Shakespeare Reading Groups and the Lost Art of Slow Reading

Much has been said about how we live in an age of speed. We skim headlines, scroll through social media, glance at emails, rush through press releases. Even when we read books or articles, we often ask AI for a synopsis. Shakespeare asks something different of us.

You cannot skim Shakespeare very successfully. The language is too rich, the ideas too dense, the imagery too layered. If you rush, you miss half (or all) the meaning. That is one reason Shakespeare reading groups are so valuable. They encourage a form of reading that has become increasingly rare: slow reading.

When we read Shakespeare aloud together, we naturally slow down. We pause over unfamiliar words. We notice repeated images. We hear patterns of sound and rhythm. We stop to ask why a character chose one word rather than another. We linger over a line that is particularly beautiful, funny, or puzzling. Often, a passage that seemed difficult at first begins to unfold its meaning simply because we have given it our attention.

This kind of reading is not only about understanding Shakespeare. It is about training ourselves to pay attention. In a culture that constantly urges us to move faster, Shakespeare invites us to do the opposite. The text rewards patience, curiosity, and reflection.

Many readers join a Shakespeare group expecting to learn about the plays. They do. But they also discover something else: the pleasure of taking time with a text, of exploring it deeply, and of sharing that exploration with others.

The plays have not changed in four hundred years. Our reading habits have. Perhaps that is one reason Shakespeare still has something important to teach us.

Shakespeare Still Feels Contemporary

One of the pleasures of reading Shakespeare aloud in a group is discovering how often a 400-year-old play suddenly feels as though it was written yesterday.

That happened repeatedly in our recent reading of Coriolanus. At first glance, the play seems remote: ancient Rome, political factions, military campaigns, and weird Roman names. Yet as we worked through the text together, we found ourselves discussing questions that feel strikingly modern:

How much should ordinary citizens trust political leaders? What happens when public opinion becomes volatile? Can a person be highly competent and yet completely unsuited for public office? How much of politics is substance, and how much is performance? What happens when people stop listening to one another and retreat into opposing camps?

Coriolanus himself is a fascinating contradiction. He is brave, accomplished, and honest to a fault. Yet he despises compromise and has little patience for the people he hopes to govern. His tragedy raises a question that remains relevant today: Is excellence enough, or must a leader also understand and respect the people being led? Must a leader learn to concede when it is better for the country?

Perhaps that is one reason Shakespeare endures. The plays are not about “then”; they are about human beings. The costumes, settings, and governments may change, but ambition, pride, fear, loyalty, and political conflict remain stubbornly familiar.

Every Shakespeare reading group experiences this moment of recognition. We begin with an old play and end up talking about ourselves.

Reading Aloud Is Good for Us at Any Age

Most people think of reading aloud as something we do for children. But a recent article on senior living communities reminded me that reading aloud may be just as important for older adults.

The article, “Read Aloud: Therapy for Senior Living Joy!” points to research suggesting that reading aloud strengthens memory, reduces anxiety, improves emotional well-being, and helps combat loneliness. One study cited found that older adults remembered significantly more of what they read when they read it aloud rather than silently. The article also notes that poetry can be particularly powerful, helping to unlock memories and spark imagination.

None of this surprises me. For years, I’ve watched people come together in Shakespeare reading groups. They don’t come because they want a lecture. They come because something special happens when a group of people share language out loud.

A Shakespeare reading group exercises the mind, certainly. Participants follow plots, remember characters, puzzle out unfamiliar words, and make sense of complex ideas. But the benefits go far beyond intellectual stimulation. People laugh together. We discover things together. We build friendships. We find ourselves part of a community.

Many of our readers are retired. Some live alone or have lost spouses or close friends. Yet when we gather around a Shakespeare play, we become part of an ongoing conversation that stretches across centuries. The words come alive in the room—or on Zoom—and so do the people reading them.

The senior-living article describes reading aloud as creating “a bridge between minds, hearts and generations.” Shakespeare reading groups do that every week.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that reading aloud is not a children’s activity that adults outgrow. It is a deeply human activity. We are social creatures. We understand language through voices. We make meaning together.

And perhaps that’s why reading Shakespeare in community feels so good. It isn’t merely literature.

It’s people.

Halloween Shakespeare!

Halloween is coming right up and what better and more thrilling way to celebrate than by reading Macbeth—out loud and with friends!

