Via The Shakespeare Geek, we learn of Madeline, who has made good progress on a project to record herself reading all of Shakespeare’s sonnets on YouTube.

These recordings stand out very favorably among the many who have put themselves speaking Shakespeare online. She doesn’t feel the need to over-emote, but instead trusts and enjoys the words of the poet. Shakespeare’s language seems to come very naturally to her, and the videos are a pleasure to watch. Also, I think because she’s so young, she brings a freshness and vitality to her readings, and makes the old poems feel relevant for a new generation.

Here she is doing a favorite of this blog, Sonnet LV:

More here.

You can say anything you want:

For hundreds of years, people have questioned whether William Shakespeare wrote the plays that bear his name. The mystery is fueled by the fact that his biography simply doesn’t match the areas of knowledge and skill demonstrated in the plays. Nearly a hundred candidates have been suggested, but none of them fit much better. Now a new candidate named Amelia Bassano Lanier – the so-called ‘Dark Lady’ of the Sonnets and a member of an Italian/Jewish family – has been shown to be a perfect fit.

Via the Shakespeare Geek, who is kind enough to suspect that the whole thing is a put on.

I worked with junior high school students on haiku poetry today.

Actually, I’ve been doing quite a bit of haiku lately, as it’s part of our poetry unit. It’s an easy form for the kids to write, though their free verse poetry is so much more compelling.

Do you have a favorite haiku? Neither do I.

Frankly, I think haiku is lost to the ear of the English speaker. Haiku is a Japanese language form, and it doesn’t translate well into English. The 5-7-5 pattern of syllables sounds different in Japanese, which uses a largely consistent consonant-vowel syllable construction.

English speakers don’t hear syllable counts; we hear stress patterns and rhyme schemes. Take the wildly popular limerick. There’s no syllable counting in limericks. A limerick has a stress pattern of 3,3,2,2,3 with a matching rhyme scheme. Two limericks could have a radically different syllable count and still sound correct.

Generally there are two unstressed syllables per stressed syllable, but even that’s flexible. In fact, we could take out all of the unstressed syllables and it would still kind of sound like a limerick:

Man From France
Did Quick Dance.
Asked Why,
Would Cry
“Ants In Pants!”

But if the stress pattern or rhyme scheme were different, we wouldn’t accept it as a good limerick. On the other hand, if a haiku were a syllable or two off in either direction, we’d agree it wasn’t a haiku, but our ear wouldn’t hear the problem.

Anyway, I’m still going to teach haiku, but that needed to be said.

Sonnet LV:

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
‘Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Through brilliant sonnet rendered fifty-five,
Our poet really gives his honored trust,
In vows to quill his subject still alive,
While royals’ crypts in stone shall fall to dust;
But in short times who really truly knew,
Some simpler verse should many moons endure?
Imagine what this tribute should construe,
If real immortal fame were promised sure.
Fans read with universal lilting rote,
To wonder who that dreamboat could have been
Who should inspire this sonorous rhymed note,
As boy Fate slyly’s rolling such a grin:
All fame went to the author of that rhyme,
And not this unknown person lost to time.

Via News on the Rialto we find an article about comic book versions of Shakespeare’s plays with updated simplified language:

Shakespeare’s plays are being rewritten as comic strips for pupils who find his poetry boring, it emerged today.

Thousands of teenagers are to study cartoon versions of famous plays such as Macbeth which reduce finely-crafted passages to snappy phrases.

The publishers hope the comics – illustrated by artists who have worked on the Spiderman series – will inspire disaffected readers with a love of the Bard’s plays.

No disrespect to Spiderman, but this won’t instill anyone with a love for anything, and certainly not the Bard’s plays. Shakespeare writes using the language of poetry, which means that every word choice is significant. The interplay, music, and structure of the language is fundamental in Shakespeare’s development of plot, character, and theme. You can’t just use your Spidey sense to paraphrase this stuff and call it Shakespeare.

The Shakespeare Geek demonstrates why.

