ricardienne: (library)
I picked up on a whim at the library book sale corner Fanny Kemble's Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation, 1838-9 (ed. J.A. Scott, Brown Thrasher, 1984) written by the famous English actress who married a wealthy Philadelphian, whose family fortune owed to massive southern plantations. She was a confirmed abolitionist even before her marriage, and published -- after her divorce and return to England -- a journal from the period of her residence on her husband's plantation, written in the form of letters to a friend. She utterly fascinates me: there's quite a lot of self-righteous pronouncements (very entertainingly when about Americans) and Victorian moralizing, and many of her pronouncements on race and culture/"civilization" make one very uncomfortable. But she has some very pointed observations on the effects of racism in the North, and, throughout -- her capacity for snark and sarcasm! It is amazing.
Some choice extracts on American child-rearing, culture, and curfew (TW: food policing) )

But this bit I think is one of the most interesting, especially since Kemble was herself an actress, and from a family of Shakespearean actors. TW: racism and racist language )


Apr. 28th, 2010 11:48 pm
ricardienne: (heiro)
With all due respect to [livejournal.com profile] awomanthatsblue I liked it a lot. I'm certainly not qualified to go on about it, but out of the people I've seen playing Hamlet, David Tennant is definitely the most attractive -- what I mean to say, of course, is that I thought I was going to be meh about the switches to security-tape footage, but I ended up not minding at all. What clicked it for me was Hamlet recording the Players' performance: watching a recording a play mirroring a play...

(two thoughts about the players: 1) how awesome was including the Murder of Gonzago AND the Priam/Hecuba speech, which isn't exactly unthematic at all. 2) The staging of Murder of Gonzago = possibly in part the RSC's dig at the Globe?)

This is not news to anyone, but there is so much in Hamlet about performing (like, the entire play) for others/against an ideal/against others and viewing, and acting for a viewer/according to a directing persons' instructions. And so I liked the mirrors/cameras/Hamlet navel-gazing and recording himself. I think having Hamlet taping his own soliloquies got toward some of the extra meta-theatrical baggage that is a result of Hamlet being such a canonical play.

(I think that the main staging choice I didn't like was the duct-taped to a chair interrogation scene in the basement. Similarly I'm not sure it was really necessary to drug Hamlet before sending him off to England. Also, I may have an anti- gritty and realistic compulsion).

Anyway: David Tennant as Hamlet. I thought the wild-eyed and wound-up thing worked pretty well: the first scene with Claudius and Gertrude and Hamlet was really really amazing, and while not every other scene was that good, on the balance I really liked it. Um what else? Hamlet really wants R. and G. not to be fakes and is genuinely upset when they are? Oh Mr. Tennant, you broke my heart with that.

Gertrude I also thought was fantastic. My experience isn't broad in this, but I definitely had not seen a Gertrude knows exactly what she's doing when she drinks the poison version before. Also, the big Hamlet-Gertrude followed by Gertrude-Claudius scene was devastating.

Patrick Stewart! The thing is: Patrick Steward now looks like Captain Picard crossed with my beloved third grade teacher crossed with certain members of my dad's family, and this combination does not tend to make me think of evil. No actually, I really liked his Claudius: someone who can easily hide his wickedness, because, come on, who is going to suspect Patrick Steward of villainy? And he smiled and was affabl(y evil), and it wasn't obviously fake, even if you knew that it was. And it makes Claudius that much scarier.

(Clearly an excess of italics in that paragraph: don't judge.)

I don't think I've ever read or seen Hamlet when Ophelia's character arc completely made sense to me, so I tend just not to worry about it.

Random Hamlet thought: "Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I" is a really weird soliloquy in light of the fact that Hamlet is probably a more immediately recognizable figure than Hecuba.
ricardienne: (library)
[livejournal.com profile] existentialgoat and I went to see Troilus and Cressida last night. Things looked rather ominous when the director's note announced that he had picked the play after looking around for a good vehicle to talk about war and the human cost of war, and that he had found this play to be good for cutting and rearranging in order to make his point. It turned out to be less anvilicious than it promised, however. Or rather, the anviliciousness was sufficiently confused that it didn't get in the way. Coming from someone who has not actually read the play thoroughly all the way through -- there were some rather large omissions (apart from line and speech cutting): most notably, Diomedes was merged with Ajax: it was played as "Cressida is forced by a brutish Ajax to accept him as her lover." This is a more congenial interpretation, I think, than the traditional(?) "Cressida is just a flighty woman who falls for whatever pretty man happens to be available," and it sort of mostly worked. Thersites was made into a female slave, which stretched some of the lines, obviously, but, again, worked about half the time.