Dress up, of course, in the various characters according to the part you are reading: Wyrd Sisters, Hecate the triple goddess, murderers, Banquo a-live, Banquo a-ghost, apparitions (an armed/helmeted head, a bloody child, a crowned child with a tree in his hand), Birnam Wood, a nurse, doctors, soldiers, Lady Macbeth, King Duncan, Macbeth himself, and others.

Get creative with the food and drink and decorations! There are plenty of gory suggestions online. And give yourself the freedom to really ramp up the emoting in your reading—your costume creates an attitude, y'know?

Make sure you grab enough copies of the Readers' Edition of Macbeth, too.  :-)  Remember, there are charts in the book to make it easy to allocate parts beforehand; if you don't use the book, the charts are also right here.

If you have ideas for a party, please tell us about them! After your party, send photos!

Marginalia—notes written in the margins

I love buying used books and finding that someone has written in them—I get to see what someone else thought was important or moving or awful or stupid. I love the sometimes snotty messages that a reader just could not refrain from noting, or perhaps a personal comment that shows a glimpse into a stranger’s heart, a glimpse that might well be one of the few remembrances of that person. Even the occasional shopping list or notes for a speech or a child’s handwriting practice can turn an unexceptional book into a lost but tangible place in someone’s life.

It has only been in the past few decades that marginalia has come to be valued—in the history of the book, collectors and libraries have generally gone to great lengths to scrub all marginalia clean from books, much to the dismay of book historians today. Not long ago the British Library in London purchased a second copy of a rare treatise of Galileo’s specifically because it has marginalia in three different hands. These are not notes from Galileo himself—the library did not know who wrote the notes nor what they said when they bought the book, but those annotations were finally being valued as a “contemporary response” to the book.

Reading is also writing, in that you become a part of your book; thus both you and the book become part of the historical record of us humans on this wee planet. The Wikipedia page on marginalia has an interesting list of famous writers well known for their marginal notes. Even if you're not famous, infuse your Shakespeare reading editions with a trace of your humanity!

Perhaps you have checked out the page on iReadShakespeare.org about writing in your own books. I hope so—and I hope that you scribble away in your Shakespeare editions.  ;-)

“The book is to be engaged, digested, and re-read.”
—Heidi Brayman Hackel, Reading Material in Early Modern England

Reading Together: It Turns Out People Still Need People

A recent Guardian article caught my eye. Its headline is delightfully unexpected: “Reading is so sexy”: Gen Z turns to physical books and libraries.”

For years we’ve been told that screens would replace books, that digital entertainment would crowd out reading, and that younger generations simply weren’t interested in literary culture. Yet the article describes something quite different: Young people are buying physical books, joining libraries, attending book clubs, and looking for places where reading can become a shared experience rather than a solitary one.

What struck me most was not the return to books themselves. It was the return to community.

Many of the young people interviewed described reading as a way to connect with others. They weren’t merely consuming content. They were looking for conversation, friendship, belonging, and meaningful interaction. In an age when so much communication is simply consumed, people are rediscovering the pleasure of gathering around a text and talking about it together.

This is one reason Shakespeare reading groups continue to surprise me. Many assume that Shakespeare groups are mainly for retirees. Certainly, some of us have accumulated a few decades of experience. But in recent years I’ve seen participants from a wide range of ages and backgrounds. Some come because they love literature. Some are lifelong learners. Some are simply looking for intelligent conversation. Others are looking for community.

What they discover is that reading Shakespeare aloud together is fundamentally different from studying Shakespeare alone. The plays become social events. People laugh together, puzzle over difficult passages together, disagree about characters together, and gradually form friendships through the shared experience of exploring the text.

In many ways, this is not a new phenomenon. For centuries, Shakespeare was commonly read aloud in homes, clubs, and informal gatherings. Reading groups were often social occasions as much as literary ones. What may seem innovative today is actually a return to an older tradition.

The Guardian article suggests that younger generations are just as hungry for authentic, face-to-face—or at least person-to-person—connection as seniors. They are discovering that books can provide more than information or entertainment. Books can provide community.

Shakespeare reading groups do exactly that.

The pleasure is not merely in reading the play. It is in hearing other voices, encountering other perspectives, and sharing the experience with fellow readers. The text becomes a meeting place.

Perhaps that helps explain why these groups continue to thrive. They satisfy two very human needs at once: the desire to engage with great ideas and the desire to engage with other people. It turns out that neither need has gone out of fashion.

