Happy Birthday, Mr Shakespeare!

The title of my popular, New York University undergraduate seminar, “American Shakespeare”, always raised a few eyebrows. “It’s a survey of Shakespeare in America,” I once explained to a stuffy, Oxbridge colleague. “But,” he sniffed, “Shakespeare was never in America.” “Indeed,” I replied heartily, “but he is very much with us now.”

My seminar examined what Emerson termed the “Shakespearization” of America. I had no idea where this exploration might lead. And, certainly never imagined I would find myself re-discovering Shakespeare in a tiny, fishing village in southern Alaska.

That excursion began with a dare. One day, I sauntered into class with a topic I knew my students would be keen to devour. I’d found details of a production of Othello in Alaska. The play had been adapted into a 19th century, Alaskan context. Othello became a Native Alaskan, instead of a Moor. The goal of this touring show was to facilitate dialogue between Native and non-Native communities.

Can, or should, Shakespeare be used in this way? My students, as always, were hotly divided between the purists and the progressives. Reaching a fevered pitch, they demanded I settle the debate: “Dr. Smith-Howard, you must go there and find out.” They dared, and, off I went.

I wrote the theatre company and asked if I could observe their work. Next thing I knew, I was flying over the Rocky Mountains, to the vast, wild, least populated, and most breathtaking state in the American union.

The experience that followed was an incredibly powerful one, and one that underscores for me the discernable differences in what Shakespeare means today. One facet of Shakespeare’s inheritance is that he has become a trusted brand. His name, image and words are used to market and sell a staggering array of goods around the globe, from the Shakespeare Coffee Company (Bidford-on-Avon), “Hamlet” Cigars, and Austin motor-cars (“Travel…as you like it.”) in Britain, to mentholated cough syrup in Brazil (“To Coff, or not to coff, that is the question”).

In contrast is the esteem in which Shakespeare is held in America, where he is perceived as a touchstone, a symbol of artistry and wisdom. Americans seem to have accepted as gospel the 19^th century, British notion of Shakespeare’s secular godship. Joseph Papp, America’s foremost theatre director, put it best:

Why do so many people get hooked on Shakespeare and develop a habit that lasts a lifetime? What can he really say to us today, in a world filled with inventions and problems he could never have imagined? Because, Shakespeare is showing you human nature. Shakespeare has enriched my understanding of life immeasurably. I hope you’ll let him do the same for you.”  (Shakespeare Alive!, 1988)

Like Papp, I, too, have experienced the transformative power of Shakespeare in people’s lives: from disadvantaged teens in NYC to Native American elders in rural Alaska. I have witnessed Shakespeare’s words empowering the voiceless; and being the common language differing cultures previously lacked. I have seen his texts creating a common ground, a campfire around which a divided community could gather. For me, this is his greatest and most enduring legacy. 

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shakespeare, wherever you are!

Ties that bind

Without a doubt, pregnancy has a way of focusing the mind.
During this period of creating and shaping new life, my thoughts have returned repeatedly to the concept of "Family". A concept that also features quite prominently -- in good ways, and bad -- this time of year.

Living, as I choose to, far from my biological family, I ever reminded and reassured of the vital importance of our "families of choice" -- the families and communities we choose and create for ourselves.

These associations and attachments and made openly, freely, fully and honestly, and serve great purposes in our lives. Connecting us to a larger and far more dynamic world, than the often tiny society of shared DNA.

Several years ago, whilst on a great Shakespeare adventure in Alaska, America's most vast and sparsely populated state, I was adopted into the Eagle Clan of the T'lingit tribe. A world of away from my rough-and-tumble New York City life, I'd immediately felt at home with the people of Yakutat, a lovely, remote fishing village in southeastern Alaska. The feeling was apparently mutual.

Today, a parcel arrived from my tribal sister, Inga, with Eagle Clan gifts for the DEB, Baby and me in advance of the new arrival. It included 3 Eagle feathers - one for each of us, as a reminder of our lineage. And, the most adorable pair of hand-made baby moccasins you ever did see!

I cannot wait to share with this child how loved he or she already is by a remarkable, extended global family.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shakespeare!

The title of my popular, New York University undergraduate seminar, “American Shakespeare”, always raised a few eyebrows. “It’s a survey of Shakespeare in America,” I once explained to a stuffy, Oxbridge colleague. “But,” he sniffed, “Shakespeare was never in America.” “Indeed,” I replied heartily, “but he is very much with us now.”

My seminar examined what Emerson termed the “Shakespearization” of America. I had no idea where this exploration might lead. And, certainly never imagined I would find myself re-discovering Shakespeare in a tiny, fishing village in southern Alaska.

That excursion began with a dare. One day, I sauntered into class with a topic I knew my students would be keen to devour. I’d found details of a production of Othello in Alaska. The play had been adapted into a 19th century, Alaskan context. Othello became a Native Alaskan, instead of a Moor. The goal of this touring show was to facilitate dialogue between Native and non-Native communities.

