In which the Counseling Center is no real match for John Webster

So our Counseling Center is offering a new service, called "Don't Cancel Class!" Basically, one of the counseling staff is offering to go around to classes on days when the professor is absent and conduct a workshop for the class.

Which would be nice, since I do have to miss a class this semester -- except the class in question is, um, Elizabethan and Jacobean Drama. And the list of available workshops ("Stress Management," "Body Image and Eating Disorders," "Finding Your Place at [Our University]," and so forth) seems entirely too mundane.

Forthwith, a list of workshops I think the Counseling Center should totally consider offering:

-- Revenge Management
-- Choleric, Melancholic, Sanguine, or Phlegmatic?: What Your Humours Say About You
-- What to Do if the Devil Speaks to You
-- How to Fake a Mental Illness Convincingly
-- So You Killed Your Twin Sister and Now You Think You're a Werewolf
-- Coping with Grief by Carrying Around Your Dead Girlfriend's Skull
-- How to Turn Your Gender Identity Crisis Into a Successful Stage Career

In lieu of a substantive post, a round of Bardiac's Game

Guess the poet!

a ranking of selected Shakespeare plays...

... according to how likely it is that the advice "Just have a threesome already" would solve everybody's problems.

Two Noble Kinsmen: YES YES HELL YES.

Troilus and Cressida: Yes; in fact, this advice would help in at least two different ways, one of which would have prevented the entire Trojan War.

Two Gentlemen of Verona: Yes.

A Midsummer Night's Dream: Foursome, whatever. Yes.

Henry VIII: Yes, if Katherine could somehow be persuaded to agree to it. (Of course, some people might see "preventing the Protestant Reformation" as a problem in itself, but I'm not sure Shakespeare was one of those people.)

Twelfth Night: Maybe, although the more relevant piece of advice is probably "just be triplets already."

The Merchant of Venice: Somewhat, although it wouldn't really help with the whole anti-Semitism thing.

Hamlet: Sorta-kinda, although the advice would have to be delivered well before the play begins.

Antony and Cleopatra: Not really, although Antony / Cleopatra / Octavia might delay the beginning of the end a little bit.

Macbeth: No, unless we posit some sort of gene-splicing technology that would enable Lady Macbeth to have a baby that is Banquo's and Macbeth's. Still, they'd be stuck with the whole regicide thing.

Othello: No; Iago would still be in it, although he'd have to figure out a different line of attack.

Pericles: I don't even know who would be HAVING a threesome in this play, but I'm pretty sure it would not be a good idea to make the characters' lives more complicated than they already are.

Richard III: It wouldn't surprise me if Edward, Elizabeth, and Jane Shore were already having one, but it doesn't seem to have helped much.

The Comedy of Errors: I'm not sure there are three characters in this play who are not RELATED to each other. Ew.

The Merry Wives of Windsor: No; almost all of the problems in this play are caused by somebody wanting a threesome when no one else does.

King Lear: No. In fact, this advice is about the only thing that could make things even worse, because Regan would still be alive, and theoretically the rightful heir, at the end of the play.

Titus Andronicus: NO NO AND HELL NO. Somebody actually gives this advice in the text, with very unfortunate results.

How I spend my time in boring meetings

Guess the play!

WTF Hamlet

ACT ONE

The Soldiers: Hey, did you hear about the ghost?
Horatio: I am a university man. I don't believe in ghosts.
Ghost appears.
Horatio: WTF?
Marcellus: Look, cannon!
Horatio: I can tell you all about that. [Horatio explains for forty lines all about Fortinbras, who is obviously going to be a major character in this narrative.]
Ghost reappears
Horatio: WTF?
Marcellus: I hear ghosts don't walk at Advent. Just sayin'.

Claudius: Hi, everyone. I've just married my sister-in-law. I'm sure you'll all agree that under the circumstances, it was a perfectly obvious thing to do. Also, I took care of the Fortinbras problem. So much for him.
The Danish Court: WTF?
All exit. Hamlet is left alone.
Hamlet: I can't believe Mom married that jerk. WTF?
Enter Horatio.
Hamlet: Hey, what are you doing here?
Horatio: I came for the funeral.
Hamlet: You're a little late, but luckily you're just in time for the wedding. Hey, I think I see my Dad.
Horatio: WTF?!?!?
Hamlet: In my mind's eye.
Horatio: Oh. Speaking of your dad, his ghost has been walking the ramparts.
Hamlet: WTF?