I actually like the idea of comic book versions of Shakespeare plays, as long as they use the original language. You can even abbreviate the language in comic book form. But once you take away the language, you are no longer reading Shakespeare. It’s not even dumbed-down Shakespeare. You may as well just read something else.

For example, you may wish to read these comic books that deal with delicate problems for children. It seems that even Spiderman has a secret.

That’s what you get for messing with Shakespeare.

Most crossword puzzles are two-dimensional. They have across and down clues.

This puzzle is one-dimensional. It has forward and backward clues. And all of the answers have to do with Shakespeare.

There’s not much space here, but imagine a horizontal row of 39 squares.

There are no black squares. All answers should be run together one after another with no spaces.

Post whatever you come up with. Feel free to use the comments section of this post to collaborate. The final answer will be a string of 39 letters that can be read in both directions.

Enjoy!

Forward (Left to Right)

1 – 8: Hamlet’s home

9 – 12: Briefly betrothed to Edward IV

13 – 16: The smallest fairy?

17 – 20: “A Lover’s Complaint”

21 – 26: Speaker of “If music be the food of love, play on”

27 – 32: Does Macbeth see one before him?

33 – 39: Twelfth Night‘s Antonio once wore one (2 words)

Backward (Right to Left)

39 – 38: Scotland setting in Macbeth-like film

37 – 32: He is as constant as the northern star

31 – 29: Lear’s Fool will give you two crowns for one of these

28 – 23: The love of Venus

22 – 18: He loved Rosaline first

17 – 14: Companion to Hal and Falstaff at the Boar’s Head

13 – 11: What a piece of work it is!

10 – 5: He knows a bank where the wild thyme blows

4 – 1: Tempest setting

UPDATE: See comments for a big hint by Duane.

UPDATE II: Puzzle solved by Neel Mehta. See comments for answer.

What are you reading right now?

I don’t mean right this second, because obviously you’re reading this blog. That’s because you’re one of the heroes.

But in general, what have you been reading lately? Is it something for work? For school? For pleasure? Professional development? Have you read it before, or is it something new? How did you hear about it?

Or do you “not have time” to read?

Right now, I’m reading The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature by Steven Pinker and Awakening the Heart: Exploring Poetry in Elementary and Middle School by Georgia Heard.

I’m reading The Blank Slate for pleasure, mostly because I just taught a lesson on nature vs. nurture for my education students, and I’ve lately become very interested in Pinker. So far, I’m really enjoying it. Pinker is a brilliant mind with an engaging writing style, writing on topics that meet where science intersects with politics. Great stuff!

I’m reading Awakening the Heart in anticipation of a poetry unit I’ll be facilitating in various junior high school classrooms in New York City after Spring Break. I’ve really just started the book, so perhaps I’ll have more to say on it anon.

What are you reading right now?

Before clinical depression was first diagnosed, a person afflicted with the condition was referred to as melancholy. It was believed that our physical and emotional states were determined by the distribution of the four humours, or bodily fluids, each of which had a different effect if it fell out of balance. If you had an excess of black bile, for example, you were melancholic, and would seem moody and sad. Today, we understand this to be depression, but in Shakespeare’s time, the humours were the best science of the day, and the affliction was called melancholy.

Melancholy can be found throughout Shakespeare. Don John begins Much Ado About Nothing in a sadness. Hamlet is definitely depressed, and is often given the nickname The Melancholy Dane. You might argue that they both have reason to be. But Antonio’s first line of The Merchant of Venice, in fact the first line of the play, “In sooth, I know not why I am so sad,” leaves little doubt that Shakespeare was familiar with the concept of clinical depression by another name.

After Hamlet, perhaps the most famous melancholic in Shakespeare is Jaques from As You Like It. He is referred to in the play as “the melancholy Jaques” and even seems to take some pleasure in the description himself. From this, we might gather that he is depressed as well. But I would actually argue that he’s bipolar.