Um what else? It was modern dress, naturally. There were some really nicely-done scenes of Hector, Aeneas, Troilus, etc. engaging in band of brothers-esque cameraderie, helping each other off with armour, passing around cards and beers, etc. Probably the worst scene was the version of the Agamemnon (played by a woman), Nestor, and Ulysses in council: it consisted of them sitting on stage watching the previously-filmed version of them giving their speeches. Also, they cut out the complaint about how Achilles and Patroclus sit around doing impressions of the more senior officers, which is my favorite part of that scene.

I imagine that making Pandarus Troilus' Gay Best Friend must be a fairly common way to go, but that gives the ending some awkward implications if it's played completely casually as "oh shoot, I have a fatal sexually-transmitted disease." Just an FYI.

Unrelated to that: I am a total Aeneas fangirl in this play, and I don't know why. But I really like him (I remember this from reading the play, too).
ricardienne: (heiro)
Watched BBC Pericles tonight:

(1) Gower should have a map of the Aegean, and either a pointer or pushpins and string.

(2) It hadn't occurred to me before that Megan Whalen Turner's Attolia-universe is very much like ShakespeareanRomance!Antiquity.
ricardienne: (Default)
What would an election be without the weird historical analogies?

(1) Obama as Augustus. The parallels are certainly there (I saw them before I hunted down this post) -- nation divided by partisan strife, young unknown initially dismissed by political establishment defeats veteran soldier/politician and his much-vilified female ally from exotic location, promises to restore greatness and unity, is hailed as savior -- but the blogger rather inexplicably seems to think that Augustus was an uncontestably Good Thing...
(2)Barack Socrates Obmama. This one, I just don't get. Socrates was a controversial figure among his contemporaries, so is Obama? I think you need to try a little harder.

(3)And, of course, Voting for Obama was like fighting for Henry V, in a way. Actually, this one I do endorse. (Yeah, I am proud to have voted in this election, and I am going to tell my grand-children about watching the returns!) (more about that analogy (old.)

Today I...

Oct. 19th, 2008 12:01 am
ricardienne: (Default)
1. Locked myself out of my room
2. Got completely behind on homework/practicing
3. Saw a really bizarre adaptation of Midsummer Night' Dream (at least, the parts of it without the fairies or mechanicals). It was very avant-garde and post-modern and other-hyphenated-things: video projection, and audience interaction (we were all handed chicken costumes (read: big pieces of bright yellow fake-fur and mask) upon entering and herded into the orchestra pit, where all the action happened as we milled around and got shoved out of the way by the actors), but it was actually pretty good: the delivery/acting was much better than the straighter (and more complete) version they did last year. And, the video-montage-ing included footage of Foucault with the actor voicing-over for Theseus. Theseus!Foucault! Hilarious!
ricardienne: (Default)
So this weekend, Father, Brother, and I went up to the Resort Town in the Mountains to see summer Shakespeare: Richard II (and the director seemed to promise both Henry IV's next year!) and Merry Wives of Windsor.

On Friday night, we almost didn't get to see anything. We showed up early to wait in line and get good seats, and had a long, fun discussion about Plantagenets (okay, it was mostly me showing off my knowledge of the five of Edward III's sons not named William), and they delayed opening the house, and delayed some more, and finally let us in, only to say that they were waiting for the director to come and make an announcement. Which he did, eventually: that due to a freak truck-accident on the freeway, some of the actors were stuck in traffic, and wouldn't be able to make it on time; terribly sorry, but we're doing MWW tomorrow, and we'll give you all comps. There was enough of a fuss, however, that they offered to put the show on when everyone got there. So yay for late-night Shakespeare and we got our history play after all.

