motives are more complex. “Remember March, the ides of March, remember./Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake?/What villain touched his body, that did stab/And not for justice” (4.2 70-73). Clearly, Brutus sees the act of murdering Caesar not as a crime but as an act of justice. He didn’t want Caesar’s ambitions to corrupt Rome and thought he was doing the right thing for the Roman people.

However, I found it odd that Brutus repeatedly calls Caesar one of his dearest friends; after all, what kind of friend stabs you to death? Following Caesar’s violent death, Brutus explains that he will tell his fellow Romans “Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,/Have thus proceeded” (3.1 183-184). His confidence in doing the right thing is terrifying. Brutus also rationalizes his crime by saying he’s done Caesar a favor by having “abridged/His time of fearing death” (3.1 105-106). It’s the ultimate betrayal of friendship and perhaps that is why Shakespeare decided to have Brutus be the last one to stab Caesar, “the most unkindest cut of all” (3.2 177). That last stab is so horribly tragic and disgusting that Caesar must ask “Et tu, Brute?” (3.1 77) before he falls and dies.

As a reader, I found redemption in Mark Antony’s speech. By using Caesar’s body as a prop, he appeals to the plebians in a way that won’t mark him as an outright traitor. He is also careful to repeatedly call Brutus “an honourable man”(3.2 91, 96, 121) but in a way that both subverts and supports that claim. Perhaps Brutus wanted to help his fellow Romans, but he was persuaded by Cassius and his fellow conspirator’s tongues. I think it’s his shame and loyalty to Rome that drives him to kill himself: “Caesar, now be still. I killed not thee with half so good a will” (5.5 50-51). I interpreted those lines to mean that he knows he was corrupted by the powers of persuasion; he has more faith that he is doing the right thing by killing himself than he did when he stabbed Caesar. It’s the real tragedy of Brutus because he has lost everything, his life included, at the end of the play.

In Richard III, there is plenty of room for grief. However, it’s only through the women of the play that the reader gains insight to what Richard’s slaughter does to people.

When Clarence is killed and King Edward dies, the Duchess of York is understandably devastated by the loss of her children. At the same time, Queen Elizabeth is mourning the loss of her husband and Clarence’s children are grieving for their father. It’s a great entanglement of loss, yet the Duchess seems to claim ownership of it all: “Alas, I am the mother of these griefs./Their woes are parcelled; mine is general” (2.2 80-81). I interpreted this to mean that she feels her loss is greater because it encompasses everyone’s grief. Yet, that makes me feel like that there was some “one-upping” going on in this scene and throughout the play.

The quantity of one’s grief seems to be the measure of one’s sincerity; whoever has lost the most deserves the most recognition because of it. This is evident in the conversation between Queen Margaret and the Duchess of York. Both women have endured great losses but because they’ve been at odds politically, Queen Margaret feels that Edward and Clarence’s deaths are “dying debt” to her (4.4 21). Further, it’s the Duchess’ own son, Richard, who is at helm of everyone’s pain and she hates him for it: “Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost…Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth/Unlawfully made drunk with innocent’s blood” (4.4 26, 29-30). It can’t be easy to know that your son is a murderer, lest of all the murderer of his own family. I think it’s important for the reader to see that the Duchess doesn’t favor Richard, in fact she wants him dead: “In the breath of bitter words let’s smother/My damned son” (4.4 133-134). So why the need for the one-upmanship of grief? Queen Margaret says “If ancient sorrow be most reverend,/Give mine the benefit of seniory,/ And let my griefs frown on the upper hand” (4.4 35-37). She is literally saying that her sorrow takes precedence because it has occurred before the Duchess’ and Elizabeth’s.

I find this fascinating because Shakespeare gives strong voices to these female characters; they are some of the only and earliest voices of opposition to Richard. So why quarrel over whose loss is greater? They could be working together to undermine Richard but they either can’t or won’t work together. Queen Elizabeth even asks Margaret to “teach [her] how to curse [her] enemies” (4.4 116) which she says she can’t, only Elizabeth’s “woes” will make her words “sharp” and “pierce” like hers (4.4 124). In class we talked about how being powerless can be a powerful tool, especially in regards to politics.  Only Queen Margaret can call Richard an “elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog” (1.3 225) who was the “slander of [his] mother’s womb” and the “loathed issue of [his] father’s loins” (1.3 228-229) to his face without being beheaded by him.

Since Queen Margaret’s curses have all seemed to come to fruition, I can understand why Queen Elizabeth would want to learn her secrets. Yet, it’s because of all Margaret’s lost that she can speak such curses and not be taken seriously; Richard feels that she is utterly beneath his attention. In fact, it won’t be until Elizabeth’s lost everything that she can attain such empowerment through powerlessness. Perhaps Shakespeare is pointing out that having power is a lonely thing. Richard becomes “King”—but what good is that when you’ve killed all your family and no one really likes you? Queen Margaret can speak her mind—but what good is that when everyone has turned their backs on you?

Upon finishing Othello, I was really intrigued by the myth of the handkerchief in the play. In the beginning of the play, Brabanzio believes Othello to have used some sort of witchcraft to woo his daughter: “Judge me the world if ‘tis not gross in sense/That thou hast practised on her with foul charms,/Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals/That weakens motion” (1.2 73-76). Othello is accused of otherworldly means to have won over Desdemona and, although he argues against it, he admits that the handkerchief he gives her is made from “a charmer” (3.4 55). As we discussed in class, the handkerchief only has as much significance as certain characters assign to it. Yet, throughout the play I believe it signifies a character’s betrayal. Emilia gives it to Iago (thus betraying Desdemona), Cassio asks Bianca to replicate it (leading to Bianca feeling cheated on) and it’s Desdemona who pays with her life for Othello’s feelings of her infidelity.

When relaying the history of the handkerchief according to the Charmer, Othello tells Desdemona “if she lost it,/Or made a gift of it, my father’s eye/Should hold her loathed” (3.4 58-60). As Desdemona believes the handkerchief to be lost and Othello thinks she has given it to Cassio, it’s interesting that the Charmer’s prophecy comes to fruition at the end of the play. It’s all because of the handkerchief that Othello believes he has proof of her cheating.

When comparing the handkerchief’s prophecy to the “song of willow” (4.3 27) that Desdemona sings, I think both tell tales of tragedy. Just as the charmer’s prophecy rings true, so does the willow song. “She was in love, and he she loved proved mad/And did forsake her” (4.3 26-27). I can’t help but wonder if Desdemona knew her love for Othello would lead to her doom or if she was truly blinded by her goodness. Having been hit and yelled at by Othello, didn’t she see something was going terribly wrong? As much as this is a tragedy of Othello, I think Shakespeare was also conveying the dangers of extreme goodness (or in modern terms, “nice guys finish last”). That is not to say I believe Desdemona was ignorant but that extreme evil or extreme goodness can lead to tragic ends.

As good as Desdemona is, Iago represents the complete opposite of her in his evilness. In class, we have often questioned what Iago’s motivations are for his betrayal. What position will he assume if there is no Othello to serve under? Even at the very end of the play, when his true form is revealed, the audience does not get the satisfaction of knowing his motives. In fact, he literally commits himself to silence: “Demand me nothing. What you know, you know./From this time forth I never will speak a word” (5.2 309-310). It’s one of the most frustrating things when reading this play that such evil exists with no outright motivation. Shakespeare didn’t have the medical terminology we use today, but I think he would argue that sometimes there is no motivation. As Iago declares, we only know what we “know” and the audience will have to be satisfied with that. Like the real tragedies of today, we cannot provide an explanation for every evil act.

In Twelfth Night, there is a constant theme of things not being what they seem. At the very start of the play, Viola seeks to find information about her brother’s whereabouts by disguising herself as a man: “Conceal me what I am, and be my aid/For such disguise as haply shall become/The form of my intent” (1.2 49-51). Her disguise fits her very well (or vice versa) and quite soon Olivia falls in love with her male alter-ego, Cesario.

Further, Olivia’s jester Feste has more intelligence than what others give him credit for. He is the only character in the play to point out that he doesn’t trust Viola/Cesario: “…but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you./If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible” (3.1 24-26).  Viola has been able to deceive everyone except Feste, a type of trickster in his own right.

