Final Paper

It's safe to say, I'm sad to see this class end. But considering the depths reached and connections made in everyone's final presentations, I guess it is time. I feel like I've made some pretty big leaps this semester, major leaps, actually, considering I didn't even know the plot of King Lear before I took this class. Shameful, I know. But shameful no more.

Shakespeare, you're no longer a big ol' fancy-speaking meanie. I know your tricks. I'm on to you. And we will meet again. Mark my words. There's still a lot of unfinished business between us.

On another note, here's my final paper:

                                                  Shakespeare and the Sublime

The beauty, complexity, and mimetic capability of Shakespeare’s language and associations lend to what it is we find so fascinating and unending in his work. We may measure the worth of a text, and indeed all of art, through its ability to elevate our senses and to signify universal truths. Though all of Shakespeare’s work exemplifies the aesthetic, it is in his final plays where he creates the greatest sensation of the sublime and elevation of the intellect. This is achieved through his juxtaposition of the aesthetically dignified to that which we find displeasing, painful, and even grotesque. As we are experiencing this sublimity we are simultaneously engaging our negative capabilities and accepting the beauty created in the space of our own imaginations.

In his chapter regarding Cymbeline in The Invention of the Human, Bloom speaks of aesthetic dignity “as the only consolation we should seek or find in Shakespeare” (631). He is absolutely right. If we take nothing else away from Shakespeare, let it be an appreciation for his command of language and the space it creates for his readers to imagine and invent ourselves. Aesthetic dignity is indicative of the space exists between a readily comprehensible and available reality, and that of higher truth and greater existence (which we sense but cannot grasp through any means other than the aesthetic). As I see it, aesthetic dignity very much depends upon the mimetic capabilities of an author, to produce in his readers those visceral recognitions that speak to universal nature and human experience.

Beauty is what we would typically associate with something regarded as exceptionally aesthetic or aesthetically pleasing. In his theory of negative capability, Keats suggests “that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration”. Many of us are content reciting and appreciating Shakespeare’s exceptionally poetic verse, but he wishes to provide us not only a with glimpse of beauty, but to experience it for ourselves—in the realm of the sublime.  

We might not view these somewhat incongruous final plays as aesthetically pleasing in their entirety, but they all contain aesthetically dignified elements and do entice our sensibilities and ultimately conjure the sublime. Drawing from Eighteenth century British philosophy, it is important to view the sublime as an aesthetic quality not separate from or indifferent to beauty, but as an extension of beauty into a higher realm. The sublime is not solely constituted in awe-inspiring, sensual entities, but also mingles with horror, fear, and vastness. The sublime is not only born, in part, out of greatness and abyss, but propagates it.

We find the sublime in the juxtaposition between the elevated aesthetic and the absurd, the beautiful and the grotesque. In Pericles this opposition is embodied in Imogen who, according to Bloom, “ought to be in a play worthier of her aesthetic dignity”. She alone represents the inwardness that exemplified Shakespeare’s strengths, in a play that is muddled with a tiresomely complex plot and unredeemable characters. In contrast, Caliban is a highly grotesque character acting within a succinct plot, whose speech in ACT III.2 perhaps constitutes the pinnacle of sublimity in the whole play. Not only is this speech “Be not afeared: the isle is full of noises” exceptionally aesthetic in itself, but is compounded by the fact it is spoken from the most base, detestable character in all of Shakespeare.  

From the union of these dual qualities of repulsion and attraction, the sublime is achieved. The process of reaching the sublime is incalculable and evades imitation, and therefore our understanding of it constitutes an abyss between the reality of the sublime and the language that is invoked to create it. It would appear that Shakespeare mimics this abyss in the confusion and disbelief he generates with the sudden introduction of recognition scenes and outlandish resurrections in the four late romances we studied. The reader is forced to confront the absence of reason in those instances and inject faith in the mysterious and unknowable.

