Happy 450th, Shakespeare

Four hundred and fifty years ago today, arguably the greatest writer ever was born. Or it may have been four hundred and fifty years ago yesterday, or tomorrow. Births weren't normally registered in the sixteenth century, only baptisms. Shakespeare was baptised on the 26th April, and three days would have been the expected gap, unless there was a serious risk of the baby not surviving, in which case it would have been done at once. Shakespeare also died on the 23rd April, offering an attractive symmetry. It's St George's Day too, a fitting day for England's favourite author to be born.

Whatever, a decision has been made and ratified by tradition that today is Shakespeare's birthday. Rather like the stray dog or cat you pick up from the refuge — no-one really knows when they were born, but you pick a birthday  for them. After all, the important thing is to celebrate that they were born, not necessarily to do it on the right day.

William Shakespeare was born what would today be described as an upper-middle-class boy in Stratford-upon-Avon. His father, John Shakespeare, had improved himself from a tenant farming family to become a local businessman and a major figure in Stratford's local politics. His mother, Mary Arden, came from a significant landowning family, which automatically put her on a higher social standing than anyone in trade.

Little is known about how this boy came to be an actor and playwright in London, except that his father ran into serious financial problems when William was in his teens. This was presumably the reason why he never went to university, as he almost certainly would have otherwise, a fact used to taunt him as an adult. The lack of information has given rise to a number of absurd conspiracy theories, which I discussed a couple of years ago.

When Shakespeare began writing, playwrights weren't highly regarded, being generally dismissed as hacks — plays were often produced without even mentioning the author. Christopher Marlowe began to change things (it's one of the great what-ifs of history how Shakespeare and Marlowe might have pushed one another even further and higher if Marlowe had lived) but it was largely thanks to Shakespeare that the generation of playwrights that followed him were clearly recognised and acknowledged.

After his death, his friend and colleague Ben Jonson described him as not of an age, but for all time, a remarkably prophetic comment. His works have been translated into almost every major language on Earth (and will eventually, we're told, be available "in the original Klingon", a parody of Hitler's insistence that Shakespeare was a German writer) and it's been said that one of his plays is being performed somewhere at every moment.

Shakespeare isn't to everyone's taste, of course, and I'd suspect mind-control if any author were. Still, I believe many people who dismiss him might not find him difficult or boring if they'd first encountered him through a really good production or film version, rather than being made to study him in school. Even many of the language problems vanish if good actors are using the lines, as Shakespeare intended, to entertain instead of as revered icons.

Shakespeare is the greatest single influence on me as an author — such an all-pervading influence that I often forget all about him when asked to list my favourite authors or my greatest inspirations. Of course, I write nothing like him. I don't write plays in iambic pentameter, nor do I use Elizabethan or Jacobean language. The world I'm writing for has very different values, and my characters think in ways very different from his.

Still, Shakespeare is the touchstone for everything I write. I might not create the same characters as he did (I would hope not) but he was one of the greatest character-makers of all time, and understanding why his characters are the way they are can be illuminating for my own characterisation.

The English language itself wouldn't be what it is without him. So many phrases and sayings we use as a matter of course can from his plays — in one fell swoop, a sea-change, or star-crossed lovers, just to pluck out a few at random. It's a fair bet that every one of us, at some point, uses at least one Shakespearean phrase every day.

So, happy birthday, Shakespeare, and here's to you. Whether or not today really is your birthday.

Who Wrote Shakespeare?

Who wrote Shakespeare’s plays?  It’s a debate that’s been raging for well over a century, and a recent film has stoked it higher.  Was it Sir Francis Bacon?  Christopher Marlowe?  The Earl of Oxford?

Well, I should lay my cards on the table straight off and say that I’ve never had the slightest doubt that the plays were written by a certain gentleman from Stratford-upon-Avon named William Shakespeare.  Not only do I find none of the other claims remotely convincing – I don’t even find the need to propose alternatives remotely convincing.

So where did these conspiracy theories come from?  In spite of (or perhaps because of) Shakespeare’s immense popularity with London’s theatregoers in the 1590s and 1600s, he was the subject of scorn and hostility from many other writers at the time.  Robert Greene, for instance, in the early 1590s attacked the upstart player who presumed to write plays, ironically giving us the clearest proof we have that Shakespeare was well known at the time as a dramatist.

The hostility was for two reasons: Shakespeare was an actor, a trade seen at the time as one step up from the criminal world, and he hadn’t been to university.  These were both heinous faults, and have given rise over the centuries to the myth that he was some kind of barely literate peasant, who couldn’t possibly have written some of the world’s greatest works of literature.