The Taming of the Shrew: A love story

Many modern readers approach The Taming of the Shrew expecting a misogynistic comedy about a man “breaking” a difficult woman into submission. That certainly seems to be the play’s reputation.

Yet when we read the play slowly, aloud, and in community, a different picture began to emerge.

Petruchio never physically harms Katarina. The play contains plenty of threats, boasting, and comic exaggeration, but Petruchio’s methods are far stranger than modern summaries often suggest. Consider the wedding scene. Petruchio arrives dressed absurdly, and Katarina is mortified. She takes his appearance as a personal humiliation. Why should another person’s harmless foolishness upset her so deeply?

The same pattern appears throughout the play. Petruchio behaves outrageously, ignores social expectations, and refuses to care what others think. Again and again, Katarina is confronted with the gap between reality and appearance.

The sleep-deprivation scene is another example. We are often told that Petruchio cruelly makes sure Kate gets no sleep. But how does he do it? He bangs pots and pans, throws pillows around, and makes a tremendous racket. The result? NEITHER of them sleeps. Whatever hardship is endured, Petruchio endures it as well.

The same is true with the food. Petruchio rejects dishes that have been prepared for them, but from an early modern perspective this is more complicated than it first appears. Both Petruchio and Katarina are portrayed as choleric personalities. The foods being offered are “hot and dry,” precisely the sort of foods believed to aggravate that temperament. Petruchio insists that they BOTH fast. Notice you never seem him eat, either.

Meanwhile, it is worth asking who is actually portrayed as violent in the play. Before Petruchio ever appears, Katarina has tied up and struck her sister. She strikes servants. She is feared throughout the household. When asked to thank someone, she bluntly replies that she has never thanked anyone in her life; even two-year-olds have better manners. Shakespeare presents her as brilliant, witty, and spirited—but also deeply ill-tempered and unhappy.

What is striking is that Petruchio consistently speaks well of her. While others call her a fiend of hell, a devil, a wild cat, the veriest shrew of all, Petruchio praises her intelligence, her wit, her beauty, and her spirit. He is the only one to say kind things about Katarina in the play.

Even the notorious “sun and moon” scene is often misjudged. Modern audiences often describe it as gaslighting. But gaslighting depends upon making someone doubt reality. Petruchio knows perfectly well that Katarina does not believe the old man is a young woman. The joke only works because both of them know the truth. By this point, Katarina has learned that arguing every point is futile and often ridiculous. Rather than fighting over nonsense, she chooses to play along.

During the close read, Petruchio’s actions look less like cruelty and more like instruction. He teaches Katarina not to live under the tyranny of public opinion. He challenges her pride, her quick temper, and her tendency to take offense.

At the same time, Katarina challenges Petruchio. She is intelligent, strong-willed, and unwilling to be intimidated. She refuses to become a passive, obedient stereotype. Their relationship is a contest between equals.

By the end of the play, what emerges is not a broken woman, but a couple who have learned how to understand one another. They have become partners in a private game that few others can see.

One need not agree with every tactic Petruchio uses. But reading the play closely convinced us that The Taming of the Shrew is neither a brutal tale nor a simple exercise in misogyny. Rather, it is a surprisingly complicated love story about two difficult, lonely people who discover that they are perfectly matched.

The Digital Third Space

For years, sociologists have talked about the importance of the “third place”—those spaces that are neither home nor work, where people gather simply because they want to and where it feels good. Coffee shops, pubs, community centers, libraries, and church halls have traditionally filled that role. They are places where friendships form, ideas are exchanged, and a sense of belonging develops.

At first glance, a Zoom Shakespeare reading group might seem like the opposite of a third place. After all, each participant is sitting alone at home, staring at a screen. But experience suggests otherwise.

Every week, in our groups, readers arrive from different towns, states, and even countries. We greet one another, catch up on life, share a few laughs, and then settle into a common activity: reading Shakespeare aloud together. Over time, familiar faces become friends. Newcomers are welcomed. People notice when someone is absent. Conversations spill beyond the text into history, language, literature, and occasionally the ordinary joys and sorrows of daily life.

The fact that the meeting takes place online does not diminish its social function. If anything, the technology removes barriers that would otherwise prevent participation. People who are homebound, live in rural communities, care for family members, or simply have no local Shakespeare group can still gather regularly with others who share their interests.