Keats suggests that a great poet (and I would like to extend this to a great reader as well) accepts that not everything can be resolved. Ironically, this idea combats the abundance of recognition and resolution that formulates at the end of all Shakespeare’s late romances. Perhaps, though, that resolve is not so literal as we may initially read it. He leads us through ridiculous plots wrought with tragedy and loss, simply so we experience the ‘negative pain’ as Edmund Burke terms it, or the delight we experience at the removal of pain. It is almost as if we experience kenosis and plerosis all in one play. At the end of King Lear there is no ‘filling’ that occurs, because everyone is dead (or overwhelmed by it)! All we are left with is the redemption, and that’s a tough consolation for tragedy. However, in The Winter’s Tale when Leontes snaps back into reality and realizes what he’s lost, the deux ex machina timely descends and alleviates his pain; flooding the play with delight. Shakespeare consciously mixes the absurd with the plerosis of emotion creating a rational disconnect and in turn a space for us to exercise our negative capability.

To experience the sublime we must accept the mingling of the tragic with the suddenly comedic and romantic. It is difficult for the unwashed masses to admire the later of Shakespeare’s plays, because they are not conventional or familiar, so therefore ambiguous and difficult to digest. But if we can suspend our impulse to seek pleasure in cohesion and familiarity and accept the unknown as an intentional convention, we may thrive in its darkness and ambiguity. Though there is resolve at the end, all of the forces are not explained, and therefore lies the ambiguity that we must embrace.

The sublime in Shakespeare is not merely achieved through the aesthetics of his verse, but by his manipulation of our sensibilities and intellect through juxtapositions of the aesthetically dignified with the grotesque or problematic. People say that Shakespeare tired of form and convention, which is evident, but not to the degree that he sacrificed his masterful aesthetics. Rather, he transformed them to create even more complex sensations, for nowhere else is the potential for our imaginations to conjure truths and challenge our notions of the aesthetic more accessible than in his final plays. Riddled with ambiguities, Shakespeare does not challenge his readers to search for resolve or finite answers, but to revel in the infinite capacity of their own intellect and human emotions.

Thanks everyone for a great semester!

Mis-mything Shakespeare

I really identified with what Jaime spoke in her presentation about yesterday: that it is difficult to get the 'inside jokes' and fully understand Shakespeare if you are not familiar with mythology. I wouldn't consider myself completely unfamiliar with mythology, I've read Ovid (though it was a few years ago), am familiar with the general temperaments and roles of the gods in Greek/Roman life and literature, and comprehend the significance of myths like 'Demeter and Persephone' or 'Venus and Adonis'. But I would still consider myself unprepared to understand even 25% of the mythic allusions in Shakespeare.

I attribute this feeling to a couple of things. First of all, at this point in the semester I had expected myself to have the ability to read through one of Shakespeare's plays and spot most of the mythic elements. Clearly, I still cannot do this. I also thought that rereading some Ovid would maybe help, but this was not the case either. The whole thing is a little frustrating, because I constantly feel like I'm missing something. We've said it before in this class, you can't understand Shakespeare unless you understand his Ovidian and Mythological roots.

This is part of the reason I appreciate Ashley's blog so much, and why she is doing an exceptional job. She takes a concept like the 'Gnostic myth of Sophia' or as she explores in her paper that 'Cordelia is the vessel meant to hold the sacred alphabet of poetry', and expands on it by integrating fantastic quotes and discussing it in context of the plays we've read. More than anything, she reveals her own thought process in a very accessible yet eloquent way. It is clear that much of her inspiration comes from Ted Hughes (as is the purpose of our secondary texts), but the thought processes and connections she incorporates in the blogs are very much her own.

Through reading not only Ashley's blog, but many others, I've realized how unrealistic it is to expect ourselves to uncover all of Shakespeare's subtle and even obvious mythic allusions. In truth, the simple fact that we are aware of the prevalence of mythology within Shakespeare probably catapults us past many people who 'think' they are familiar with Shakespeare.

I've decided it's reasonable to satisfy myself with the few mythic elements I've become aware of in "Mything Shakespeare". After all, we've got to start somewhere. And at this point, for me at least, it is definitely necessary to have Dr. Sexson and the secondary texts outline them. For myth in Shakespeare consists not only of direct mention of gods and goddesses (Hymen, Diana, Venus, Poseidon) and mythological rapes, but of subtle echoes (like the cowslip or cinque-spotted mole).