Can, or should, Shakespeare be used in this way? My students, as always, were hotly divided between the purists and the progressives. Reaching a fevered pitch, they demanded I settle the debate: “Dr. Smith-Howard, you must go there and find out.” They dared, and, off I went.

I wrote the theatre company and asked if I could observe their work. Next thing I knew, I was flying over the Rocky Mountains, to the vast, wild, least populated, and most breathtaking state in the American union.

The experience that followed was an incredibly powerful one, and one that underscores for me the discernable differences in what Shakespeare means today. One facet of Shakespeare’s inheritance is that he has become a trusted brand. His name, image and words are used to market and sell a staggering array of goods around the globe, from the Shakespeare Coffee Company (Bidford-on-Avon), “Hamlet” Cigars, and Austin motor-cars (“Travel…as you like it.”) in Britain, to mentholated cough syrup in Brazil (“To Coff, or not to coff, that is the question”).

In contrast is the esteem in which Shakespeare is held in America, where he is perceived as a touchstone, a symbol of artistry and wisdom. Americans seem to have accepted as gospel the 19^th century, British notion of Shakespeare’s secular godship. Joseph Papp, America’s foremost theatre director, put it best:

Why do so many people get hooked on Shakespeare and develop a habit that lasts a lifetime? What can he really say to us today, in a world filled with inventions and problems he could never have imagined? Because, Shakespeare is showing you human nature. Shakespeare has enriched my understanding of life immeasurably. I hope you’ll let him do the same for you.”  (Shakespeare Alive!, 1988)

Like Papp, I, too, have experienced the transformative power of Shakespeare in people’s lives: from disadvantaged teens in NYC to Native American elders in rural Alaska. I have witnessed Shakespeare’s words empowering the voiceless; and being the common language differing cultures previously lacked. I have seen his texts creating a common ground, a campfire around which a divided community could gather. For me, this is his greatest and most enduring legacy. 

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shakespeare, wherever you are!

Soaring...

Friday, 24 October 2008

There are moments in each person's life that on the surface appear ordinary and mundane to others, but for them hold the significance of finding the Holy Grail, or like Frodo finally being able to let go of that blasted ring! The D.E.B.’s wise, sage older brother, “The Guru,” refers to such moments as “passing through a doorway.”  Yesterday, I passed through just such a doorway.

I delivered the “Thursday Seminar” lecture at The Shakespeare Institute. This was the most significant lecture of my life.  More than any snarky conference, or snarly gathering of surly scholars in New York City, this lecture at the Institute meant everything to me.  I was a student at The Shakespeare Institute some 12 years ago. And I as said to the assembled scholars and students, back all those years ago I never ever imagined that I would ever even finish my Ph.D. successfully, let alone become a “Shakespeare scholar”, nor could I have dreamt that I would have my Ph.D. research published, and certainly never fathomed the possibility of returning to my alma mater, and being invited to give a guest lecture there.

The big day came and went, and not without much trepidation. I procrastinated for weeks, uncertain as to what I should speak on. My goals were quite simple: I wanted to impress, and, I didn’t want to be publicly humiliated. My NYC chums: “Boy Genius Playwright” and “She Who Must be Obeyed” emailed me routinely to remind me of the importance of my recent experience with Shakespeare in Alaska, and how I should speak on that. They were of course absolutely right.

Last April, I went to Alaska in search of Shakespeare. (A recurring theme in my life.) I was teaching an undergraduate seminar on Shakespeare in America, when I came across details about a provocative, touring production of Othello in Alaska, wherein the play was being re-visioned with Othello as a Native Alaskan. Before I knew it, I had written the theatre company a letter, and booked a round-trip (return) ticket to Yakutat, Alaska.

In Yakutat, I re-discovered Shakespeare. But not only this, I was adopted by the Eagle clan of the Tlingit tribe; and met the most amazing people on the planet, who I am proud to call much beloved friends. How could I not talk about this? How I could not share this with the Shakespeare community here in Stratford-upon-Avon? How could I doubt this? Quite easily, actually.

I panicked. I doubted the “scholarly worthiness” of what I had to say, then, two days before my lecture, I had a rather unfortunately conversation with a leading Shakespearean who off-handedly dismissed the Alaska production I’d intended to speak about as, “absurd.” More panic.

I fretted, I sweated, I cried. It was too late to switch, and develop another topic. I considered my options, I could feign illness and cancel, or, I could feign illness and cancel. There was no way I could cancel, so I resigned myself to the fact that it was too late, I had see this through as I had planned, come what may. I sent out frantic SOS messages to my friends in NYC and to my friend/mentor/hero, Cicely Berry.

On Wednesday evening, the D.E.B. rushed home from work to cheerlead me through the eleventh hour. After the lovely dinner he prepared, we sat at the table, and I read my lecture aloud to him. Darling English Boy that he is, after I struggled through and finished reading, we both fell silent. He took a deep breath, gathered me into his arms, and said softly: "Darling Girl, I don't know whose voice that is, but it's not yours. Just talk to them. Tell them what you saw." I, of course, reacted just as one might expect: I flipped out, burst into tears, and went to bed.

