In doing research for my paper I came across this passage and thought it might be interesting to the rest of you as well:
"It has often been maintained, both in England and America, that in order to render faithfully Shakespeare's creations one must be of English stock, on th plea that the poet was himself an Englishman, and therefore could only bring forth personages endowed with English characteristics, which cannot be successfully grasped by any foreigners. This argument seems both narrow and disparaging to the genius of Shakespeare.
Many authors, either historians or poets, have perfectly understood, either by study and observation, or by intuition, sometimes better called 'inspiration,' the peculiarities of other nationalities or races. Why refuse this knowledge or intuition to Shakespeare?
We foreigners, born outside of the magic pale of the Anglo-Saxon race, place Shakespeare upon a much higher pedestal. We claim that, before being English, he was human, and that his creations are not bound either by local or ethnological limits, but belong to humanity in general."
-Helena Modjeska: Memories and Impressions, 1910

Shakespeare in a Context

Gender and Such

Hello everyone!

In researching my final project, I've come across some very interesting scientific research that I find so tantalizing that I thought I'd share it with you all.

What I found was a rather scientific book from 1998 rotting on the third floor of the Bobst Library. I say "rotting" with detest, as I am a closeted bibliophile and this book had only ever been checked out once; meaning that it has hardly been touched and that just boils my blood. Especially when the content of this book is so oddly fascinating. Essentially, this group of scientists suggest (based on research, blah, blah, blah; I skipped that part because I couldn't pronounce half the words in my head let alone with my tongue) that our perceptions of our gender--and of gender in general--are mostly derived from the hormones we are exposed to as fetuses... and those perceptions are then enforced, or in some cases contradicted, by society for the rest of our existence.

For me, this is a wild and radical notion--I had no idea this theory existed or could be backed up with cold hard meticulous modern science. I wonder why this wasn't publicized, on the news, something! It's gotten me to thinking that maybe the reason I'm very forward and blunt where most women would be "feminine" is because my mother did an intense amount of home improvement projects while pregnant, releasing more testosterone into the womb. Or, perhaps the reason my fiancee is so cuddly and girlish lies in fact that his mother practiced religious meditation while she was pregnant with him. Maybe these values of physical activity or religiosity were enhanced in us by the families we grew up in and that's why we view gender and gender roles the way we do--as something that's there, but fluid and indeterminate, something we can flip and flop as the situation moves us. I just think it's terribly interesting.

Thoughts?

Belated Responses: the rare, the valuable, and the unused

I apologize for these belated remarks in response to Christie's, and partially the Morgan, but I have been unable to log into my account for the last couple weeks! So now that I am able to log in again, I am delighted to share with you all the following thoughts:

Setting aside my delight at sustaining such a close proximity to the very important collection of documents and books that we were privileged to see a couple of Fridays ago, as well as my delight at seeing such an incredible cultural New York landmark for the first time, I left Christie’s feeling a mixed sense of pleasure at the treatment and honor given to these objects. In my mind, it is indisputable that they are important and need preserving. But what our heated discussion left me questioning was “why?” Not “why” as in “why is it important,” but “why” as in for what purpose, or to what ends, do we preserve things of such importance?

            Certainly I think I’m on the side of our argument that believes in the worth of an object not only for its artistic and intellectual merit but also for its historical, cultural, social-status significance. If I had enough disposable income, I can very much see myself paying millions of dollars for a particular edition of a book, a rare signature, or a particularly important series of handwritten documents from a favorite author, completely regardless of context (especially something like that incredible journal entry that we discovered in the Morgan Library & Museum, written by Tennessee Williams regarding his mishaps with a whore). However, what I cannot wrap my head around is what to do with said supposed object once it is in my possession!