Ultimately, I believe I have difficulty in picking out pieces of mythology in Shakespeare, because Shakespeare IS mythology. I was 'missing Shakespeare" by thinking too narrowly about "Mything Shakespeare". But I think I've begun to grasp it now.

Presentation magic

I have been so impressed with the presentations that everyone has given these last two class periods. Bravo! Yes, even if they were pulled together at the last minute, which you truly couldn't suspect any group of doing. Maybe that is my suspension of disbelief talking. I don't know. But they were all wonderfully done.

Part of the reason I think I've enjoyed them so much, is because seeing these plays performed manifests an experience that is worlds apart from what one encounters when simply reading a play. Whether a group decided to focus on one scene in Shakespearean language, or summarize the entire play in 'dude language', the effect was the same. We were introduced to new and unique interpretations of Shakespeare. Perhaps the presentations made it easier to understand Shakespeare's humor, or the true purpose of his 'nothing' dialogues, or how it is so easy for the characters of a play to be fooled by a simple disguise or costume.


For me, the chance to watch my peers act out Shakespeare helped me to appreciate the theatrical aspect of his works. The dynamics between characters, their facial expressions, stage directions, and overall enthusiasm brought the plays to life. This whole semester I've focused my attention on the poetic dialogue, the double meaning in words, and efforts to detect any reference to the mythological (which were largely unproductive and somewhat in vain, because as we all know, the mythic is Shakespeare, it is a constant echo that reverberates throughout every speech, every line, and every word. But that is another blog) in the that plays we've read.

But now I'm seeing Shakespeare as something that can be both enjoyed and toiled over. Am I finally starting to resent a little less that monstrous red book that makes me dread hauling my backpack around campus on Tuesdays and Thursdays? Is it appropriate that this whole time I have been equating the magnitude and weight of Shakespeare with the weight of that book? Perhaps.

But of course, as soon as I feel the veil of ignorance lifted from my eyes, the burden of consciousness sets in. And I know I'm successfully nearing the end of a Sexson class, because I feel just as confused and tortured as I did at the beginning. Oh the cycle of Sexson, how wonderful yet unbreakable you are.

Aesthetic Dignity

Harold Bloom constantly uses the phrase "aesthetic dignity" throughout The Invention of the Human and throughout many of his other works. But despite seeing it repeated over and over, I’m not sure I have a grasp on what "aesthetic dignity" fully means. 

From what I gather, it has something to do with the aesthetic worth of a text, which exists in the structures and ambiguities of language. When I was searching the term, I stumbled upon an excerpt in Bloom's F. Scott Fitzgerald that related the aesthetics of Scott Fitzgerald to Keats theory of Negative Capability, and that helped things click for me.

Relating the idea of "aesthetic dignity" to Shakespeare's plays, I can understand how the beauty and complexity of his language and associations lend to what it is we find so fascinating and unending in his work. That is to say, the space in which we find ourselves that exists between a readily comprehensible and available reality, and that of higher truth and greater existence; which we sense but cannot grasp through any means other than the aesthetic. 

In his discussion of Cymbeline, Bloom says that "this poem is a dark comfort, but its extraordinary aesthetic dignity is the only consolation we should seek or find in Shakespeare" (631). This quote helped to realize where the merit lies in these last four plays. They are either muddled with plot or contain no plot at all (which has similar implications), they contain characters that embody less complex personalities or are merely spirits, and extraordinary and absurd events occur at an alarmingly frequent rate. But the ambiguity that underlies it all is exactly what makes them so fantastic.

Shakespeare composed these plays intending to force us to see through and above. These are naked plays; it is easiest to cast of superfluities and transcend the trifles of plot and realistic characterization. What we are left with is purely aesthetic. 

We have to accept uncertainty and ambiguity for their aesthetic power. Keats says “the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration”. Negative capability implies the ability to appreciate or understand that which is not implicitly there, but outlined through speech that creates the space for it to exist in our imaginations; speech and form that is elevated to the highest aesthetic.

Aesthetic dignity.