A third place is not defined by walls, furniture, or a street address. It is defined by community. It is the place people go because they enjoy being there, where they are known, where they belong, and where they engage in something meaningful with others.

A Shakespeare reading group on Zoom may exist in a digital space, but it still serves one of humanity’s oldest needs: to come together around stories, conversation, and shared experience.

:-)

Just a braggy bit. :-)

I just wanted to brag a little that I was on the Old Vic stage in London with Mark Rylance and Derek Jacobi! It was after a performance of Mark’s play, I am Shakespeare. As you can see, I am a Very Important Person standing there doing nothing. hahaha! But it was a fun moment. :-)

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Old Vic stage in London • November 22 2022 • Mark Rylance & Derek Jacobi

What's the rush?

There is a great article in the Wall Street Journal this week entitled “Reading Shakespeare in a Sea of Troubles,” by Paula Marantz Cohen. She describes how she came to create her own Shakespeare reading group during covid and carried it on. Her group runs much like ours:

“We stop after each scene—and sometimes after a few lines—to parse, comment, and converse. Our progress through a play is, as a result, extremely slow. But then, what’s the rush?” (emphasis added)

What’s the rush, indeed? We do occasionally have visitors to one or the other of my groups who get frustrated with our slow pace and move on to other groups, but we ourselves have joyfully settled into, “What’s the rush?” :-)

I wish I were as eloquent as Cohen and could express my thoughts about reading Shakespeare together as she does: “Because Shakespeare’s plays are . . . supportive of so many different interpretations, they are a means by which we can come to understand one another, no matter how disparate our views. This is the best therapy I can think of for this difficult time.”

So true.

When Reading Shakespeare, Everyone is Right and No One is Right

There are no right or wrong answers in Shakespeare—the ambiguity is part of what makes it endlessly fascinating.

This has occasionally created a tricky situation in a reading group, where one person tries to insist that their thought is the correct reading and wants everyone else in the room to agree with that conclusion. If this person stays in the group long enough, they eventually come to accept that there is always more than one way to understand just about anything in Shakespeare.  ;-)

Only once have I had to gently put my foot down and say, “I understand that you truly believe this is the only way to see this situation, but I encourage you to listen to the other possibilities. Sometimes we have to hold several ideas in our minds at the same time, which is a remarkable testament to this author, a good exercise for our brains, and all of us in the room gain insights from the process. You have a great idea, and let's hold that along with the other great ideas."

If this person cannot accept that, then they leave the group and lose the entire experience. It's sad, but fortunately it's also rare. Most everyone rises to the occasion and eventually learns to revel in that darned ambiguity!

Have you had any difficult situations in a reading group? How was it handled? What did you learn?

Rosaline is a Black woman in Love’s Labor’s Lost

In Love’s Labor’s Lost, the King of Navarre and three of his Lords vow to study and fast and speak to no women for three years, when lo and behold, the Princess of France and her three Ladies show up. Berowne (rhymes with moon in the play), the wittiest of the men, falls in love with Rosaline, the wittiest of the women.

I am always fascinated to see what a really close read reveals in a play, how what we thought we knew about a play changes when we dig under the surface layer. (How does Shakespeare do that???) I want to share an epiphany that many of us had during a recent Zoom very-close reading of Love’s Labor’s Lost: Rosaline, beloved of Berowne, is a Black woman. She’s not just auburn haired (“Elizabethans preferred fair blondes”); she is not just darker complected than Brits (“Rosaline is probably Italian”); it is not a metaphor (“Berowne refers to her darker nature,” “dark versus white is a classical trope”). Rosaline is a Black woman. This becomes manifestly evident when one stops reading excuses and listens to just the text.

Berowne first describes Rosaline:
    “And, among three, to love the worst of all:
     A wightly [nimble] wanton with a velvet brow,
     With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes . . .”  [pitch is black tar]

Later he says:
    “O, if in black my lady's brows [forehead] be deck'd,
      It mourns that painting [makeup] and usurping hair [a wig]
      Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
      And therefore is she born to make black fair;
      Her favor [appearance] turns the fashion of the days,
      For native blood is counted painting now;
      And therefore red [blushing skin color], that would avoid dispraise,
      Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.”

Berowne’s peers tease him:
    “By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.”
    “O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
     The hue of dungeons and the suit of night.”
    “To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.”
    “And since her time are colliers [coal miners] counted bright.”
    “And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack [boast].”
    “Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.”