Richard II )

Merry Wives of Windsor )
ricardienne: (Default)
The spammers are getting cleverer. This appeared in my inbox today:

It's like madlibs with Lambs' Tales (or maybe someone else's -- I'm not sure).

he shewed his daughter a fine large ship, which he told her was fullunexpected meeting, for they each thought the other drowned in thefind.
so cruelly destroyed her. And then too, said he to Florizel, I lost of me. Go, comfort your cousin. my father, loved his father dearly. But, said Celia, does it
There is an old poor man, answered Orlando, who has limped after

men were sending their sons to seek preferment abroad some, saidis not so estimable, nor profitable neither, as the flesh of mutton orearnestness, No, by my honour, no woman had it, but a civil doctor,court, in revenge he stole away the two sons of Cymbeline, and brought
to recommend her and the duke of Burgundy declined the match, and be kings, when what the witches promised to me has so wonderfully come with false confidence, and he remembered the sayings of the spirits,
which he distinguished himself by many brave actions, Bertram received

which he distinguished himself by many brave actions, Bertram receivedA courting then Petruchio went to Katherine the shrew, and first ofconsented, for they were quite confident that their gentle wives wouldwere the two brothers, the goldsmith was as certain he had delivered
again repaired to the prison, and it was well for Claudio that he did her enemy's life, sending for Claudio from his prisonhouse, where he sad looks were observed by Orsino, who said to her, My life upon it,
they smiled, and flattered him, he thought surely that his conduct was

left for his dear countrymen as to be willing to do them a kindnessthwarted their intents and being frighted by the noise of peoplecounterfeit the madman, that the king and queen were both deceived,held her fast, and made her sit down. She, affrighted at his earnest
he, or any man living, might be drunk upon occasion it remained now I need a spur, the s revenge it on me and mine to the end of Leoline. Why would she have me killed said Marina now, as I can
been gathering against suppertime, before the mouth of the cave,
of mirth shot among them, it was suddenly quenched with the thought ofUlysses having communicated her instructions, as far as related to thelike veins enameled the smooth breasts of each fragrant mead! It wereto hand with great expedition, she who begins the pastime singing a
Then calling her attendants who had dispersed on the first sight of tattered rags as wandering beggars usually wear. A staff supported his Then Antinous, who was a great lord, and of chief note among the
impaired, nor my age so weak and contemptible as these were pleased to that he had found out who I was, because he imagined it would be suchbook but I could not help peeping again to look at it. In the hurry not help sometimes thinking of my papa and mamma, and then I used to
restore to my friend the rights of her birth yet I thought only of she so willing to learnevery thing so new and delightful to her, little out of humour if they were always served so but if I shewed
[Here I must remind you, my dear miss Howe, that one of the youngup of Samuel, which I used to call the Witch of Endor picture. I was these images of women and females which he raised in my fancy, he

How many references can YOU get? (I'm too lazy/busy to try right now).
ricardienne: (Default)
Happy Birthday, Shakespeare!*
442 years.

(Today is also the birthday of Michael Moore and Timothy McVeigh. Also International Book Day, and the feast of St. George, which is quite appropriate. And Beer Day in Germany, according to wikipedia.)

The thing that struck me today is how recent Shakespeare is. It hasn't even been 450 years since he was born. 442 years before Shakespeare, Eleanor of Aquitaine was born. That's amazing to me. We're only as far away from Shakespeare as Eleanor was. Chaucer was born a little over 200 years before Shakespeare was. 200 years after Shakespeare was born, the French and Indian war was on. Dante was born 300 years before Shakespeare. Three hundred years after Shakespeare, we're in the middle of the American Civil War.

To put things in perspective a little bit more, and because I'm obviously addicted to wikipedia. Virgil died in 19 b.c. Tacitus died in 117. Augustine died in 430.

I guess this is what Early Modern means -- as close, or closer, really, to the modern world as to the ancient world, but it does seem as though time is speeding up.
It's interesting to think about which writers get first names and which by their last. No one would ever call Dante, "Alighieri" but I think all English authors get last names, probably because they all have the same first names so it would get confusing. Classical authors get their cognomen, usually, although Cicero used to by called Tully. Homer only has one name.
ricardienne: (Default)
So here I am. Or, there I am, I suppose. The paper doesn't look so hopeless at the moment, although that may be optimism born of an airplane-numbed mind.

