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!

Roses in December

I lost the first day of the brand new year nursing a hangover from Hades. (Created a new cocktail on New Year's Eve: Cosmospolitan martinis + Champagne = A Very Bad Idea) I am ashamed to say that I not only failed to make it -- across the road -- to church (and there were two services on the day), but made no attempt to no serious attempt to reflect upon the 12 months that have past.
(Oh, well, better late than never!)
It has struck me that this indicative of a larger pattern for me -- not the Cosmo-Champy hangover part -- but the seeming and literal lack of time to reflect and observe. This year, especially this past Autumn (Fall) has been a whirlwind of activity. I feel as if I have spent the past 12 months in perpetual motion. It is not surprising, of course, given my relentless quest to "make something happen" for myself here in the UK.
I wouldn't trade my little Warwickshire life, with my beloved DEB for anything! And, I really don't miss New York, or America at all. It is hard to describe what I do miss... 
(Warning: Shallow Alert) 
I miss the professional clout I had as a Professor at NYU. The respect and credos that went with the job. That utterly smarty-pants, bad-ass attitude that is bestowed upon NYU faculty as they walk through the Washington Square gate.  
The hours were long, the work demanding, the pay pathetic. I was alone and lonely. The students were great, but it wasn't enough. I would end each academic year feeling drained and morose. "There has to be more to life than this?" I found myself thinking again and again. So, I walked away. For a new life. Looking back, I could have done a better service to myself by making more of an effort to cultivate job prospects while I was on the other side of the Atlantic. But, you live and learn.
I hope and believe that 2012 will be my "phoenix year". That I will rise brilliantly from the ashes!
It has been that bad to tell the truth, I have landed on my feet, slowly but surely. It's just the "slowly" part I had not banked on. I suppose I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security but the aforementioned 'smarty-pants, bad-ass attitude'. The world would be clambering at my door! Not so.
It has been a real struggle. I have had to learn and master the art of shameless self-promotion. (Not a natural state for me.) And, to accept routine rejection. I have had to be more creative about my career, and accept that my life is now a "portfolio" of gigs, and not a permanent post. I am the servant of many masters, now. That means juggling lots and lots of balls all the time. And that leaves very little time for reflection.
The past year, like most, has been one of highs and lows. 


New beginnings...

My lovely friend, Liz, with her dashing new husband, Noel

My friend, Liz, was married in October, and sweet, little church in Warwickshire. It was a blustery, but beautiful day. And the first English wedding I have attended as a married woman. (And, yes, it does make a difference!) I found a gorgeous hat from Next, that was quite the thing! It was such a delight to see Liz, who I have known off and on for years, but only recently have we gotten to know each other as friends. She is such a sweetheart, and her beloved is yet another darling English boy. 


And, endings...

Sheila Allen 

(22 October 1932 – 13 October 2011)

Sheila Allen was an incredibly gifted actress, and I am honoured to count her as a mentor and friend. Sheila was an early and ongoing champion of my work. She pushed me, and kept me focussed. At my book launch at the RSC in 2006, Sheila, Cicely Berry and my mother were the mighty triumvirate whose support had been indefatigable.
Sheila's funeral precisely the send off she deserved. Lord Melvyn Bragg gave a tearful and heartfelt reading from Shakespeare's Sonnets, and there was not a dry eye in the room. I wept like a baby throughout the service. And, have been so heartbroken at her passing that I have not been able to write about it, until now. 
Sheila was an amazing teacher, and she taught at BADA for over 20 years. She was delighted when I joined their ranks this past Autumn. In fact, less than a week before she died, Sheila and I had made a plan to meet for dinner. Due to other obligations, I requested we postpone. I'd give anything to re-live that choice now. (Maybe there's a lesson in that.)
I remember talking to Sheila in New York about leaving NYU, and coming to Britain. Life, she said, like acting, is about being brave and taking risks. After I made the leap, she wrote to congratulate me:

Dearest A., I’m glad you're back from the 'savage lands' of the USA! It's been a long sojourn and I'm sure filled with important, excellent things. Good for your Darling English Boy for winning you back for us! It may take time to adjust, but you belong with us!

Her words continue to inspire and strengthen me.
And so, the year ahead. There's something in the air, and signs all round like my vibrant pink rose bush is still blooming that give me the feeling that this is going to be a year of remarkable possibilities. And, a year of Love, and surprises, like the DEB arriving home on Christmas Eve with a dozen, long-stem red roses.  
For all my groggy grumbling, I am truly a lucky girl.


HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Bits and Pieces

Dated: 7 Sept 2011

I am sat, on a fast train hurtling headlong from Coventry to London Euston. I’m thrilled, and ever so slightly nervous.  This afternoon, I start my new post (also part-time) in the Shakespeare programme at the British American Drama Academy (BADA).

It’s been three very long years, but it seems that finally, my career is on the rise, and I am returning to the classroom, albeit on a less than full-time basis. The three-year hiatus has been good for me in so many ways. A time to write, and more importantly to reflect on what it is I actually want from/for my career.

When I walked away from my full-time, tenure-track faculty position at NYU, three years ago, my friends, family and loved ones, save precious few, called my sanity into question. I had made it, they advised, to the top of my game, I’d grasped the brass ring, joined the ranks of the privileged few – how on earth could I walk away from all that?

Truthfully? Quite easily. My life in NYC was a buffeting stream of extreme highs and gut-wrenching lows. The City that Never Sleeps leaves you drained and exhausted. The collective drive is relentless, and the sleepless nights all the more unbearable when you spend them alone. There is something about “being alone” in the mega-metropolis that is New York, that is a type of ‘aloneness’ like no other. Perhaps, because amid the constant din one can always hear the party you’ve not been invited to happening non-stop somewhere just around the corner.

So, there I was, “at the top of my game”, curled up on the settee in my bijou, shoe-box apartment, with Lucy (God bless her!), Lily, a large bottle of Shiraz, take-away pepperoni pizza and re-runs of “Coupling” on BBC America…

Of course, once I left the halls of academe, I reveled in my new-found wonderful English countryside life, but lost an essential sense of my own identity, as who I “am” has always been so intrinsically tied with what I “do”. As happy, joyous, free, loved and liberated as I have felt in my new life in England, I have simultaneously felt lost and rudderless, without real purpose and direction.

And what a refreshing adventure! For the first time in my life I was “defined” by my relationships as opposed to my achievements or ambitions. I have been forced to create and cobble together a new sort of ‘career’, more or less a “portfolio” of gigs, projects, and one-off assignments, etc. I have had to engage fearlessly in the not-so-fine art of shameless self-promotion and PR, and channeling my inner-American, and “putting myself out there”.

I have re-tooled my cv more times than I can count. I have applied for jobs that would have proved ludicrously poor matches for me – or them. But, we do that, don’t we? You feel desperate, and any job that is vaguely within the realm of possibility looks appealing: “Well, I could do that.” The subtext: if there’s nothing else going. And that is no way to live a life.

And then, there’s the Rejection. And, tons of it. I have been turned down by a myriad of secondary schools, libraries, community colleges and universities. I survived on “bits and pieces” that came my way (Thank heaven for the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, and the RSC!). And, now, I’ve finally got hold of a bigger “bit and piece”. And the “Bits and Pieces” lifestyle suits me fine. As slapdash and haphazard as it has felt, I would not trade a moment of it now.

The only trouble now, what to wear?! A ritual purging two years ago saw me mindlessly throwing much of my professorial “work wear” into the charity bin!

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!

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...