In the actual library part of the Morgan, I was looking at the displayed Gutenberg Bible when an old man came up beside me and started ranting on the paper making process in an effort to convey the importance of proper paper preservation. His charming temper seemed to be absolutely flaring the more he spoke, as we stood there admiring such valuable literature, at the prospect that the Morgan would allow so much light on the pages. He practically started cursing as his adorable English accent berated their leaving it open for public observation for such a grotesque length of time. And impressionable as I am when faced with such a passionate and endearing foreign accent, I agreed with him. How could anyone not do anything and everything in their power to ensure as long a survival as possible for great and valuable works?

But last week, I realized that, in fact, my lines are much more fuzzy than that. There was immeasurable ecstasy in the moment my finger got to touch Charles Dickens’ signature…pristine ink, golden edged paper, crackling pages, old smell… a beyond thrilling sensation. Was it for its sake, or was it because touching this book with his signature was rare and normally would have been forbidden? I think both on some level. This really put into perspective for me the question between institutions owning these pieces and private collectors owning these pieces. As our venerable professor pointed out at some point, when a public institution possesses these artifacts, they are then available for us to see. But this unfortunately sacrifices the proximity you get to the artifacts. So, either a lot of people get to be far away from it but see it, or a few people get to be really close to it and do more than see it if they so choose. Now if I haven’t already admitted this to the world, I share Professor Smith-Howard’s secret desire to be a librarian (either in this life or the next) but for the first time in my life, I found myself rebelling inside and wanting to scream, “seeing it, knowing it exists- that is not enough!”  My fingers ached for more fodder for my adrenaline. Everything I saw- especially the playbill for The Christmas Carol which somewhere expressed “overwhelming public desire for Shakespeare” that was occurring during that time period- which so excited me that it is probably safer that I did not touch it. My whole life I have had a love affair with rare manuscripts as they stare up at me from behind their pristine glass cages, now suddenly I felt as though I could not settle for less than touching and experiencing all of these things viscerally.

And what’s more, suddenly I had found something better than either a library or a museum: Christie’s is free and it lets me play! Don’t misunderstand me, I worked once in the preservation department of a music library, so I completely understand the importance and meticulous process involved in preservation, care and repairs of valuable manuscripts and the like. On a very basic level, protection from snotty teenagers who would happily scribe profanity on the sanctified pages; and on a deeper, less-though-of level, even us idolizers/well-meaners could transfer dangerous oils or germs from our hands etc, on the delicate sheets of paper. I get it. However, is it worth not getting to hold, handle or utilize the piece the way you may want to, EVER? To tell you the truth, I was a little miffed at the Morgan Library librarian for not letting us touch the first folio we saw- I mean, she wasn’t even wearing gloves or doing anything too special to handle it.

From an exceptionally young age, I was allowed by my mother to use her valuable, fragile, antique tea cups whenever we were having tea (which was frequently). She raised me to believe that it was not worth having something in the cupboard just to gather dust; it is better for something to get broken having made wonderful memories with you, than never having been utilized at all. She never feared the teacups being broken; that kind of faith in my ability to handle them, as well as that kind of anti-materialism made a lasting impression on me. So now I am forced to wonder the same things about these million dollar books: if we’re not preserving and selling them to use them, what are we doing with them? Is it enough to simply look at them; is it worth the sacrifice of not ever actually experiencing them in the way they were made to be experienced?

"Macbeth" On Broadway

Hi everybody!

Re. Samantha's in-class announcement about how to see "Macbeth" for free by ushering, I thought I'd post some contact information for the theatre. Would anyone be interested in attending together and then discussing the show over dinner or something?