Berowne teases his friends that the makeup, the colors, on their lovers' faces will wash off:
      Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
      For fear their colors should be wash’d away.

Even the ladies tease Rosaline in the contrast of her “light” behavior and her dark skin:
      Rosaline asks: “What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?’
      Katherine responds, “A light condition in a beauty dark.”

The Princess plays on Berowne’s letter to Rosaline, that she is described, “Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.”

Berowne describes her hands as white, perhaps in the OED definition (“of a person, often as a term of endearment: highly prized, precious; dear, beloved, favorite”) or referring to her white gloves (“By this white glove—how white the hand, God knows”), which has probably sidetracked many an editor and educator.

And why not a Black woman? Aaron the Black Moor is beloved of a white woman, who births his child in Titus Andronicus. Desdemona marries a Black man, Othello. A tawny man comes to court Portia in The Merchant of Venice, indicating there is nothing unusual in that match-up. In The Merchant of Venice, Launcelot Gobbo has gotten a Black girl pregnant; Lorenzo says to him: “I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting up of the Negro's belly: the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.” Perhaps Berowne was originally played by a Black man as well, but no matter his color, the reactions of the other nobles on Berowne’s love shines a spotlight on racism in the court (racism that doesn't deter Berowne) in a typically Shakespearean manner.

Love’s Labor’s Lost also has this stage direction: Enter Black moores with musicke. Interestingly, Queen Elizabeth had a group of eight “blackamoor” musicians and three dancing boys. Since the 1598 title page of the Love's Labor's Lost quarto states, “As it was presented before her Highness this last Christmas,” the Queen’s blackamoor musicians could certainly have been the ones playing music during the performance. And lest you believe the black Moors were merely tawny, the OED states that blackamoors are “black Africans, Ethiopians.”

I’ve been reading two books on the history of Blacks in England, Staying Power: The History of Black People in England, and Black Tudors: The Untold Story. It is eye-opening how Blacks, like Women, have been ignored in the historical record. During Shakespeare’s time, slavery was outlawed. Queen Elizabeth complained in 1596 that there were too many Blacks in London and were taking jobs away from Englishmen. Blacks had paid work and small businesses, worked in households, intermarried, appeared at court. And they showed up as characters in plays. :-)

anon!
Robin

p.s. There is another book I have not yet read: Black and British: A Forgotten History, by David Olusoga. Let me know how it is! On another note, check out these literary stickers that include William Shakespeare and other great writers.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Click this red link to download the new Shakespeare Quiz just for you: Disturbed Dramas! :-)

And here are the answers to the previous quiz, Shakespeare Pictionary:
1) King Lear. 2) Romeo and Juliet. 3) Merry Wives of Windsor. 4) Antony & Cleopatra. 5) Merchant of Venice. 6) Henry the Fourth, part 1 or 2. 7) Macbeth. 8) Cymbeline. 9) Richard the Third. 10) The Tempest. 11) Hamlet.

A Romeo & Juliet Fugue or Round



Last year a small group of us did a very close read on Romeo and Juliet. I noticed something while reading this carefully that I have never noticed in performance. There is a point after Juliet is found and believed to be dead where her Mother, Father, Nurse, and Paris each have a short speech of mourning (Act 4.5.46–67). What is particularly intriguing about these four speeches is the patterns in their language: all the first lines have a similar pattern to each other, all the second lines have a similar pattern to each other, etc.

For example, here are the fourth lines of each speech:



Mother: But one, poor one, one poor and loving child
Nurse: O day, O day, O day, O hateful day
Paris: O love, O life; not life, but love in death
Father: O child, O child, my soul, and not my child



It occurred to me that it might be an interesting experiment to have Readers/Actors read their lines, not as their own individual speeches, but in a sequential round of all the first lines, then all the second lines, etc. (Each character has six lines, except Paris, who has only four and thus drops out of the dirge—why does he only have four lines?)

When we experimented with this in the reading group, it became a communal outpouring of grief rather than four people reciting their own individual and separate griefs.