SW Shakespeare is doing Much Ado, and we saw it last night. It was a good way to end break, even if I did finish off the night with the usual breakdown. Natty and I both agreed that the MdN production was better though (well, in some ways, at least.) I was a little disconcerted by the director's pre-concert talk in which he more or less said, "well, we set it in 1840's California because we could,"* but I'm mostly over my phobia of non-traditional Shakespeare, and so it was fine. Actually, I think it was just an excuse to replace Balthasar with a Mariachi band. Otherwise, the setting was completely irelevant, although it did give the whole production a tinge of melodrama, thanks to a very emo Don John and general overacting. I suppose that one way of doing comedies is to have everyone wildly overact and go for slapstick, because, you know, it's supposed to be funny, but that didn't quite work here because of the intervening Claudio-Hero plot. The AZ Republic did not approve of the second half for this reason, although they noted that this was entirely Shakespeare's fault, for not writing a uniformly funny play. Also, they kind of ripped off the Kenneth Branaugh movie. But then, they did that when they did Henry V, too.
*Incidentally, I am wondering why, although people "update" Shakespeare regularly, no one every "backdates" him. Why not a Much Ado set in Roman Gaul, for example, or a Hamlet in Third Crusade Jerusalem? They would probably work as well as anything else. I suppose it wouldn't be "relevant," as a wholly modern one would be, but, when a company sets their production in 1880, for example, are they really intending any greater point other than "these are the costumes we happen to have handy," or maybe, "look: the Victorians had backward ideas about sexuality"?

And, now, because I've actually been tagged, for once, by [livejournal.com profile] forgtnsuitcase
username meme )

popularity meme )


Mar. 12th, 2006 11:08 pm
ricardienne: (Default)
I just read the Twelfth Night one.

spoilers )

And the Tempest one? Equal parts weirdness and literary analysis-crack. There's something not quite right about sticking the play itself into the story, I think, even if it does give you a chance to advance all the weird theories you and your friends dreamed that one time.
ricardienne: (angelo)
So thanks to [livejournal.com profile] thynk2much, I have now seen the Globe Richard II (anyone needing references for good karma on her behalf can apply to me). By rights, then, this should be a long post, but, fortunately for you all, I think it might not be. I am not sure why. For one thing, I am still feeling the effects of post-good-Shakespeare-meltiness. But also, I don't find that I have lots of burning things to say. I don't actually know the play incredibly well. It isn't like Measure for Measure, where I've been spordically obsessed since seventh grade, but it isn't one I've studied in school either (which, granted, isn't very many) or, more the point, one that I've even read in an edition that had notes and critical essays at the back.

I was thinking about Richard today -- I watched the first half last night, and decided that I had really better hold off on the second half as it was already past midnight and I had a piano rehearsal/coaching in the fairly early morning. (It's odd to be thinking about II instead of III.) Or rather, I was thinking about Shakespeare's Richard. It was a very basic question I was asking myself, with an obvious answer perhaps, but I needed to think it out: why isn't he a villain? He's a bad king: not only weak but wasteful, arbitrary, and not incredibly scrupulous, in fact. He's had his uncle murdered; he thinks nothing of wishing his other uncle dead so he can seize his lands and revenues. But that's the important thing, I think. He doesn't think. Richard (at the beginning of the play) isn't even aware that what he's doing and has done might be wrong. Villainous villains always know, whether they know and dismiss it, know and feel (a little or a lot) guilty, or know and revel in it. Richard, if you pointed it out, would just get indignant; he wouldn't understand. And so while it's a realization of his mistakes that he comes to, and maybe even an acceptance of death, it isn't really repentance, and, consequently there isn't a sense that he got his just deserts, even that he really deserved to be deposed and murdered. Henry Bolingbrook isn't a villain either, but he isn't the hero of the play. I wonder, though, if this is just moral reduction, to say that because Richard does not realize that he is acting immorally, he is somewhat exonerated. At some point, ignorance can't equate down to innocence. Innocence, however, is not what I'm talking about, is it? If he doesn't realize that he's guilty, then he isn't guilty. For guilt is really an interior emotion that must be felt. And I think that this last may be a logical fallacy, whereby I am using two senses of a word commutatively. But there's the connection to Measure for Measure, in fact. In what Harold Bloom extolls as the nihilist and comedic center of the play, Barnardine is so "unfit" to die that he can't even be executed -- because he won't acknowledge that he can be executed, i.e. that he's guilty. Actually, the connection is not nearly so strong as it seemed in my head. Never mind.