In fact, Shakespeare was middle class, and tending more to upper than lower middle class, at that.  His father was, until a financial crisis when William was in his teens, a prosperous Stratford businessman and a prominent figure in the town’s politics, while his mother’s family, the Ardens, were minor landed gentry related to many of the similar families in the midlands.  In fact, Shakespeare was related to several of the key figures in the Gunpowder Plot.

Nor was he uneducated.  His father’s status makes it almost certain that he’d have attended Stratford Grammar School, which had a high reputation for the quality and rigour of its teaching.  While there’s no proof of how proficient a student Shakespeare was, there’s no mystery about where the classical learning shown in the plays and poems came from.

Under normal circumstances, he’d have gone to university in his mid teens, but that coincided with his father’s bankruptcy, and there’s no reason to suppose the omission had any reflection on his educational standard.  Even Ben Jonson’s slight bitchy comment (uncharacteristic, as he generally admired Shakespeare) that he had “little Latin and less Greek” actually shows that he was far from uneducated.

This particular myth has been fuelled by misunderstanding about the state of literacy at the time.  Much has been made of the fact that he used several spellings of his own name, but this was true of most educated people in his day.  Elizabeth’s chief minister, William Cecil, was fairly indifferently Lord Burleigh, Lord Burghley, or Lord Burley.  Standard spelling didn’t become the rule until the 18^th century.

What of the main pretenders?  On the face of it, Christopher Marlowe seems the most likely, since he was a great dramatist himself.  The theory is that Marlowe’s death in a tavern brawl was a cover for his activities as a government agent, and that he continued writing in secret, using Shakespeare’s name as a front.

There are a few problems about this.  It’s certainly true that the tavern brawl robbed us of a mature writer who might have given Shakespeare a run for his money, but there’s very little similarity between their styles.  Shakespeare had written a number of his early plays by that time, which already show his embryonic qualities – subtle characterisation, a common touch and a strong sense of humour, even in more serious plays.  Marlowe, by contrast, favoured vivid, larger-than-life characters like Faustus and Tamburlaine and high-powered language.  And there was no sign of any ability or inclination to write comedy.

In addition, there would have been practical problems.  Unless Marlowe was hiding in the middle of London for nearly twenty years – unlikely – he couldn’t have responded as instantly to moods and demands as Shakespeare seems to have.  Twelfth Night, for instance, seems to have been commissioned for court with very precise requirements, and written, produced and performed within little more than a week. 

Bacon, too, shows no similarity to Shakespeare’s style in his own writing.  He was a major figure in his own right in philosophy and science, in addition to his career as a statesman, but he displayed none of Shakespeare’s inspired use of language.

Nor was there any reason for either Bacon or Oxford to undertake such an elaborate charade.  It’s true that, if either had written for the theatre, they would have to hide the fact, but that would have been easy enough.  Many plays were produced anonymously.  The cult of the theatrical writer started with Marlowe, but without Shakespeare’s personal success no-one would have thought it strange not to have known the author’s name.

If deception over the plays was unnecessary, it would be mind-boggling where the poetry was concerned.  Writing poetry, and especially sonnets, was part of a gentleman’s expected talents in Elizabeth’s court – men like Raleigh and Sidney gained credit, not lost it, from their poems.  There wasn’t a man in court who wouldn’t have sold his soul to have been able to claim Shakespeare’s sonnets as his own.

It’s been suggested that Shakespeare wouldn’t have had the political understanding to write some of his work, but that underestimates both the role of politics at the time and Shakespeare’s character and opportunities.  We’re accustomed to thinking of politics as something we really should take an interest in, but it’s a bit boring.  That wasn’t true in Shakespeare’s day, and it’s not difficult to see why.  There are consequences for us if we end up with the “wrong” government, but not huge consequences.  We might be more zealous about the process if, for example, the “wrong” choice meant we could end up burnt at the stake.

Ordinary people in 16^th century England were passionately interested in the political history that had led them to their present day.  Much of Shakespeare’s history is based on the work of Holinshed, and a copy of his history exists with annotations that have been identified as Shakespeare’s handwriting.

The company Shakespeare wrote and acted with, the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, whose patron was responsible for court entertainment, were virtually the house theatre company at court.  He’d have been used to being at court – in the role of litle more than a servant, to be sure, but servants have always seen a good deal of what’s going on.  Especially if, as the author of the plays clearly was, they are obsessive observers of human behaviour.  Shakespeare would have known exactly who was who at court, and how everyone interacted.

Most of all, though, it’s quite clear that the plays were written by an actor, someone who knew inside-out what the people on stage needed from him.  He wrote perfectly for leads, for character actors, for bit-players, giving every one of them the opportunity to make the most of their time on stage, however long or short.  It’s been said that, too, that if an actor follows Shakespeare’s punctuation he or she never has to take an extra breath.  Marlowe might conceivably have had sufficient experience for this, but certainly not Bacon or Oxford.