To really get the feeling of the patterns, it's important to read the lines in the rhythm of the iambic pentameter in which Shakespeare wrote them. ;-) If you’re not familiar with iambic pentameter, don't worry—each line is ten syllables and you simply emphasize every other syllable.



in SOOTH, i KNOW not WHY i AM so SAD



Below is a link to a PDF with all the lines. Try it! Some lines might sound awkward to you at first if you’re using the correct rhythm. For instance, we usually put the accent on the second syllable of lamentable. But every time Shakespeare uses that word in a verse line, the accent is on the first syllable: LA men TAB le, as in this line from Constance in King John:



why HOLDS thine EYE that LAmenTABle RHEUM



So trust Shakespeare’s meter and let the rhythm be heard. Practice the lines while emphasizing the rhythm, which will feel unnatural, until you get the feel of the line. Then speak it more normally, but still with that subtle lilt of the iambic meter.

The PDF points out a few more things to look for in the meter, such as “headless” lines, where the first syllable is missing so you need to hold for a beat, and even a “broken-back” line where syllables are missing in the middle of the line. So much fun!



Here is a link to the PDF: A Romeo & Juliet Fugue or Round


Gather your housemates or online friends and practice it aloud together. If one of you is a musician, set it to music, or create a poetry performance, or sing it a cappella. I can't help but think Shakespeare would be delighted. 






I would love to hear how your experiments go—please comment below!

Side effect of the Coronavirus

Well, one side effect of having to shut down all my reading groups is that now I have to time to renew my random little iReadShakespeare short newsletter. :-) Those of you who have been on this list for a while are aware that I am the worst blogger ever. But I’m excited to send this to you!

I’ve lately been reading the works of Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam (1466–1536, lived to be 70 years old) lately because I like to read things that we know influenced Shakespeare. I discovered I love reading Erasmus’ work, and I can certainly see that it is one of the sources from which the playwright studied the art of rhetoric.

In his work called, On Copia of Words and Ideas, in which copia means “a plentiful supply,” I was particularly struck with the one-paragraph chapter in which he discusses allegory and the use of proverbs such as, “Saleable wine has no need of ivy trimmings.” Apparently taverns would hang ivy on their doors to indicate they had wine for sale, but if the wine is good, there is no need to advertise because the quality will speak for itself. We see this particular proverb in use in As You Like It when Rosalind says, “If it be true that good wine needs no bush, ’tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.”

Although it was interesting to see the connection of the line from Erasmus to As You Like It, I was even more intrigued with this thought of Erasmus’:

“In proverbs of this sort, allegory sometimes results in enigma. Nor is that bad, if you are talking to the learned, or writing; indeed, in the latter case, not even if for the general reader. For things should not be written in such a way that everyone understands everything, but so that they are forced to investigate certain things, and learn.”

That last line, so we are forced to investigate certain things, and learn, I find quite profound and enlightening. I come from twenty-five years of writing computer books—I write really good directions, and I developed my own techniques for making sure everything was crystal clear. So the idea that it is a positive feature (not a bug) for writing to be enigmatic was eye-opening to me. (I realize poets already know this, but I’m not a poet!)

Knowing Shakespeare read Erasmus, the idea that maybe Shakespeare intentionally wrote so we—you and I, Dear Reader—are forced to investigate and learn gives me more patience with particularly knotty passages. And then I find I feel complicit with the playwright in puzzling out the various potential meanings, like I’m finally getting the inside joke and working with it and winking along with the author.

And of course, as Readers, the satisfaction of eventually reading that knotty passage and being able to hold the various layers of meaning within it is so delicious!

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Each newsletter now comes with a Shakespeare quiz in which to test your knowledge and maybe learn new things. Click on the link below to open the PDF quiz in your browser. From there you can print it or download it to your device. Feel free to share the quiz as much as you want!
with a smile,
Robin

Click here to download Shakespeare Pictionary! This is an easy one. ;-)

Reading is easier than blogging

I am the World’s Worst Blogger. sigh.

But I am a Dedicated Reader. I’ve been noticing that one of my favorite things about reading the plays aloud with others is the community that develops among a group of people from wildly different backgrounds and ages. Friendships develop, memories are shared, joys are celebrated, sorrows find comfort, we have food and libations together (the original meaning of libation, by the way, is a drink, usually alcohol of some sort, poured out as an offering to a deity!).