Polonius: Ophelia, you need to break up with Hamlet.
Ophelia: OK, Dad.

Ghost: Your uncle murdered me and married your mother. You need to avenge me.
Hamlet: OK. I shall run around and pretend to be crazy!
Horatio, Marcellus, and the Ghost: WTF?


ACT TWO

Polonius: Reynaldo, go to Paris and spy on my son. I shall explain how at great length, just so everyone will know what a good spymaster I am.
Ophelia: I'm very frightened. Prince Hamlet is acting weird. I think he's gone crazy.
Polonius: Have you given him any hard words of late?
Ophelia: No, I only broke up with him.
Polonius: Well, WTF did you do that for?

Claudius: I talked Fortinbras into invading Poland instead. This is an excellent plan, because people who invade Poland always stop with Poland. They never go on to invade Denmark later.
Gertrude: Hamlet is acting pretty weird lately.
Polonius: I know why! He's in love with my daughter.
Gertrude: It may be, very like.
Hamlet: Hi there, Mr. Fishmonger!
Polonius: WTF?
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: Let's explain all about the war of the theaters, since nobody goes to see plays any more if they don't have any stuff about the war of the theaters in them.
Enter Actors
Hamlet: Why don't you recite a speech? Maybe a really long one about Hecuba! On second thought, maybe I will recite a really long speech about Hecuba. On third thought ... you do it.
Actors: WTF?


ACT THREE

Polonius: Ophelia, go and spy on Hamlet. Pretend you're reading this book.
Hamlet: Get thee to a nunnery!
Ophelia: WTF?
Hamlet: Did you hear me? To a nunnery! GO!

Hamlet: Sorry about this afternoon, Ophelia. Can I put my head in my lap and talk dirty to you?
Ophelia: OK.
Players perform an extremely suggestive dumb show.
Ophelia: WTF? What was that all about?
Hamlet: Never mind.
First Player is murdered by his nephew.
Claudius: WTF!!!!!

Gertrude: Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Hamlet: Oh yeah? What about YOU?
Polonius: Help!
Hamlet: Aha! A Rodent Of Unusual Size! A talking one!
Hamlet stabs Polonius through the arras
Gertrude: WTF? That wasn't a R.O.U.S., that was Polonius. You killed him!
Hamlet: Oh, crap. Well, I had a pretty good lecture all thought out, so I'm going to pretend this didn't happen and deliver it to you anyway.
Ghost enters
Gertrude: WTF? Why are you talking to empty air?
Hamlet: By the way, I'm not really crazy.
Gertrude: Yeah, right.
Hamlet: Sorry about Polonius. Now I shall drag him off and dissect him.
Gertrude: WTF?

ACT FOUR

Claudius: Hamlet, I think you had better go to England. Denmark is getting a little hot to hold you.
Hamlet: 'Bye, Mom!
Claudius: WTF?

Fortinbras: Hi! Remember me? I'm invading Poland, but for some reason I'm doing it in Denmark.

Ophelia: I have gone mad. They say the owl was a baker's daughter.
Claudius and Gertrude: WTF?

Pirates: We are the Plot Device Pirates! Arrr!!!
Hamlet: Pirates! Just what I was looking for! Please abduct me and take me aboard your ship!
Pirates: WTF?

Gertrude: I'm sorry about your sister, Laertes, but she drowned. At least it was very poetical.
Claudius: I'm sure you can see this is all Hamlet's fault. Go and kill him.

ACT FIVE

Hamlet: Hey, here's a skull! Let me talk to it for a while.
Gravedigger: WTF?
Funeral procession enters
Laertes: I wanted my sister to have a really nice funeral, but the mean priest wouldn't let me. Well, at least I can give her a memorable funeral.
Leaps into the grave.
Hamlet: I loved her more than you did!
Leaps into the grave.
Mourners: WTF?
Hamlet: Oh, and just in case you happened to be thinking of eating a crocodile, I'll do that, too.