The Lyceum Theatre on Broadway
149 W 45th St
New York, NY 10036
(212) 239-6200

The Christies Conflict

Last week's inappropriately heated discussion in the middle of the Christies viewing room left me with lingering thoughts about the ethics involved while dealing with such obscenely priced collectibles, specifically the Folio that sold for 6.5 million dollars in October 2001.
At first, I was really shocked and even upset at hearing this news. 6.5 million dollars for a book? Yes, it is an original and yes it essentially serves as a piece of art and not as much as a piece of literature-- so you aren't just paying an absurdly large amount of money for words that you could buy for $12.50, you are buying something special, something irreplaceable, and something that is obviously not priceless. This is what I expressed last week and Bertrum and I essentially teamed up to go up against the Shakespeare disciples who seemed to empathize with the tremendous purchase.
Over the week, I brought the subject up to several of my friends, one time with a friend of mine and his father, whose girlfriend actually just got a masters from Christies in England and is now working in the building we just visited. It was during this conversation that I realized I was being judgmental in a situations where is was not really my place. Some people in this world have unnaturally large amounts of money in their bank accounts. Some people give a lot of it to people who have far less than them, while the majority buy sports cars and other luxuries because...they can.
Everyday I am disgusted at the socioeconomic situation in this country, more specifically this city, that allows for people who have 6.5 million dollars to spend on an original Shakespeare to live literally right next to, but completely alienated from a family that cannot pay their rent in one of the cheapest neighborhoods in this city. I could never imagine spending 6.5 million dollars on a single item, and I hope that this sentiment remains if I ever become extremely successful. However, I could obviously never tell other people how to spend money that they or their family did earn at some point in time and I cannot quite empathize with the desire to obtain one of Shakespeare's First Folio.

I can, however, begin to empathize with this: http://most-expensive.net/guitar-in-world

How much do you think that will be worth in 150 years?

On Christie's

I couldn't post my reaction to Christie's until now because I actually went to the Interiors Auction yesterday and bid on a few things. It was an experience. I'm now registered as a buyer at Christie's. I'm not sure what that makes me, but I suppose it's something.

My original intent was to go and bid on a pair of armchairs that were appraised at $200 a pop--which is cheaper than a similar, brand-spankin-new chair from Target, mind you. I was a little shell shocked when the bidding started at $800. I was shaking my head in disbelief when the chairs sold for $4,800. Over $6,000, with Christie's commission included. (lot 640) Now, THAT was silly. Five minutes previous, I'd seen a pair of table lamps go for a measly fifty bucks. What the hell, Christie's, what the hell?

If I had known that the object of my furniture fetish was going to go for so much, I might have actually challenged this old gentleman for a lovely butcher block worktable from the eighteenth century that would have looked great in my kitchen. Instead, I let him have it for $200 (lot 586). Such is life. Next time, next time....

But some good came out of my auctioneering extravaganza--I made friends with one of the receptionists! She informed me in whispers that there is a poorly attended, "rummage sale-esque" Interiors Auction (aka house cleaning) every August that features no reserves and over half the items go for fifty bucks or less. If any of you are in the market for some funky antiques or vintage furnishings, this is the mothership. It doesn't cost any money to register (you just need a photo ID and a check book) and sitting in the auction is also free. Any reason to use their restrooms again, right? :)

On Verdi's Otello at the Met

Renee Fleming.

Enough said.

But if I have to say more, I was utterly fascinated by the interpretation of Shakespeare's Othello into opera. The 4 act structure is particularly striking because it seems somehow, uneven, or without a central point. Though each plot point of the story is pretty decently hit, the pacing feels drastically different. I suppose this is because the plot points become simply an impetus to get to the arias and quartets. I think, to some extent, this idea can be found in the original play as well. Soliloquies and intimately passionate scenes often stand out more prominently in Shakespeare than the overall story in which they are involved. In opera, their vocal equivalents seem to even more fully comprise the piece. Particularly in Otello, the arais seem to expound upon a theme, idea, or characterization, rather than story or plot. For example, a little recitative between Cassio and Iago (plot) launches us into Iago's "Credo in un Dio crudel," (I believe in a cruel god) a moment which seems to wholly absorb the act which encases it.