Carry on your Reading Group into this wonderful new decade during which the world will get set to rights once again! I’m counting on it. :-)

Another reason to read Shakespeare slowly

Esoteric: Designed for, or appropriate to, an inner circle of privileged followers

I’m reading this book, Philosophy Between the Lines: The Lost History of Esoteric Writing, by Arthur M. Melzer, because I’ve been curious for many years about the contradiction in Shakespeare’s works between what would have been accessible for most theater-goers of the time, be they lower or upper classes, and the underlying and often hidden significances of so many aspects of Shakespeare’s plays. Melzer’s book is about the long tradition of writing that includes bits “intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people with a specialized knowledge or interest.”

Melzer says a number of things that remind me of the close-reading group that I run on Sunday mornings (and in which which some on this list participate!). For instance, Melzer writes, “Esoteric reading, being very difficult, requires one to slow down and spend much more time with a book than one may be used to. One must read it very slowly, and as a whole, and over and over again.” This is exactly what we do on Sunday mornings.  ;-)

Melzer quotes a preface of Nietzsche’s about the journey through a book (or a Shakespeare play):

“A book like this is in no hurry; we both, I just as much as my book, are friends of lento [slowly]. . . . In the midst of an age of “work,” that is to say, of hurry, of indecent and perspiring haste, which wants to ‘get everything done’ at once, including every old or new book—this art does not so easily get anything done; it teaches to read well, that is to say, to read slowly, deeply, looking cautiously before and aft, with reservations, with doors left open, with delicate eyes and fingers.”

And I quote Melzer again because he says it so much better than I can: “At this lower speed, new sorts of experiences and connections start to become possible. You begin to live with the book. It becomes your companion and friend. Your interactions with it become more unhurried, and thus more wide-ranging, bold, and experimental, and at the same time more delicate, nuanced, and intimate.”

I write this as encouragement to slow down when reading Shakespeare! The treasures we find along the path as we stroll—rather than run—through the text are profound.  :-)

Memorizing and Reading Shakespeare

An article appeared in The New York Times Magazine several months ago called, “How to Memorize Shakespeare.” It’s very short and sweet and has some good tips, but does include a derogatory reference to reading: “the worst way to learn [lines] is sitting down and reading them in your head.”

Dr. Kristin Bundesen, a strong supporter of Shakespeare reading groups, had some interesting comments on this:

I agree to an extent.

Reading comprehension improves with muscle movement. In the process of writing notes manually as you read, you engage hand and arm muscles, which helps readers retain information. The more muscles engaged in the reading process, the more one ‘“gets it.”

(Highlighting, by the way, does nothing for reading comprehension—it just draws attention to spots when one needs to reread because you didn’t get it the first time around.)

Sometimes, I think that the false mandate that you can’t understand Shakespeare by reading it—the insistence that you have to act it—is simply a reaction to not understanding the reading process well enough. Reading should be muscular. For the disinterested student (thinking high school), the more muscles the better. But that doesn’t mean they have to “see” it on the stage or “act” it out to get it.

The imaging bit described in the article works well and engraves the imagery (which some consider superfluous to understanding the plot) in comprehension. As a first step in the reading process, it can make reading the rest of the play simpler. Images are painted in the mind’s eye first.

Of course, community reading groups read aloud. And when memorizing, it obviously helps to speak the words aloud. As we get older, it naturally becomes more difficult to memorize, but speaking and moving helps a lot.

I memorized several Shakespearean sonnets while living in London—I walked to the iambic pentameter beat (ba BUM, ba BUM, ba BUM, ba BUM, ba BUM) through those lovely Victorian graveyards. But because I don’t retain things very well when I just hear them, I wrote them out on paper and read them as I walked, getting the best of both visual and physical memory. Out loud.  :-)

Have you memorized any Shakespeare? What are your tips for doing it?

A Club of Two

I found notice of an intriguing variation of a Shakespeare reading group in 1891—it’s rather adorable: A letter to the editor of the journal Shakespeariana is entitled “A Club of Two.” The writer describes his Shakespeare reading club in which the only other participant he could find was one friend. At the time of writing they had been meeting for three years and had read and studied about twelve plays.

Eventually one member moved to another city, but they continued their program with lengthy weekly letters. When particularly puzzled, they wrote to a “specialist” in Shakespeare. They each kept a modern form of a commonplace book that, when filled with their own notes and criticisms, they then exchanged these books with each other. How I wish I could find those letters and commonplace books!