The wee hours of the next morning found me laying on the bathroom floor and dry heaving into the toilet. And I wasn't hung over. I have never, ever been dizzy like that, even when I have been hung over! It is completely ridiculous that I had gotten myself into such a state over this lecture. On the bright side, I thought, I did now have a somewhat plausible excuse for canceling…

The D.E.B. helped me back to bed, and I did sleep for a short while. He woke me before he left for work, and left a card for me on my bedside table that said: "I am always so proud of you. Just be yourself.”

I slept for a few more hours and was then awakened by the phone. It was Cicely Berry urging me to remember that Shakespeare can and does change lives, regardless of what some scholarly-types would like to think. Then, I checked my email, more messages of support...and then, BANG! The clouds broke, and with new zeal and fresh resolve I shouted, well, swore, actually, very loudly. I grabbed my laptop and started lacerating my lecture. I cut pages and pages of academic crap. I re-typed the entire thing. I was still re-typing my lecture up to the moment that the D.E.B. came back home to drive me into Stratford-upon-Avon for the lecture.

With guns a'blazing I walked right into The Shakespeare Institute, and yes ... I ROCKED, THEIR, WORLD!

I finally realized I had nothing lose. So, I went for it. And the response was overwhelming positive. I had to, in the words of Polonius, be true to myself, and to my friends in Alaska (who are getting quite a beating in the world press just recently, due to their controversial Governor).

In many ways, my talk was just an open love letter to them, and to Alaska. Amazingly, after a night on the town to celebrate my success at surviving my lecture (which included a dinner of Fish’n’chips from my favo(u)rite “chippy” in Stratford), when the D.E.B. and I made it home, we discovered that a parcel had arrived for me earlier in the day. It was from Alaska. A care package from Yakutat.  My dear, dear, cheeky friend, Kris, had filled a box full of (would you believe it?) Tylenol!!! Benadryl and…Nyquil (oooooohhhh!!!!). God, bless her! There were Snickers bars, granola bars, assorted other American goodies, and a freshly canned jar of Nagoon berry preserves. (That smells and tastes of Alaska.) I could not help but see this precious gift as a great reward for holding faith with the remarkable work that I had had the good fortunate to experience in Alaska.

I spent the rest of that blissful, victorious night, strung-out on Nyquil and chocolate, and high on a post-traumatic-stress adrenalin rush. Before bed, I checked my email, and found another incredible reward. An email from my Tlingit Eagle clan sister—who had had no foreknowledge of my intended talk, nor the angst I’d experienced around giving it. She wrote:

“Hello my dear friend. It is so cold out. As I was walking home, I looked up in the sky and saw a young, graceful eagle soaring in the sky, so lovely and free. It reminded me of you.”

(Cue soundtrack: "Theme from the film 'The Magnificent Seven'")

Autumn rain

1st of October. Autumn pitching down on my nearly-dried laundry. The day started so sunnily. What happened? And so, too, I feel my confidence waver and wane. 

I am scheduled to give a lecture at The Shakespeare Institute in 3 weeks time. This is not just any lecture for me. This is a "Thursday Seminar" at The Shakespeare Institute. "Thursday Seminars" were a huge part of my life not so long ago, when I was graduate student there. I can't believe I received my Ph.D. 10 years ago this year. Has it really been 10 years? And here I am, back again. Here is the thing, you know those old sayings, like the one Janis Joplin is said to have coined: "You can never go home." And, another in the same vein: "Never return to the scene of the crime."  That's how I feel about giving this lecture. I'm not ready. I don't feel "old" enough or "grown up" enough to do it.

I still feel like that hopeful student I once was, longing for acceptance and approval. Wanting to prove my worth, my smarts. When I was a student, Thursday Seminars were a pleasure and a pain. If we were lucky, our director, Stanley Wells,  had roped some Shakespeare hot-shot to come and talk to us. I will never forget how on one occasion he'd invited Harriet Hawkins to speak. Harriet Hawkins was--and probably still is--this sassy, American scholar-diva. She was tall, blonde, and gutsy, with what I think was a broad Texan accent.  The title of her lecture was "Classics & Trash." Awesome. So American. The kind of woman that makes an Englishmen swoon.

I admired her. And wish I could find that kind of courage now. I mean, I've had it before, I used to teach at NYU, for goodness sake! If that doesn't take balls, I don't know what does! But this is different. Like presenting a lecture before your family--and I have a highly critical family.

I want most of all to make a good showing. To confirm my status and place as a Shakespeare scholar and performance historian. I am torn between talking about my experience seeing an amazing production of Othello in Alaska last April, or pulling together some thoughts that I've had about the final moments of Hamlet, inspired by two recent productions I have seen both here in Stratford (with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart) and at Shakespeare in the Park in  NYC. Either would be fine, but I want to be better than fine. I want to be excellent. 

So, instead of knuckling down and pinning down exactly what I am going to talk about, I am focussing my energy on worrying about what to wear (Oh, how I miss J. Crew); unpacking the countless boxes that have just arrived from New York; and watching the rain...