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Joshua Parkinson's Reviews > Othello
Othello
by
by
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?
-Othello, end of Act V
When I was about 9 years old, I put a healthy, live mouse into my parents' microwave oven. It was a summer day and I was all alone. I had this devilish feeling inside me. I knew it was wrong, but I had to do it. I grabbed a kitchen chair, dragged it across the floor, stood on it, opened the door, and threw the mouse in. Then I hit start.
At first it was no big deal. The light turned on inside, the mouse sniffed around, and I watched from outside, keen to see the first sign of distress. I felt exhilarated, euphoric, omnipotent. This living thing� this twitching, whiskered, beady-eyed creature� its life was mine for the taking, its fate mine for the making.
After ten seconds, I stopped the microwave and cracked the door. The mouse seemed unfazed and crawled toward me. I shut the door again and hit start: another ten seconds. It was just enough. When I cracked the door again, the mouse was visibly shaken. It crawled much slower and traced a clumsy arc across the microwave floor. I shut the door again and hit start. Another ten seconds. Then ten more. Then ten more.
I never felt any hate for that mouse. I wasn't seeking revenge for its past acts. I didn't even draw any specific pleasure from its pain or agony. Why then? Why would I, a young and well-adjusted child of God, a pillar of Cub Scout values and lover of mothers and cousins and little brothers... why would I nuke this helpless rodent in the mortal chamber of parents' microwave oven?
Why? Because I could, that's why.
And I believe Shakespeare's Iago would say the same thing to Othello's question above. Why did Iago ensnare the Moor's soul? Why did he devise, occasion, direct, and execute the collapse of the man's entire world?
Why? Because he could, that's why.
Rodrigo, Cassio, Desdemona, Othello... mere mice in Iago's oven.
The fact that he can destroy them so cleverly, so precisely, so artistically functions as proof to him. It proves the superiority of his will over theirs, just as my minute-mice experiment proved the superiority of a 9-year-old's will over another creature's entire existence.
I find little mystery in the psychology of Shakespeare's Iago. His motivation is clearly all-too-human. The real mystery of the play and the play's deepest question is why that is so. Why do such beings like Iago, like the 9-year-old me, like the thousandfold prison guard, priest and parent who, seduced by omnipotence, inflicts terror and torment on a fellow living being... why do such creatures exist?
It’s a sublime question asked by a sublime play. Iago is evil, no doubt. But the kernel of his wickedness is commonplace among men. Be honest. If I were suddenly to place you at the almighty helm of mankind, can you really be sure you wouldn’t inflict on man the kinds of calamities and catastrophes wrought by old Jehovah? Overflowing with power, knowledge and time, could you really avoid torturing man? Even if you were the only one watching?
Read this play, or better, watch it. I assure you, if you're honest, you will see a bit of yourself in Iago and a bit of him in you. And you will be properly horrified.
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Disclaimer: the "mouse" was actually a spider. Sorry for the embellishment, but an arachnid didn't have the same "punch" as a mammal.
Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?
-Othello, end of Act V
When I was about 9 years old, I put a healthy, live mouse into my parents' microwave oven. It was a summer day and I was all alone. I had this devilish feeling inside me. I knew it was wrong, but I had to do it. I grabbed a kitchen chair, dragged it across the floor, stood on it, opened the door, and threw the mouse in. Then I hit start.
At first it was no big deal. The light turned on inside, the mouse sniffed around, and I watched from outside, keen to see the first sign of distress. I felt exhilarated, euphoric, omnipotent. This living thing� this twitching, whiskered, beady-eyed creature� its life was mine for the taking, its fate mine for the making.
After ten seconds, I stopped the microwave and cracked the door. The mouse seemed unfazed and crawled toward me. I shut the door again and hit start: another ten seconds. It was just enough. When I cracked the door again, the mouse was visibly shaken. It crawled much slower and traced a clumsy arc across the microwave floor. I shut the door again and hit start. Another ten seconds. Then ten more. Then ten more.
I never felt any hate for that mouse. I wasn't seeking revenge for its past acts. I didn't even draw any specific pleasure from its pain or agony. Why then? Why would I, a young and well-adjusted child of God, a pillar of Cub Scout values and lover of mothers and cousins and little brothers... why would I nuke this helpless rodent in the mortal chamber of parents' microwave oven?
Why? Because I could, that's why.
And I believe Shakespeare's Iago would say the same thing to Othello's question above. Why did Iago ensnare the Moor's soul? Why did he devise, occasion, direct, and execute the collapse of the man's entire world?
Why? Because he could, that's why.
Rodrigo, Cassio, Desdemona, Othello... mere mice in Iago's oven.
The fact that he can destroy them so cleverly, so precisely, so artistically functions as proof to him. It proves the superiority of his will over theirs, just as my minute-mice experiment proved the superiority of a 9-year-old's will over another creature's entire existence.
I find little mystery in the psychology of Shakespeare's Iago. His motivation is clearly all-too-human. The real mystery of the play and the play's deepest question is why that is so. Why do such beings like Iago, like the 9-year-old me, like the thousandfold prison guard, priest and parent who, seduced by omnipotence, inflicts terror and torment on a fellow living being... why do such creatures exist?