All these three had their own achievements, especially Bacon in the development of modern science and Marlowe as a great writer.  It’s not their fault people centuries later have tried to ascribe someone else’s genius to them, but it’s certainly long past time to give up the snobbishness of the past and acknowledge that a middle-class, provincial boy grew up to be perhaps the greatest writer the world has ever known.

Shakespeare and Me

My story A Deed Without a Name is published today in Penumbra’s Shakespeare-themed issue.  I’m not going to reveal which play the story refers to (although the title might give it away) but I thought I’d talk about some of the experiences I’ve had with Shakespeare over the years.

I can’t claim to know Shakespeare’s works inside out.  There are thirty-eight plays acknowledged as being wholly or partly by Shakespeare (thirty-seven in most editions of the Complete Works, plus Two Noble Kinsmen) together with the sonnets and the narrative poems, but of those I’ve never seen or read ten.  Note to self: must do better.

A trace of intellectual snobbery makes me give myself bonus points for those I’ve seen on stage, but actually there’s nothing wrong with watching film or TV versions.  I’ve always believed that Shakespeare would be delighted with both media and would be eager to write for them.

Still, there’s something unique about being present for a great stage production of Shakespeare.  The earliest plays I recall seeing were at the Regents Park Open Air Theatre in London.  My parents, who had both been actors, took us to see both Twelfth Night and A Midsummer Night’s Dream there when I was quite young, although I only have very general memories of these visits.

A more awesome experience, when I was perhaps about ten or eleven, was being taken to see a production of Much Ado About Nothing, with Maggie Smith and Robert Stevens.  Without any disrespect to the Regents Park casts, this was an entirely different level, and certainly as good, in a different medium, as Branagh’s excellent film version.

Of course, we “did” Shakespeare at school.  Generations of kids have hated Shakespeare for the dull way he’s taught but, although our classes were in the traditional manner, I already knew how wonderful the plays could be and enjoyed reading them.  We studied Hamlet for A-level, and I went to two memorable productions within a year, both at the Cambridge Theatre in London.

The two Hamlets I saw were Alan Bates and Ian McKellan (the latter fresh from his breakthrough roles at Shakespeare’s Richard II and Marlowe’s Edward II, both of which I’d seen on TV).  Of the two, I preferred the Bates production, which was lively and fun, bringing out the surprising amount of genuine comedy in the play.  The McKellan version, by contrast, was a serious, doom-filled tragedy, but both were excellent in their own ways.

The production I treasure most, perhaps, is the RSC’s version of Twelfth Night with Judi Dench as Viola and Donald Sinden as Malvolio.  It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that Judi Dench was brilliant, but anyone who only ever saw Sinden’s highly mannered and over-the-top performances in TV sitcoms might not realise what a wonderful stage actor he was.  His final exit, promising “I’ll be reveng’d on the whole pack of you” is possibly the most memorable moment I’ve ever seen on stage.

I’m the non-theatrical member of my family, but I still managed a couple of small parts in productions at university.  In Macbeth, I played a minor lord called Menteith, who mainly stood around and had occasional lines.  In Julius Caesar, however, I played Cinna the Poet, who can be best described as a cameo role.  He’s the innocent bystander who gets torn to pieces by the angry mob because he happens to have the same name as one of the assassins.  I screamed a lot in that part.

I’ve been to a number of fine productions since the ones mentioned – though I’ve also missed plenty I’d love to have seen, especially in recent years – as well as many on TV and film.  I remember a spine-tingling TV version of Macbeth with Eric Porter (Banquo’s appearance at the feast was as gut-wrenching as anything I’ve ever seen in a horror film), and Laurence Olivier putting in classic performances in both King Lear and The Merchant of Venice.

Then there are the films.  There have been some great film versions of Shakespeare, as well as some that are less great, including a terrible Hollywood version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the 30s.  The ones that stand out for me are Olivier’s Henry V and Richard III, the Burton/Taylor version of The Taming of the Shrew, and Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing, Henry V and Hamlet (the only film version of the play I’ve enjoyed unreservedly) but worth a gold star for bravery are Anthony Hopkins’ film of Shakespeare’s gore-fest Titus Andronicus and Derek Jarman’s bizarre reading of The Tempest.

I hope there’ll be plenty more – perhaps versions by actors just starting out that will put the productions I’ve seen into the shade.  In any case, it’s impossible to see too many Hamlets, Twelfth Nights or Romeo and Juliets.  And there are always those ten plays I still don’t know.