It was a little odd, watching Richard II with Measure for Measure still so much in my mind. (I think I'm on to what I saw, now, and not the play in general). Essentially the same company of actors wearing many of the same costumes, even (although different people were wearing different costumes -- I know, I know: I get great drama and I sit here drooling over the needle-lace), and very distinctive costumes (as well as sets, music, etc.) at that, was really very nice, in many ways. It all felt so familiar. But then, it made Rylance and Brennan's (and others', actually, but those were the main two) characters seem oddly parallel -- the inept, frivolous ruler vs. the efficient, serious ruler; bright and ornate costume vs. black and severe.

I shall probably have more thoughts about this later.

Indeed, I have been. The parallels I was seeing are for the most part specious. It's the result of the same actors playing in the same kind (most broadly speaking) of play. In fact, it's happened to me before. Good actors do make you believe they are who they portray, and someone with a very distinctive mannerisms (e.g. Mark Rylance) is going to really get that effect. It might be compounded in Shakespeare because the language is just that much removed from my normal one, and that, combined with the non-contemporary setting and the fact that it's all part of the Shakespeare Canon makes any play seem like part of some greater, meaningful whole, where there would be grand hidden patterns. I mean, I think you could do this legitimately with some plays: a lot of the comedies could have giant parallel lines drawn through them all in certain characters. You know what? It's 1:15 a.m., and I'm really not able to even explain what I'm thinking coherently. Time to stop
Comment Statistics Meme )

Jan. 28th, 2006 05:54 pm
ricardienne: (snail)
Is this Illyria, Lady? Because it sure as hell doesn't bear much resemblance to it. It doesn't even look like Harry Potter, for crying out loud. I think we may be witnessing a new low over at [livejournal.com profile] midsummerfest

Hey! Look!

I hope whoever buys it puts up a good scan of the whole thing. Of course, all the pureblood familes being related, I'm not surprised to see a Crouch, a Yaxley, a Flint and a Bulstrode on there. It's interesting that a Burke is, though; either the family or the business has degenerated quite a bit since then, I'd say. It looks like one Dorca [Black] (I assume, as her mother was Violetta Bulstrode so her father must be the child of Phineas and Ursula) married a Charles (or is is Charlas?) Potter, while her cousin Callidora Black married Harfang Longbottom. Could these be Harry's and Neville's paternal grandparents? The dates are about right. Except, of course, that Neville's paternal grandmother's name is Augusta, not Callidora. Perhaps these are the parents of the infamous Uncle Algie, then?
ricardienne: (snail)
Natalie and I saw Casanova yesterday.

honestly, there wasn't anything worth spoiling, really )

I still can't quite believe that they've made a movie of Tristan and Isolde. In the review in the local paper this morning, they called it "the story that inspired Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet." Now that isn't true at all. Tristan and Isolde fall in love, but she's supposed to marry King Mark, Tristan's overlord. The conflict is between his love and his duty. Romeo and Juliet isn't quite the same; it might ultimately come from that, but the paradigm has altered, I think. The love is still illicit, but what is absent is the betrayal. Romeo isn't hurting anyone by loving Juliet; he doesn't have to choose.

We (my dad and I) were trying to trace this a little. There are a lot of stories like Tristan and Isolde:
Lancelot and Guinevere
Pelleas and Melisande
Naoise and Deirdre
Paolo and Francesca
Antony and Cleopatra
Paris and Helen (not quite the same, but there is still that basic idea of love for a woman who is already bound elsewhere causing a big mess)

And then there's the slightly different story, where a young man elopes with the princess/daughter of an enemy, and is pursued and killed by them:

Earl Brand
The Braies of Carrow
Lochnivar (though that one ends happily, if I remember)

And then there's Romeo and Juliet, to which we couldn't find a direct folkloric parallel, though it does seem to be related to these other things.

When we were first talking about Tristan and Isolde, my dad challenged me to come with a Shakespeare play whose plot fit that model. Eventually, I came up with Antony and Cleopatra. But first I thought of Measure for Measure. Because that basic idea is there: a woman (and her sexuality) screw up a man's previously upright existence.
Someone, give me a new obsession, please -- I'm getting a little tired of this one )
ricardienne: (Default)
Leave it to the Victorians to produce Measure for Measure without once mentioning sex.

It's… hilarious. The Pompey and Overdone subplot has been completely cut, of course, but so has the Juliet one. Yes, Claudio is now condemned "for an act of rash selfishness which nowadays would only be punished by severe reproof."

Read on: Marriage as a dishonorable act )

In other news: OMG! My dad is rated on ratemyprofessor.com! They seem to like him, though they say his classes are hard. And should I be relieved or disappointed that he has no "hotness" rating?