Laertes: Let's have a fencing-match, bro. I totally don't hate you any more.
Hamlet: OK. Sorry about what happened at the funeral, man. I guess I got a little carried away.
The foils are poisoned. So is the wine. Everybody dies, except Horatio and Osric.
Fortinbras: Hi, I'm back from invading Poland. WTF? Why is everyone dead?
Horatio: It's a long story.
The English Ambassadors: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, too. Remember them?
Horatio: Sorry, no one's going to thank you for that.
Fortinbras: I guess I might as well be king, since I'm the only person with royal blood left alive.
Horatio: Sigh. I guess you might as well. Hamlet would have wanted it, anyway.
The entire court: WTF?

Sonnet for a new semester

Some time back, I asked my lit survey students to define a sonnet on the final exam. One of them wrote -- this was her entire definition -- "Fourteen lines syllabus."

So I wrote a poem. Which I would now like to share.

Fourteen Lines Syllabus

Come to class – or not – but if you come, stay seated.
You with the iPhone, time to get offline!
The revolution, folks, will not be tweeted;
There are no phones in 1789.

Well, yes, you really have to buy the book,
And read, and think ... Why, yes, I am a nerd.
Hey, business major with the pissed-off look:
The Blessed J. H. Newman wants a word.

Exams, grades, course goals, papers, all that stuff:
Please read those sections over at your leisure.
“There will be time indeed, and time enough.”
For now? I’d have you take some time for pleasure.

Oh! Welcome, all, to English 202.
That’s it! Read Blake before we meet anew.

Unfortunately, I think this might be better than my actual syllabus.

Stick-Hamlet

This has been a very long and stressful week (and yes, I KNOW it is only Monday; that's the point). But, thanks to a chain of events that I would rather not have had to deal with today, I do have a fancy new printer. With a scanner.

Thus, in lieu of an actual post, have some sketches from the revenge tragedy seminar I took in grad school. (This is the sort of thing that passes for note-taking with me, and I kind of wish I had taken actual notes in that class, but oh well.)

Click to enlarge and behold the Stick-Hamlet in its full glory.

Shakespeare dreams

My DVD of the new Macbeth with Patrick Stewart arrived the other day, so I decided to watch it to celebrate my last grading-free night for a while. So, naturally, I dreamed about Macbeth, only not Stewart-Macbeth (which is just as well, because that would be a serious nightmare). No, in my dream the Folger and another theater were putting on rival productions of Macbeth, so I went to see both of them. And one of them was a very avant-garde production where there was no seating and the audience got to wander all over the theater and follow the actors around (and, in fact, had to do so, because the sets were full of weird arches and nooks so that you could only see the action from one particular angle). You could even come up on the stage and, for example, stalk the murderers while they were stalking Banquo. It was cool, if completely impractical.

Most of my Shakespeare dreams involve performance. I never seem to dream about teaching Shakespeare, or about being a character in Shakespeare, and very rarely about reading or doing research on Shakespeare. (Except for that one dream where I discovered the original manuscripts of a bunch of Shakespeare's tragedies, and Severus Snape was a character in all of them. He had to be edited out of the final versions because he kept running around concocting antidotes for all the characters who got poisoned and telling the rest of them when they were being idiots, thus converting all the tragedies into non-tragedies. That was an awesome dream. I was very disappointed when I woke up.)

But most of the time, even in dream-world, I'm very conscious that the play is a play. I used to have a recurring dream in which someone forced me to act in a stage production at short notice, ignoring my protests that I didn't have any of the lines memorized. ("You call yourself a Shakespeare scholar and you don't KNOW this stuff by heart?") Usually it was one of two parts, Emilia in Othello or Nerissa in The Merchant of Venice, and I would end up having to ad-lib it. I don't think I've had that dream since grad school. Perhaps it was really a paper-and-dissertation-anxiety dream in another guise.

I wonder what sort of dreams people who work on non-dramatic literature have about their texts?