The opera comes off as pointedly dependent upon its source play. It's as if we the audience know the characters and events so fully, that the opera seeks to take advantage of our knowledge, taking us through songs to real illumination of moments where Shakespeare is more subtle. Two such moments stand out in bold relief. One in Iago's "Credo in un Dio crudel" (stated above) in which the blatant demonic nature of Iago is revealed to the audience early on and to a drastic extent. Shakespeare's Iago of "I hate the Moore"-a motiveless villain aligned with hell, and yet ever subtle in his nature, as if constantly eluding our comprehension- is literally given voice with the rich, deep, soaring melody in which he announces proudly "I am evil because I am a man; and I feel the primeval slime in me... Death is Nothingness. Heaven is an old wives tale!" The second moment comes at the close of the opera, in Desdemona's "Willow Song" and "Ave Maria." Here, the heroine seems fully aware of her death at a time when Shakespeare's heroine seems unprepared. Othello's line "have you pray'd tonight, Desdemon?... I would not kill thy soul," is given a resounding answer in the opera. Her prayer comes after a bitterly sad, and surprisingly quaint song of self awareness, aligning herself with a poor maiden forsaken by her lover. These songs involve mournful repetitions and brief dying bursts into the soprano's lightest range. Their poignancy, in part, derives from what we as an audience know of Desdemona's fate. She is given the last word that we wish she had in Shakespeare's play, where her passing seems so abrupt- "put out the light." 

In both cases, the opera seems to grant us a kind of wish fulfillment while relying on the audience's knowledge of the text to support a dramatic moment. I was therefore surprised to read in my production notes that Italian audiences only became familiar with Shakespeare in the 19th century. (Verdi's Macbeth of 1847, it tells me, "predated the play's first Italian performance.") Reading on, I find that Verdi himself, however, was very familiar with Shakespeare, claiming "'I have had his works in my hands since my earliest youth. I have read and re-read him constantly.'" It seems, then, that it is perhaps the composer's wish fulfillment which finds realization in the opera- a wish for Iago to be a true demon unleashed from hell, and Desdemona an angel, allowed to say her final prayer and let the audience morn with her before she is gone. I count myself lucky that Verdi gave these wishes to us in more universal language than Shakespeare's English.

Also, Renee Fleming. I mean. really.

On Bryson

I love Bill Bryson but didn't know he had come out with a biography of Shakespeare. How deliciously fitting to walk into the uptown Shakespeare Book Sellers and see Bryson's book, Shakespeare: The World as Stage, on display, ready for impromptu purchasing.

This came at the end of the day of the Christie's visit, and appropriately the first page mentions an auction held by the "London firm of Christie and Manson" which put up for sale the effects of the second Duke of Buckingham and Chandos from his house in Stowe. It was "among the furnishings of the house," Bryson explains, that the "Chandos Portrait," believed to be possibly of Shakespeare, was found in 1848. It is one of the few possible (varied and unsatisfying) likenesses of Shakespeare that we have. And on that note begins my new favorite biography of the man. Bryson manages to create a biography that contextualizes the author, and includes notes about when discoveries about him have been made and by whom. I was struck by the plethora of simple facts that I had never come across. For example, a lot of attention and praise is given to Shakespeare as a prolific writer, a fact I took for granted, but Bryson points out that compared with other writers of his day, he was decidedly not.

Bryson manages to include details about Elizabethan society, even performance techniques and traditions, including the fact that sheep's or pig's organs "and a little sleight of hand made possible the lifting of hearts from bodies in murder scenes" (so it wasn't just stylized red cloth or corn syrup!) and the fact that admission money was "dropped into a box, which was taken to a special room for safe keeping- the box office." (word origin always fascinates...me, anyway.) But these details pepper the book, providing a constant stream of information both about and around Shakespeare, rather than comprising a separate chapter on, say, "stage conventions in Shakespeare's England." Bryson also spends a good deal of time on the First Folio (including a trip to the Folger in D.C) and details the process of its creation whereby one scholar "determined that no two volumes...[are] the same." 