It’s a sublime question asked by a sublime play. Iago is evil, no doubt. But the kernel of his wickedness is commonplace among men. Be honest. If I were suddenly to place you at the almighty helm of mankind, can you really be sure you wouldn’t inflict on man the kinds of calamities and catastrophes wrought by old Jehovah? Overflowing with power, knowledge and time, could you really avoid torturing man? Even if you were the only one watching?
Read this play, or better, watch it. I assure you, if you're honest, you will see a bit of yourself in Iago and a bit of him in you. And you will be properly horrified.
_____
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Disclaimer: the "mouse" was actually a spider. Sorry for the embellishment, but an arachnid didn't have the same "punch" as a mammal.
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April 26, 2008
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Beth
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Apr 27, 2008 06:11PM
Josher--I have no comment because I haven't read Shakespeare. However, I just picked up Henry V. Do you think I can manage without any Cliff Notes?
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Of course you can manage Grandma. Just take it one scene at a time. I do however recommend that you read the plot synopsis before you start. You can find that here:And if you run into any problems with Shakespeare's language in specific parts of the text, you can check the "modern text" version of the scene here (just click on the Act and Scene in question):
Good luck!
Josher, thanx for the vote of confidence with Shakespeare. I found a DI book with his plays--all in story form, which included all of the Henrys. I'll give it a try.Another item. About Iago. On the farm My friend and I would grind up pollywogs, baby frogs, in tuna fish cans--we called it our "tuna salad." And--I loved to put a fly and ant in a fruit jar and watch the ant pull the fly apart. I think you are right on, Josh, tho I hate to admit it.
Books are like old friends--and you can't have too many--friends and books, that is! Thanx for the websites--I may bet the hang of this yet. How can I use a computer and still read my books?
Can I just say what you did to that mouse was horrible! And I hope you haven't done it since!!!I abhor animal cruelty.
Excellent review though!
Twisted story, but quite an interesting analogy you have drawn.
I think I am going to vomit. I hate, loathe, and abominate animal cruelty, whether someone is nine or eighty-nine. Maybe you shouldn't admit to that? I read Othello sixteen years years ago and don't see the correlation of "because you can". Guess I should re-read it. I hope my heart stops palpitating now, and that you don't believe in karma.
Actually, Iago had a reason for seeking revenge on Othello. Othello gave a promotion to Cassio instead of Iago. It's a stupid reason, but it was enough for Iago. What's ironic is that Iago used jealousy to torture Othello, but couldn't understand how to healthily overcome his own envy of Cassio's position.
There is no way that you are a well-adjusted child of god as you put it considering what you did to that mouse. I also find it very interesting that you have compared yourself to the most evil character in Shakespeare and possibly all literature. It might be true that there is a little Iago in all of us, but most of us manage to conquer it and even as children know that it is wrong to inflict pain on a living creature ''just because you can''.
Sick,..but your idea, true? Mmmm. Very interesting, however.
i have found that shakespeare has defined the actions of man in a way that man himself in that time had not yet discovered.. that is why he is my favorite author.. whether he was a liar or not.
Audiences like a good tale of cruelty. I'm certain your "mouse" microwaving story causes many a review-skimmer to sit up and read more carefully.
Well, it seems that more people are focused on what you did not do to a mouse, but rather a spider, however I am not sure I could compare the curiosity of a nine-year old boy to the macinations of Iago who, in my thoughts, is going after Othello because he is jealous.I wonder how many people read the disclaimer at the bottom.
It's years since you wrote this and you probably won't even see it, but I've got to say this is the most impressive book review I've ever seen. Your point remind me of the film Prometheus, and your example is cruel but strong. God you have to be a writer, it would be such a pity otherwise.
This is a terrible review. I am shocked at the cruelty in this. I don't know any kid who would ever have thought this was an acceptable thing to do.
I am inclined to disagree. Just as so many gorges rose at your tale, I think most readers do not see themselves in Iago. Yes, he professes a few motives--he is jealous of Cassio's rank (although he does not speak of this much) and he suspects that Othello slept with Emilia (which he only mentions twice and admits is an unfounded rumor), the means he uses to extact his revenge seem outsized in their cruelty. I think Shakespeare wanted us to see him as a villain.In contrast, I do think readers can see some of themselves in the Macbeths, who desire unearned power. I have more sympathy for Lady Macbeth, who, despite her initial braggadoccio, is later haunted by her guilt. Even Macbeth himself only continues murdering because he feels like he has to--unlike Iago, who seems to genuinely enjoy his machinations.
It's like this: as the Macbeths commit more evil, they become more miserable. Iago, however, seems to enjoy the tragedy he wreaks. I can almost imagine him cackling like Mr. Burns.
I love the way you've explained your point of view and like someone else said, you should be a writer. But I don't agree with it. I don't believe that Iago was evil simply for the sake of being evil, or that he was completely motiveless, he had due reasons, however ridiculous, to do what he did. This is clearly understandable through his soliloquies, his character wouldn't be half as fascinating if he were governing over a simple, I do it because I can, motto.
I think you’ve problems, man
