*Macbeth
"Thunder. Third Apparition: A Child Crowned, with a tree in his hand."
I find reading Shakespeare like reading an old dictionary...it makes me think of how words are changing/words have changed/we should change words actively.
For John: on those threads in your novel that don't connect to anything...do they harmonize at least? This scene from Macbeth has an "Old Man" who doesn't appear elsewhere and doesn't talk about anything directly relavent (strange for a Shakespeare side character...that's often where he puts his exposition):
Old man:...On Tuesday last/A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,/Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
Ross: And Duncan's horses- a thing most strange and certain - /Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,/Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,/Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make/war with mankind.
Old man: 'Tis said they eat eachother.
Ross: They did so, to th' amazement of mine eyes,/That looked upon 't.
I know that's not really a profound example, but I think it's useful. It's from a play, and a short one at that, where there isn't really room for rumination (the asides are for the most part pretty quick). But it feels right...it chimes in good time.
I also think there's something to be said about fate as regards to this play but I'm not quite sure what yet...
other good lines:
...and nothing is but what is not...There's daggers in men's smiles...There's warrant in that theft/Which steals itself when there's no mercy left...We are but young in deed...I am in blood/stepped so far that, should I wade no more,/Returning were as tedious as go o'er...Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them...I think our county sinks beneath the yoke;/It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash/is added to her wounds...the queen that bore thee,/Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,/Died every day she lived...Blow wind, come wrack!/At least we'll die with harness on our back...
Lady Macduff: Sirrah, your father's dead:/And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son: As birds do, mother.
Lady Macduff: What, with worms and flies?
Son: With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
I find reading Shakespeare like reading an old dictionary...it makes me think of how words are changing/words have changed/we should change words actively.
For John: on those threads in your novel that don't connect to anything...do they harmonize at least? This scene from Macbeth has an "Old Man" who doesn't appear elsewhere and doesn't talk about anything directly relavent (strange for a Shakespeare side character...that's often where he puts his exposition):
Old man:...On Tuesday last/A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,/Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
Ross: And Duncan's horses- a thing most strange and certain - /Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,/Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,/Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make/war with mankind.
Old man: 'Tis said they eat eachother.
Ross: They did so, to th' amazement of mine eyes,/That looked upon 't.
I know that's not really a profound example, but I think it's useful. It's from a play, and a short one at that, where there isn't really room for rumination (the asides are for the most part pretty quick). But it feels right...it chimes in good time.
I also think there's something to be said about fate as regards to this play but I'm not quite sure what yet...
other good lines:
...and nothing is but what is not...There's daggers in men's smiles...There's warrant in that theft/Which steals itself when there's no mercy left...We are but young in deed...I am in blood/stepped so far that, should I wade no more,/Returning were as tedious as go o'er...Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them...I think our county sinks beneath the yoke;/It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash/is added to her wounds...the queen that bore thee,/Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,/Died every day she lived...Blow wind, come wrack!/At least we'll die with harness on our back...
Lady Macduff: Sirrah, your father's dead:/And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son: As birds do, mother.
Lady Macduff: What, with worms and flies?
Son: With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
posted by Bobby Nintendo at 2:16 AM
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