Bipolar disorder (which also used to be misdiagnosed as melancholy) is characterized by extreme mood swings between depression and bursts of manic energy. People with bipolar disorder used to be called manic depressive. And even though it wasn’t known about in Shakespeare’s time, Shakespeare must have been aware of different ways that “melancholy” affected certain people, and wrote Jaques as bipolar. How else can we explain the outburst by “the melancholy Jaques” in the beginning of Act 2, Scene 7:

A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world!
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun,
And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
“Good morrow, fool,” quoth I. “No, sir,” quoth he,
“Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.”
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, “It is ten o’clock;
Thus may we 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 ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

Does that sound depressed to you? Does it sound neutral? Or does it sound manic? In addition to the numerous exclamation points, the exaggerated repetition (used as an emphatic) and run-on sentences (notice how many lines begin with “And”) seem to indicate manic speech patterns. Hamlet doesn’t have any speeches like that, or if he does, they are soliloquies, and can be more closely equated to the thoughts racing through his own mind than to his behavior in public.

Depression is marked by listlessness and inaction. Hamlet is almost defined by his inaction. He is withdrawn and other characters must come to him. But throughout As You Like It, Jaques actively seeks out relationships and interactions with the other characters, first with Amiens and the other lords, then with Touchstone (off-stage), then with the Duke Senior and his assembly, then with Orlando (!), then with Touchstone again, then with Ganymede/Rosalind (!!), and finally with Duke Frederick (!!!). He may be bitter and dismissive, but he can hardly be called aloof or withdrawn. When we first hear of Jaques, he is being mocked by his friends for his melancholy, but their story is of an extremely compassionate and sensitive soul who weeps for a wounded deer.

Jaques: Melancholic, Misunderstood, Bipolar.

Oh yeah, and Bottom from A Midsummer Night’s Dream clearly has adult ADHD with delusions of grandeur. A topic, perhaps, for another time.

There has been some Internet buzz over an obnoxious Christopher Hitchen’s piece (is there any other kind) in a recent issue of Vanity Fair. This post isn’t about the piece or the buzz, but if you’re interested, you can read some good responses here and here by people who seem to like Hitchens less than I do and are willing to use more ribald language than I am to say so.

The reason I even bring it up at all is that he cites a study from Stanford University that’s far more worth discussing than anything he has to say about it:

According to a new Stanford University School of Medicine study, gender affects the way a person’s brain responds to humor.

The first-of-its-kind imaging study showed that women activate the parts of the brain involved in language processing and working memory more than men when viewing funny cartoons. Women were also more likely to activate with greater intensity the part of the brain that generates rewarding feelings in response to new experiences.

Okay, that makes sense. The brain is stimulated when it has to readjust to an unexpected outcome to a scenario, like the caption of a cartoon or the punchline of a joke. The result of this dissonance is perceived by our brains as funny, and this study demonstrates that women experience the effect more profoundly than men.

But, wait a minute! Doesn’t that sound a lot like the effect that was described by the University of Liverpool study that I blogged about last week:

Professor Philip Davis, from the University’s School of English, said: “The brain reacts to reading a phrase such as ‘he godded me’ from the tragedy of Coriolanus, in a similar way to putting a jigsaw puzzle together. If it is easy to see which pieces slot together you become bored of the game, but if the pieces don’t appear to fit, when we know they should, the brain becomes excited. By throwing odd words into seemingly normal sentences, Shakespeare surprises the brain and catches it off guard in a manner that produces a sudden burst of activity – a sense of drama created out of the simplest of things.”

Just like a joke! Except that instead of a one-shot deal that makes us laugh, Shakespeare hits us with shift after shift until we’re carried away on a brain-chemical high. When Shakespeare finally gives us a release, it can be extremely intense emotionally. But the two studies appear to be describing the very same process.

So, based on these two studies, one might expect women to be more profoundly affected by Shakespeare than men would be. That is to say that women would feel more intensely the rewarding feelings (Stanford study) that Shakespeare’s use of language has been demonstrated to generate (Liverpool study).

I don’t mean to be an armchair brain science researcher or anything, but this might make for an interesting follow-up study. And clearly, some informal preliminary field research on my part is in order immediately.