 In these plays that many perceive as problematic or inferior to his earlier work, we are most able to revel in Shakespeare’s aesthetic quality. This is the genius of Shakespeare that shines through these plays; to transcend reality while simultaneously embodying elements that are more real than anything that could be described in realistic terms. In them we find that he truth cannot be accessed through the scrutiny of plot. The true play is not the play at all, but lies within that which is omitted, in that which we discover through our own transcendence and appreciation of Shakespeare’s aesthetic prowess. 

Perhaps I am looking at a potential paper topic...

A quick thought on Roberto's blog

I was just reading Roberto's blog, and he mentioned a few thoughts on Turner and the capacity of the mind that sparked a thought for me. He talks about the mind as a creative device rather than a storage device, mentioning how perhaps rather than encompassing the entire universe in our minds, the creative universe of our mind actually devises infinite ways to play out the same stories--so in that sense we are not encompassing the seemingly infinite universe, but rather creating it. (I hope I'm interpreting that correctly Roberto)


Deviating slightly from Roberto's point, it struck me that maybe we ARE able to contain the entire universe in our minds, because what appears to us as infinite, is in fact just a few things played out in an interminable number of ways-- which we find mirrored in the evolving and limitless possibilities that exist within Shakespeare's plays. If we can capture those few ideas/situations/plots/whatever they are from which everything else originates, then we have essentially encompassed the universe.


By contemplating seemingly inconclusive questions like "what does one truly need?", we are in fact sloughing off layers of constructed meaning and importance that have accumulated over thousands of years, to uncover the elemental, the origins, the truth. If we begin internalizing questions like this, then we have already embarked on that not-so-hopelessly-impossible task of containing the entire universe in our minds.

Just a bunch of hogwash and hooey

I don't know if anyone else has this problem, but whenever I visit an online dictionary site I get ridiculously distracted by all links to 'words of the day' and 'word games' and 'word blogs'. I typically forget what I came to search for in the first place, and wind up taking some stupid quiz or playing with flashcards. I attribute this to both my nerdy and procrastinatory tendencies.  

In any case, I was on the Merriam-Webster website yesterday, and found the link to a list they made of 'Top 10 Rare and Amusing Insults'. Score. They're awesome, and reminiscent of my favorite insult in the exchange between Kent and Oswold..."whoreson cullionly barber-monger". I've listed them below, but I'll also give you the link, because they provide you with definitions, along with context and information about the words. Ahem...

Cockalorum
Lickspittle
Smellfungus
Snollygoster
Ninnyhammer
Mumpsimus
Milksop
Hobbledehoy
Pettifogger
Mooncalf

I think I might pick a fight just so I can try some of these out (though I can imagine it would end quickly with the other person walking away stunned and disgusted, possibly laughing, muttering something about "those weirdo English majors" under their breath).

There are plenty more word lists on the site, and I clicked on one called 'User Submitted Words' and found it to basically be a bunch of neologisms that people have thought up and submitted. It's almost better than the list of insults, including words like 'drizzmal' and 'e-cquaitance'.

(there was also a list of phrases from Shakespeare, but I thought that one was silly, so don't bother yourself with it)

Fellow word nerds, enjoy!

The aftermath

Well. If we can take one thing away from the class quiz today (besides, of course, a relatively disappointing score) it is a realization of the depth of the texts we are dealing with. This isn't too say that we weren't aware from the beginning of their complexity and depth. We were well aware. So aware that many of us probably just did a little skimming, or dare I say didn't read at all, due to their intimidating, greek-word laden, content. In a more likely scenario, I'm sure many people did a fairly thorough reading once through. Just once, maybe going back through to highlight a couple key points or terms. But that should be adequate, right?

 Not so much. Considering that it is hardly the bold terms, famous quotes, or major points that we come to discuss in class, but rather the "passage that nobody ever pays attention to" or that obscure word that means 80 different things, or a mewling and puking infant...it is fruitless to do a quick, single read-through. Or a second. Or maybe even a third.  To suck the marrow from these texts we must constantly revisit them. As this course progresses, so to will the way we interpret the essays of Frye, and the mind-bending meanderings of Turner. I won't say anything about Hughes here because those of you who have chosen to read him are far braver than I. 

We need to live and breath these texts, allowing them to constantly invade our consciousness. We need to not only read Bloom, but to use him as a pillow when we go to sleep at night, hoping that by some grace of the literature god an osmotic process will take place and we will wake up knowing exactly how Shakespeare invented the human.

Perhaps this seems extreme. But the point is, it is not enough to merely READ Shakespeare's plays and all of the secondary works, or to internalize the theories laid out on the page. You have to find things that resonate with you personally, become familiar with the texts, and then expand or grow outside of them. That is how the genius connections are made, and seemingly insignificant passages are transformed into something greater and more symbolic than even the most oft quoted lines in Shakespeare. Of course, those are always important too, but until the day Sexson makes up a test without exceedingly erratic terms and references, I think I'll stick to the unpopular and peripheral stuff.

Fools and the Rhythm of Time

       To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

       Thereby to see the minutes of how they run,

       How many makes the hour full complete;

       How many hours brings about the day;

       How many years a mortal man may live.

       When this is known, then to divide the times.

Northrop Frye quotes this speech from Henry IV in Fools of Time, to explain the significance that the 'rhythm' of time plays in our understanding of fate in Shakespearean tragedy.

He begins with a clarification of what the word "fool" means in Shakespeare "when used in direct connection with time, nature, or fortune", which is, "essentially the person to whom things happen, the one who cannot control events". In tragedy, the successful ruler is one who embodies a combination of nature and fortune (or de jure and de facto power), or whose "fortune is better synchronized with the natural course of events". Some may equate this to the powers of fate, but as Frye suggests, that would be to over-simplify the concept. 

These successful rulers are contrasted to other figures in tragedy, such as the tragic rebel or the traitor. These figures commit themselves primarily to fortune alone, disregarding the rhythms of nature and natural courses of events that would help to determine their fate, so to speak. Once the decision is made to commit an act, once their will becomes a force, they have "broken through the continuity of time" and no longer occupy the present, but rather a hallucinatory state somewhere between the future movement and the past. This movement, as Frye notes, certainly intercedes into the affairs of men, but is NOT "the instrument of nature, whose rhythms, if often destructive and terrible, are always leisurely".

This contrasts to the successful ruler, who "experiences time as the rhythm of his actions". He occupies an immediate past and immediate future, doing things when it is time to do them, devoid of anxiety or regret, because "he acts as an agent or instrument for the decisions of nature". 

The reason I found this to be particularly relevant today, was because Frye connects Henry IV's lament with the interaction between Touchstone and Jaques in Act II Scene 7, lines 12-34

     "Call me not a fool till heaven hath sent me fortune."

     And then he drew a dial from his poke, 

     And looking on it with lackluster eye,

     Says very wisely, "It is ten o' clock.

     Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags.

     'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,

     And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;

     And so, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;

     And thereby hangs a tale."

In both of these passages the concept of time as a real entity, not as some abstraction to be ignored or fought against, is symbolic of a higher order of nature. The cycle of nature is more telling that the cycles that take place within history. Though history is indicative of the passions and instincts of man, it is not the ultimate order within which our 'fate' is submitted. To live synchronistically with the flow of time, to occupy a state of consciousness but also submission,  is to elevate oneself and all subsequent actions to a course that is purely natural. Therein then lies a sense of immortality among a very real, growing, and decaying mortality.

The concept of the pastoral is irremovable then from the discussion of the rhythm of time. Depicting visions of a simpler, more natural world, it stimulates questions about the merits of a contemplative lifestyle versus an active, decisive one. The setting of As You Like It is obviously then very telling. And though far from the tragedies Frye is outlining, begs the reader's consideration of these questions of mortality, 'fate', and the action of the characters.

   

Yukio Mishima

The discussion we had in class today about Yukio Mishima sounded extremely familiar to me, but I couldn't quite figure out why. Then it occurred to me that one of my brilliant friends actually wrote a blog post about Mishima.

For a little background information, my friend Caroline is an Art major at the University of Maine, and decided to create a blog chronicling her journey of reading a book from every Library of Congress subsection. (When I found out she was composing this blog, I accused her of having too much free time on her hands, then silently scorned myself for not reaching my full English major potential and thinking this up myself). In any case, her first book choice was From Africa to Zen: An Invitation to World Philosophy, and her subsequent blog post was taken from the chapter of the book on Japan, detailing none other than the story of Mishima.

Rereading the post now, I distinctly remember having to look up the definition of seppuku, then reeling in horror. But I think Caroline does a great job of interpreting the story and analyzing the aesthetics of death (as the blog is so aptly titled). I also cannot get over the coincidence of this topic coming up in two completely separate circumstances. Total mind blow.

Here's the link to the post: http://nowoverdue.wordpress.com/2010/12/12/aesthetic-death/

And if you are interested, I highly encourage you to read a few of her other posts on the blog, there is some pretty fascinating material.

Weights and Levers

While reading The School of Night, I also was struck by the amount of scientific and theoretical material that was presented. I did my best to try and follow some of these concepts, but mostly ended up getting lost in that never-ending stream of links that makes Wikipedia so enchanting. One thing I did find was Nicholas Hilliard's portrait miniature of Henry Percy, 9th Earl of Northumberland, which Turner describes in the context of the theme of levers and weights, wherein a great weight on one side can be sustained by a featherweight on the other.

It is difficult to see, but written under the feather is the motto 'tanti' meaning "so much" and "so little", according to Turner.

 This seemingly obscure reference is elucidated a few paragraphs down from the description, where the actual principle of the lever, "whereby a lesser weight balances a greater across a fulcrum by means of a proportionate difference in the length of the beam ends, can be extended and abstracted in a very suggestive way". This abstraction is...well I might as well just copy the rest of the paragraph instead of butchering the explanation:

"In theory, for instance, an infinite weight could be properly balanced by an infinitesimal one if the scales are properly biassed: the world against a feather. The weightless thoughts of man can effectively control the massive universe itself, if correct principles of rational transformation–proper levers, pulleys, lenses, clocks, quadrants–can be found. The microcosm can not only reflect, but control, the macrocosm."(Turner)

I found this paragraph particularly important because it finally leads into the concept behind the mnemonic technology that can allow man's memory to encompass the entire universe. Is The School of Night is asserting that man can rule the universe with his thoughts?  If you think not, perhaps consider this idea:

"if we can inhabit that nothingness, colonize it with plantations, so to speak, we shall gain magical control over the world. Even the difference between man and God becomes trivial if the lever which weighs them is properly adjusted"(Turner)

These guys mean business.

Let the transformation begin

What do I know about Shakespeare? My initial inclination towards that question is to list all of the works I’ve read, plays I’ve seen, rumors I’ve heard, and movies I’ve watched with spin off plots. And I guess it really couldn’t hurt to share that.

As an ambitious fourth grader, I decided to do a book report on Romeo and Juliet. Of course I didn’t actually know anything about Shakespeare, and simply chose the play because I liked the picture on the book cover. After attempting to read the first page I was horrified, and the only reason I finished it was because my dad selflessly took it upon himself to read it with me (at a painstakingly slow pace) and relay Shakespearian language to the best of his ability. I don’t remember how the book report turned out, but I’m sure it was awesome.

Shortly after, I too played the part of Hermia in the 6^th grade class’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. At that point I still knew nothing about Shakespeare, except that he could accommodate fairies and donkeys and lovers in the same plot. Unfortunately this was overshadowed by my 12-year-old vanity at how cool I looked dressed up in a toga.

 To delve into more significant experiences, I’ve been an avid attendant of the Idaho Shakespeare Festival’s productions, seeing everything from Taming of the Shrew to creative compilations of his complete works. I’ve also encountered his plays and poetry in several other literature classes, but feel as though I’ve merely glimpsed at the genius and history and irony that is this man’s work.

Of course, aside from delineating what I ‘know’ about Shakespeare, I’ve had enough Sexson lectures to understand that I am probably much more familiar with Shakespeare than I realize, and that the sphere of Shakespeare exists to far greater depths than I am able to imagine at this stage.  So with that I guess I’ll just say that I’m hooked! That glorifying yet burdensome feeling of knowing everything that you get from the conclusion of one of Dr. Sexson’s courses has already dissipated at the onset of another.