The title Twelfth Night alludes to the feasting during Christmas time. Perhaps Shakespeare utilized the blurring of genders and identity to allude to the blending of classes during that time.  Being a celebration, the twelfth night of Christmas may have brought people together in a way they normally wouldn’t have been.

There is an element of that blending when Malvolio tries to intermix himself with Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria. In his own terrible way, Malvolio disguises himself as something he is not, especially after finding “Olivia’s” love-letter: “I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-device the very man” (2.5 141-144). As strange as he is, I felt pretty sorry for Malvolio as he never gets redemption in the play. His last words are “I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you” (5.1 365) which leads me to believe that things really are not all they seem by the end of this comedy.

Getting back to Viola, her disguise as Cesario makes the whole play more of a “dramedy” than comedy, in my opinion. When Viola becomes Cesario, she gains a man’s perspective. When Olivia falls in love with Cesario, Viola reasons: “How easy is it for the proper false/In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!/Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,/For such as we are made of, such we be” (2.2 29-30). By having access to both a male and female identity, she sees the imbalances of societal gender roles.

Yet, gender roles are almost the undoing of Viola’s disguise. It’s interesting that Viola never unveils her true self when she’s with Olivia, even if she makes her uncomfortable. The only time she thinks to break character is when she’s being challenged to a duel by Sir Toby and Sir Andrew: “Pray God defend me. A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man” (3.4 268-269). In addition to Feste, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew come very close to unmasking her by the end of the play. Shakespeare leaves me questioning, what we’d call in modern times, “fake it until you make it.” Can Viola truly be happy with Orsino since he has always known her as a man? Are Sebastian and Viola so alike that Olivia’s marriage to Sebastian is one and the same? Finally, what would Malvolio’s revenge be?

When talking about patriarchal and feminist themes in A Midsummer Night’s Dream in class, Professor Mulready remarked that while watching many performances of the play, the two actors playing Lysander and Demetrius are almost interchangeable. Knowing that Shakespeare wrote with great care and focus, I wondered what his motive would be in making Lysander and Demetrius so alike.

Lysander surely feels that he is more deserving of Hermia’s affection than Demetrius: “My love is more than his/My fortunes every way as fairly ranked….Why should not I then prosecute my right? (1.1 100-101, 105).” On the other hand, having won the approval of Theseus has given Demetrius an edge over Lysander. “Relent, sweet Hermia; and Lysander, Yield/Thy crazed title to my certain right (1.1 91-92).” I think Shakespeare was using both men’s pursuit of love to make a comedic point: What is anyone’s real “right” to another person? Lysander believes love has given him a right to Hermia, while Demetrius believes it’s his right to wed her because of her father’s approval. Both men put up such a fight against each other because what they feel is their “right” to Hermia, yet all of that comes to a glaring halt once Robin Goodfellow sprinkles the love potion on Lysander’s eyelids. “A sweet Athenian lady is in love/With a disdainful youth…Thou shalt know the man/By the Athenian garments he hath on (2.1 260-261, 263-264)” are the only lines to give Goodfellow a description of either man. (How many sweet Athenian ladies do you think were in love with disdainful youths?) That Goodfellow cannot differentiate between Demetrius and Lysander furthers the claim that they are almost interchangeable.

When Lysander is awoken by Helena after he is given the love potion, he falls madly in love with her. He says, “The will of man is by his reason swayed/And reason says you are the worthier maid (2.2 121-122).” As readers, we know that there is no logic behind his newfound love for Helena; in fact, it was Goodfellow’s mistake in giving it to him. Beyond the conflict moving the plot forward, I believe Shakespeare was poking fun at how quick people are to fall in “love” and how Lysander’s “reason” is so easily changed. His claim to his “right” has essentially disappeared and he is chasing after Helena just because the potion makes it so.

By making Lysander and Demetrius similar, the focus on the women in the play is also sharpened. The readers can really appreciate Helena’s unconventional pursuit of Demetrius or Hermia running away with her lover against her father’s wishes. By blurring the distinctions of both men and by playing with the idea of their “rights”, Shakespeare strengthens the theme of female resistance against a patriarchal society in his play.