The writer’s inspiration for his Club of Two provides a testament to not only the power of Shakespeare reading to create community—even between a group of two—but also to the popularity and dedication of lay readers in that earlier time. The writer states: “To many persons the bare term ‘studying Shakespeare’ calls up in the mind’s eye visions of an ambitious reading club or Shakespearian Society, and being unable or perhaps unwilling to join such an association they end by doing nothing.”

The creative solution of this Club of Two not only indicates the pervasive passion for the reading activity, but also provides an important witness to the realization that “studying Shakespeare” at the time was commonly understood to take place among communities of general readers in their own parlors, not in universities. Just as many of us are doing right now.  :-)

If anyone hears of the collection of letters these two friends exchanged, please let me know!

Charles Lamb on reading King Lear

Did you miss me?    ;-)

I have been consumed with getting the Readers’ Edition of King Lear to press in time for the next close read and also an Actors’ Edition for the cast of our September performance, thus I missed sending out this mini-newsletter for several weeks.

In the process of producing the King Lear edition, I again ran across a statement from Charles Lamb about reading Lear as opposed to seeing it performed. Charles is co-author of Tales from Shakespeare, published in 1807, a book that has never been out of publication since that time. The original Tales from Shakespeare was actually not co-authored, but written by Charles’ sister, Mary Lamb, under the pseudonym Thomas Hodgkins. Mary could not put her name on the book not only because she was a woman, but because she was in and out of mental institutions for stabbing her mother to death with a kitchen knife (although when you read her actual story of what led her to that, it’s difficult not to sympathize a bit; check out Mary Lamb at Wikipedia for the short version of her story).

Anyway, Charles Lamb has this to say about Shakespeare’s play of King Lear. He writes during a time of popular consensus that Shakespeare was best enjoyed on the page instead of the stage, showing how different the interaction with Shakespeare’s works was at the time.

So to see Lear acted—to see an old man tottering about the stage with a walking-stick, turned out of doors by his daughters in a rainy night, has nothing in it but what is painful and disgusting. We want to take him into shelter and relieve him. That is all the feeling which the acting of Lear ever produced in me.

But the Lear of Shakespeare cannot be acted. The contemptible machines by which they mimic the storm which he goes out in, is not more inadequate to represent the horrors of the real elements, than any actor can be to represent Lear; they might more easily propose to personate the Satan of Milton upon a stage, or one of Michael Angelo’s terrible figures.

The greatness of Lear is not in corporal dimension, but in intellectual: the explosions of passion are terrible as a volcano: they are storms turning up and disclosing to the bottom that sea, his mind, with all its vast riches. It is his mind which is laid bare. This case of flesh and blood seems too insignificant to be thought on even as he himself neglects it.

On the stage we see nothing but corporal infirmities and weakness, the impotence of rage; while we read it, we see not Lear, but we are Lear—we are in his mind, we are sustained by a grandeur which baffles the malice of daughters and storms; in the aberrations of his reason, we discover a mighty irregular power of reasoning, immethodized from the ordinary purposes of life, but exerting its powers, as the wind blows where it listeth, at will upon the corruptions and abuses of mankind.

—Charles Lamb, 1811, “On The Tragedies of Shakespeare Considered with Reference to their Fitness for Stage Representation” 

If you’ve read King Lear and also seen it on stage, what do you think about the difference? Of course both options, reading and watching, have strengths and weaknesses, but what are they, in your opinion?

Oh, stop telling me not to read Shakespeare!

Britain's newspaper, Daily Mail, interviewed Ian McKellen, who “wants us all to put down our books and stop trying to learn the plays before we’ve seen them. ‘It’s not what ordinary people should have to bother with. That’s for the actors to do. The plays weren’t written to be read, they were written to be spoken out loud and acted and for an audience to watch.’”

Sigh.

Us ordinary people should not read the plays. We must let the actors read Shakespeare and they will convey what it all means, all the depths and nuances and irony, in their interpretation of the play. Which is also cut.

Oh, I do apologize for being such a snot, but it is so sad to me that millions of people are encouraged away from an up-close-and-personal relationship with the plays of Shakespeare, one we can create by engaging with the text ourselves. Of course we should also watch performances, but please stop telling me that is the only possible way to experience Shakespeare!

I need to write to Sir Ian and remind him that the First Folio is dedicated “To the Great Variety of Readers.”  ;-)

Have you run across statements or been told in person that you must not read the plays? Tell us about it in the Comments below! If you have suggestions for responses, let us know that as well.  ;-)