Some English Renaissance plays resonate so deeply, so unaccountably, that it is as if they were written to be staged—not at the Globe Theater, or BlacSome English Renaissance plays resonate so deeply, so unaccountably, that it is as if they were written to be staged—not at the Globe Theater, or Blackfriars—but in my own mind and heart. Others, like The Maid’s Tragedy, strike me more as what they are—entertainments from a distant world, written in a language not quite ours, for a sensibility that bends towards our own here and there, then retreats almost to the borders of incomprehension. Is this my honor? Do they really speak that same word, love? Yes, yes—they are just people (just actors!). No, no—they are ciphers of ciphers.
I loved The Maid’s Tragedy, despite its absurdities, from the masque in Act I, which sets the play’s uncanny tone, to the erotically-charged murders and suicides that bear out its name. Evadne is an absolutely fascinating (anti-)heroine. The play makes perfectly clear, albeit perhaps in spite of itself, how little agency she has, caught between the conflicting whims and desires of powerful men. Put in one impossible position after another, at every turn she chooses to act. Unlike the men in the play, it is perfectly clear that what she is after is neither honor nor pleasure, but bare safety....more
I confess, I rather wanted to dislike this prize-winning chapbook, which, by appearances, seems to represent so much I find disappointing about contemI confess, I rather wanted to dislike this prize-winning chapbook, which, by appearances, seems to represent so much I find disappointing about contemporary poetry. But alas, it is, simply, good....more
Ancillary Sword is much weaker than Ancillary Justice. The worldbuilding is less adventurous and more obvious, and Breq is starting to feel a little lAncillary Sword is much weaker than Ancillary Justice. The worldbuilding is less adventurous and more obvious, and Breq is starting to feel a little like a cross between Doctor Who showing up with his magic screwdriver and an omniscient narrator pretending to be a person. The all-seeing starship feels less and less like an organic part of the worldbuilding, and more and more like a writing device.
Then there’s star new character Lieutenant Tisarwat. Where the first book’s experiments in multiplying selves were a highlight of the novel, Tisarwat’s characterization never quite comes together, in part because I was never able to figure out, just on a practical level, what was going on. My best guess is that she has the knowledge and memories of Anaander Mianaai, but the personality of the original 17-year-old she was born as, but that explanation doesn’t really make sense of her behavior. This is part and parcel of a larger problem with characterization and worldbuilding, one which goodreads reviewer Charles puts his finger on perfectly: Breq’s ship “feels more like a girl’s boarding school than a military unit in a rapacious and brutal empire.� The novel’s best scenes involve the arrival of a Presger Translator, and they’re over almost before they’ve started.
So why four stars? Oddly enough, I enjoyed reading this novel almost as much as the first. I loved the comedy-of-manners aspect, and although the social justice angle didn’t really make a whole lot of sense in-world, the various adventures it spawned were fun to read. The novel is well structured, and does a great job drawing the reader from one mystery to the next. Perhaps most importantly, it’s been a while since I loved the first book in a series enough to jump immediately into the sequels, and I’d forgotten just how much fun it is to watch a trilogy unfold—even through what is quite often, for writers, the tricky middle act....more
I can see this being tons of fun to watch and even more fun to act in. The humor—clever, dirty, and slapstick—evokes contemporary improv and sketch coI can see this being tons of fun to watch and even more fun to act in. The humor—clever, dirty, and slapstick—evokes contemporary improv and sketch comedy. And the satire still bites. Jonson leans into the fair as a topsy-turvy world where the hierarchies of daily life are overturned, skewering pomposity in all its forms. But where Jonson’s verse plays�The Alchemist, Volpone—were fun to read, this long play in prose was interminable. Without the inherent forward momentum of meter and relative economy of verse, I felt bogged-down in the wordplay and had trouble following the action. Which goes on and on. On stage, I suspect, the hours would fly by in rapid-fire repartee, but I found it hard to capture that energy as a reader.
Act 5—in which a dirty-minded puppet-show parody of Hero and Leander descends into mayhem, culminating in a debate between puritan spoilsport Zeal-of-the-Land Busy and a puppet of Dionysius, which the puppet wins by lifting up his clothes and proving that he is neither man nor woman and therefore can’t be accused of amoral cross-dressing—is legitimately hilarious. But even so, my overwhelming feeling on turning the last page was relief.
All in all, a fascinating play with much to recommend it, but as a reading experience it fell flat for me....more
Ben Jonson truly is a writer for our time, even if no one much reads or stages these plays anymore. Why would we?—we’re busy acting them out unwittingBen Jonson truly is a writer for our time, even if no one much reads or stages these plays anymore. Why would we?—we’re busy acting them out unwittingly.
No Shakespearean romance here. Many of the trusted ingredients, sure: word-drunk whimsy; pranks, pratfalls, and punning; whole hosts of schemers, fools, lovers and marks. But Shakespeare loved his heroes (and his antiheroes). Shakespeare’s plays have so much heart—however dark, however silly, however thorny, to read Shakespeare is to feel a great love—a great love for human beings.
The inimitable 20th century musician Brian Wilson described his goal as an artist, once, as: “To bring some love to people, spiritual love, you know? We wanted people to be covered with love, because there’s no guarantee that somebody will wake up in the morning with any love. It goes away, like a bad dream, it disappears.� To bring love to people—this is something great art can do.
Or not. Ben Jonson has no interest in love, spiritual or otherwise. His plays are vinegar in a wine bottle. Frankly, they’re mean.
And we live in mean times. A time of quack alchemists and vainglorious conmen—of “rogues, cozeners, imposters, bawds.� Forget Julius Caesar, this is the play that should have been put on in Central Park with a Donald Trump lookalike in the lead. This story of a “chemical cozener� and his “captain pander,� and all the fools they took in—“ladies and gentlewoman, citizens� wives, and knights in coaches ... oyster women, sailors wives, tobacco men,� not to mention pastors and deacons—and all of them willing, nay, eager, to trade all their earthly possessions for “some twelve thousand acres of fairy land.�
The play must be read as quickly as possible! Avoid annotations. No footnote is worth the loss of momentum—half the play is nonsense anyway, that’s the whole point! But Jonson, too, was a wizard in his way....more
This isn’t as good—or as hot—as Mistakes Were Made. But it is good—and hot—enough. The novel does miscommunication exceptionally well, mainly because This isn’t as good—or as hot—as Mistakes Were Made. But it is good—and hot—enough. The novel does miscommunication exceptionally well, mainly because Phoebe and Grace do communicate—that communication simply goes a little awry. Nothing everyone isn’t able to laugh about before the book is over.
The soccer drama felt a little undercooked—and so did the rest of the plot, honestly—but I really enjoyed seeing the chemistry between two such different people. I very much saw myself in Grace, and was very much attracted to Phoebe—a phenomenon I always enjoy in romance....more
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