The biography finishes with a vehement argument against anti-Stratfordians in which Byson states that "one must really salute the ingenuity of the anti-Stratfordian enthusiasts who, if they are right, have managed to uncover the greatest literary fraud in history without the benefit of anything that could reasonably be called evidence, four hundred years after it was perpetuated." (I feel compelled to say that nothing but my own, personal agreement with that statement made me repeat it here. Also, Bryson takes the anti-Stratfordian argument apart, by both presenting and refuting each of its proponents very deftly- but you should read the book if you want to see how he does so.) I particularly enjoyed the fact that of the anti-Stratfordians in the early twentieth century, some surnames included: Looney, Sillimen and Battey.

Other than the opinion that Shakespeare was Shakespeare, (an opinion you'd have to be of to pen a biography- lets hope) Bryson is refreshingly un-opinionated (or at least, without some hidden intention) when it comes to Shakespeare himself. He is not creating a character (Greenblatt, Burgess) or imposing a value system (Bloom, Auden) but rather presenting how much we do and do not know about Shakespeare, the time in which he lived and the times which have embraced him since.

Next, I'm moving onto his A Short History of Nearly Everything.

On Christie's

The first thought that struck me upon entering Christie's "Kenyon Starling Library of Charles Dickens collection" was that despite the collection's obviously precise and detailed presentation (from wall plaques to well placed lighting and a beautifully produced auction book) the collection itself was markedly...dull. As much as I love old books and letters (and I truly, truly do), I can't help but feel that these objects do not immediately scream "status" in the way that a Picasso or Tiffany lamp does. Seeing these bland brown and navy books lying in their taupe enclosures, I could only think of the ultimate presentation they would be given in their new homes. Would they be locked away in a climate-controlled safe? Or put in an equally bland and pointedly (even starkly) lit enclosure in some museum or stately home? The whole air surrounding Christie's is one that both caters to and represents "elitism." The effects could be directly felt in the Contemporary gallery where the somewhat pretentious pieces begged to be given equally pretentious homes. One is constantly aware that the people looking at these works (with an aim to buy) are doing so with an idea not just of love of something beautiful or historic, but of investment and display of wealth. A first edition of A Christmas Carol doesn't scream "wealth" across a room- if indeed it is visible at all. And displaying such "wealth" must be a difficult prospect.

I discussed my experience with a friend of mine who works in a gallery in the city and she seemed to prefer the idea of buying art over books- art is something readily legible and easy to appreciate. But her reaction to Christie's was not one that I expected. The idea of art being sold somewhere other than a gallery utterly disgusted her. She said it is very unwise to sell contemporary art through an auction house because often the auction houses don't take into account the status of the market. They don't take control over the number of pieces put up for sale- a fact that can directly affect the price they fetch. A gallery may hold onto work, displaying one or two items for sale at a time, calculating (or controlling?)when the market is ripe for display and sale. They can (try to) control or create the demand for the artist. Additionally, a gallery may court several museums or collections- pitting them agaisnt one another to create competition and guarantee that the work ends up where it will be displayed, maintained and available to the public. I hadn't thought while wondering through the Contemporary Art at Christie's that those artists may actually look "desperate" (her words) and that appearing at an auction house rather than a gallery may be somehow irresponsible, both in terms of the money the artist can make, and the collection their work becomes part of. The idea of commerce that imprisons everything at Christie's was furthter heightened by the remarks of my gallery-biased friend. It seems there is nothing that can't be given a price tag, but more than that, those price tags are being constantly manipulated, and people devote their lives to the best way to manipulate them.