What I learned about college from the movies

One of my freshman comp assignments requires the students to pick a movie set on a college campus and analyze how it represents higher education. I've been using this assignment for six or seven years, ever since I was a grad student, and cheerfully grading paper after paper about movies I'd never seen. But now that I am a person with a middle-class income and a Netflix account, I decided I was going to watch all the movies. It was quite an experience. I kinda thought I knew a little bit about colleges, having spent almost half of my life studying and / or working at them. But now I see I had much to learn from the movies:

1) At all colleges, there are exactly two fraternities, one of which is populated exclusively by obnoxious, uptight preprofessionals, and the other by likeable underdogs. (N.B., the underdogs remain underdogs by definition, even though it is obvious from the beginning of the movie that they will win all competitions and the obnoxious guy's girlfriend. It's magic.)

2) Harvard Law School is very very very very hard. Unless you are blonde, in which case it is easy.

3) You can have a complete college experience without ever setting foot in the classroom or interacting with a faculty member. But you cannot have one without football.

4) All deans, presidents, provosts, and other authority figures are alumni of the college where they work, and have unfinished business from their undergraduate days. Most of them also have attractive female relatives.

5) Sometimes, your RA turns out to be an undercover Secret Service agent.

6) All classes are held in massive lecture halls with tiered seating.

7) Everybody who is not in a fraternity lives in the dorms, even grad students. All roommates dislike each other at first sight, but become bestest best buddies by mid-semester. (In the unlikely event that your roommate befriends you immediately, you should seek psychiatric help, because there is a good chance that you are actually schizophrenic and have hallucinated him.)

8) All colleges are either Harvard, Princeton, MIT, or imaginary.

9) The janitor is way smarter than you are.

Fret dips into No-Fear Shakespeare

Oh, sweet Jesus. One of my students recommended a "study aid" called No-Fear Shakespeare to the class. It's a sort of facing-page "translation" of Shakespeare into modern English. (Yes, I know Shakespeare is already in modern English.) I said very quickly that I didn't endorse the recommendation, but I felt like I owed them a fuller explanation of why not, so I've been poking around on the NFS web site for examples of lines that lose a great deal in translation. For your delectation, here are some of my favorites so far.

How now, my lord of Worcester?

"Hello there, my lord of Worcester!"

And when I told thee he was of my counsel
Of my whole course of wooing, thou cried’st “Indeed?”

"And when I told you he was involved the whole time I was trying to get Desdemona, you were like, 'Oh, really?'"

The Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

"Great warriors aren't mom-and-pop diners, you know."

Let our catch be 'Thou Knave'.

"Let's dance to 'You Jerk'."

Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey.

"Malvolio's Little Bo-Peep."

They need a new name, though. I am very afraid.

Courseblogging: Today's stick-art

How much do I love my colored markers? A lot.

I love teaching this poem, too. I divide students up into pairs or threesomes, hand out dictionaries, and assign them each a stanza. This time around, I started them off with two questions: 1) What would you say is the most important word in this stanza, and why? 2) What strikes you as the most startling / unusual / strange word or turn of phrase, and why?

They talked among themselves for about ten minutes (and used the dictionaries -- yay!), and had a ton of stuff to say afterwards -- so much that I wished very much that our class periods were longer. I didn't have much of a chance to sum things up afterward -- but maybe that's just as well, since this is, after all, a poem of questions, and most of those questions resist easy answers.

I think this is one of the hardest things to convey, especially in the sophomore-level lit surveys -- the fact that our whole discipline isn't about getting the right answer, yet at the same time there are some answers more clearly supported by the text than others. (Because misreading does happen, especially with the unfamiliar syntax of nineteenth-century poetry, and sometimes you do have to jump in and say "No, the poet is comparing two things here, not describing one thing" or, more amusingly, "Yes, a 'heifer' really is a cow and not a term of insult.")

But by and large, they're doing good work and I'm happy about the way today's class went, whistle-stoppishness and all.

Courseblogging: More early modern stick-art!

For really advanced players of the Bardiac game, what seventeenth-century poem are we reading today?



(It went surprisingly well, BTW.)

The Bardiac Game

Anybody want to take a stab at which play we're reading in the Shakespeare class?