EDIT: I am even more amused: he is listed twice; once with last name spelled correctly, and once with the infamous ie-ei switch. The one really negative rating comes under the mispelled name.

In still other news, The Harry Potter Love Match Meme )
ricardienne: (Default)
So last week, I came accross [livejournal.com profile] midsummerfest. It's devoted to a six month Harry Potter fanfiction challenge. You're supposed to take a Shakespeare play and retell it in the Potterverse. The deadline for signups is today. I'm not signing up, incidentally. I considered it briefly (doing Measure for Measure, of course) but I don't really want to a)ruin the play by turning it into a HP fanfic, b)write a giant HP fanfic, or c)spend six months doing either of the above. Also, in spite of all its claims to seriousness, I'm just not getting a very good feeling from what people have posted already.

(click on the cuts and watch me demonstrate my HP geekiness)
Exhibit A: Othello )

Exhibit B: Twelfth Night )

So that, in short, is another reason why I'm not participating.

Natty and I talked about it for a while the other night; the fun part is "casting" and figuring out the "mise en scene," and making fun of other people's choices.
ricardienne: (Default)
Today was all right. The Heroic Age final went fine (I think), and I spent the afternoon baking shortbread. Four batches, to be precise. It was fun. We watched The Last Unicorn at the Latin party. It was… infinitely stupid but moderately amusing.

So what have I been doing? Well, I found a way to view the NPR clip of Measure for Measure, which included about four seconds of one of Angelo's anguished soliloquies. (Anguished being the highbrow version of angst, of course.) So I've been making icons. Because it isn't as though I don't have anything else to do with my time.

ricardienne: (augustine)
Insert usual disclaimer involving Measure for Measure here )

Today was a good day for laughing in class. In Heroic Age, the professor told us that we could all go and practice our Skarphedin moves on the iced-over path from the Campus Center. He promised extra credit to anyone who could, after stopping to tie his (her) shoe, slide along the ice and knock someone's molars out.

Come to think of it, today was a good day for random extra-credit offers, as well. In Latin, he told us that it would be an automatic "A" for anyone who turned in a paper carved into stone. (This was during of a 20 minute digression on Wikipedia, copyright law, and the preservability of various forms of media, which ended in his warning us that sooner or later the world would descend anew into a period where learning was the provenance of only a very select few (!!!) and that he hoped for our sakes that it was either after our times, or that we were among that elite.) I still haven't decided whether or not to sign up for his FYSEM section next semester. It would probably be really interesting, but he made it sound like it will be really rigorous and unorthodox…


Dec. 4th, 2005 05:19 pm
ricardienne: (Default)
Makes everything better. Really, it does.

I remember last year in Humanities, when we did our nano-unit on Much Ado, Mrs. Burger posed the discussion question of "How can Claudio get away with his treatment of Hero?" As we had about three minutes of discussion, in which about two people participated, we didn't get an answer. I volunteered that maybe a woman's virtue was such a concern that maybe a contemporary audience would be understanding to such a reaction. Not a very good answer I know.

But it strikes me now: so many Shakespeare plays do revolve around female "virtue" and the dangers of its loss.

The possibility that Hero might be unfaithful in Much Ado nearly destroys her marriage. A "reputation disvalued by levity" was enough to do in Mariana's in Measure for Measure. Not to mention that the entire plot of the play revolves around the dangers of sex before marriage and the ensuing shame.

In Othello, Desdemona is murdered, Hermione in A Winter's Tale is charged with treason, Imogen's husband in Cymbeline tries to get her killed, all on the same worry.

Hamlet freaks out about his mother's infidelity in remarrying so soon after his father's death, and he projects his disgust with her onto Ophelia and all women (get thee to a nunnery).

On a slightly different note, we have Marina's struggle to keep her virginity intact in Pericles and Diane's in All's Well that End's Well.

Obviously, this was a really worrisome situation.

Banned Books Meme )
ricardienne: (augustine)
This livejournal is a place for me to think out loud. Or rather, not out loud. Because things get spinning around in my head and I absolutely cannot concentrate on anything else. That last entry was bouncing around me head for a good two and half days (ever since I saw the play, that is). That being said, the same disclaimer applies as did to the last entry:

If you find amateur analysis/commentary/rambling about an obscure Shakespeare play to be of interest )


ricardienne: (Default)

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