In a nice little "full circle" moment, I visited the Anthropologie store at Rockefeller Center after leaving Christie's and found a brilliant piece of book-art. An enormous frame enclosed a giant cameo-esque portrait of a lady that seemed to be set on a patchwork background. Upon closer inspection, the patchwork revealed itself as book bindings flattened out and overlapping, and the portrait was comprised of lines of text instead of sketch marks or paint strokes. Though expensive (by retail standards) this piece of art seemed to appeal to the bibliophile in a much more pure and simple way then the first edition Dickens at Chrisite's. It was conventionally pretty and uncomplicated in its message. Its eventual owner won't buy it because of the artist's "name" ( I don't think the store even displayed it) or even the texts it incorperates. His or her primary intentions won't be preservation for posterity or display of wealth. Its owner will be a book lover, with a secure income and an aim to beautify his or her home in a manner befitting his or her taste. It's just odd to realize that the pieces on auction at Christie's may not eventually wind up in the hands of someone who loves them in the same way. 

Then again, the facts that books aren't "pretty" may mean that they are more assured of ending up with someone who truly appreciates them for what they are historically and what they hold in their pages than how they display "wealth." 

Oliver Twist = $229,000

April 2 (Bloomberg) -- A first edition of ``Oliver Twist,'' Charles Dickens's tale of a scrappy young orphan making his way among a band of thieves in 19th-century London, sold for $229,000 at Christie's International in New York today, a record for the British novelist.

First Edition Oliver Twist = $229,000
Oliver Twist on Amazon.com = $4.99

You can buy over 45,000 copies from Amazon.com for the price of one!

Christie's Education

Mamma Says Do Your Research

Christies - rare books and roaring debates

I've had a few days to marinate on our Christies visit. I was so excited to go mostly because I have seen Christies portrayed in so many movies. It's always viewed as this mythic place - filled with artifacts and treasures. It is that, of course, but it's also a place to separate 'the men from the boys'.

The people who go to Christies are people of status - as we've discussed. That lead to my asking the question "do you need an invitation to come to an auction?" and when the answer was that Christies' auctions were all open to the public, I was quite shocked. It seemed so counter intuitive to me. Isn't Christies where the intelligent and rich and esteemed people come to flex their muscles and satisfy their appetites for their preferred curiosities? Why would some 'normal' person come inside?

This point of view, I suppose, fuels the legend that is Christies. It feels so unattainable. But, it looked no different from any of the prestigious libraries and places we've visited thus far. And those places don't feel unattainable at all - they are places of education and as such give off an open feeling. Maybe that's what separates Christies - it's not an educational atmosphere as much as a financial one. A rich one.

All in all - I loved going to Christies because it gave me a chance to see a landmark in New York that I've long wanted to see. The rare book collection was great to see - that inscribed printing of A Christmas Carol was spectacular. But I really took in what everyone was saying about Christies in terms of the sheer amount of dollars that pass through it and the unethical aspects of it. I really had never thought about that previously. I just thought the whole thing was pretty kick ass. I now see all sides of the argument - and it's complicated. Really complicated.

Nerd Alert

Without betraying too much of my nerdiness, I thought I might point out a fun little detail from the John Adams miniseries now showing on HBO. From the book American Shakespearean Criticism, reprinted in our reader:

"A number of the leaders of the Revolution owned copies of Shakespeare. ... At least three signers of the Declaration of Independence, John Adams, Francis Hopkinson, and John Penn, owned copies." (Westfall 38)

A quick google search turned up John Adams' personal library catalogued online at johnadamslibrary.org, which is actually a pretty neat site. Sure enough, Adams owned two separate printings of Shakespeare's complete works, one from 1748 and the other printed in 1761, which contains "the author's life; a glossary; and copious indexes."

All of which leads one to believe that the people who worked on this HBO production, especially the set designers, did their homework (via David McCullough) when they chose to hang the framed Droeshout engraving of the bard from the frontispiece of the First Folio on a wall in the Adams home in Boston. 

It's hard to spot; I had to rewind to make sure I wasn't seeing things. But he was there! Hanging on the wall before someone slammed the door, walked out, or something similar. Now whether Adams actually owned a copy of the engraving is more of a stretch, but I was pleased by the inclusion of such a tiny detail, anyway.

The image in question: