if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of it
I can't sleep and thus have been perusing the Guardian, where I came across a couple of articles that may be of interest to those of you who share my interest in Shakespeare editing. (Which also give me an excuse to use this icon. ;) )
From the department of I Could Have Told You That:
On the new RSC Complete Works of Shakespeare edition, which promises to gloss all the naughty bits
Is the stuff cited in the article supposed to be heretofore-unrecognized innuendo? Because none of it's new to me, and, despite all evidence to the contrary, I actually do not think I am unusually dirty-minded relative to the general ranks of Shakespeareans. The rule of thumb for Shakespearean bawdy, which has always worked pretty well for me, is "If you think something sounds dirty, it probably is." (The more extensive form of this rule is "If you think something sounds dirty and could conceivably have sounded dirty to an Elizabethan audience, it probably is," but that takes longer to type. Yes, I know I just typed it. I do a lot of things to be informative.)
Also, it doesn't help that the examples they cite are among the most obviously raunchy passages in Shakespeare (the wall dialogue from Midsummer and the "bauble in a hole" exchange from Romeo and Juliet).
That said, I now feel compelled to find that edition when it comes out. Especially because I want to see if they've got all the lewd bits in the histories. The garden scene in Richard II, for instance, is totally about sex, but all garden scenes are, really. ;)
From the department of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Stanley Wells holds forth on the new Arden edition of Hamlet (thanks to commodorified for this link):
"Maybe it was to be expected that the jacket of the first major edition of Hamlet to be prepared, at least in part, by a woman would carry an image not of the play's hero, but of mad Ophelia (or Ofelia, as in one of the texts printed here). And the Freudian interpretations discussed in the introduction may help to explain why she appears to be clutching at her vagina. But this, like so much about the play itself, is a matter of interpretation."
*HEAD. DESK.*
I'm not even sure where to start on the WTFness of that opening (although the bit about "well, of course a female editor would put Ophelia on the cover" probably grinds my gears the most). Though, to be fair, the rest of the review is interesting enough.
From the department of I Could Have Told You That:
On the new RSC Complete Works of Shakespeare edition, which promises to gloss all the naughty bits
Is the stuff cited in the article supposed to be heretofore-unrecognized innuendo? Because none of it's new to me, and, despite all evidence to the contrary, I actually do not think I am unusually dirty-minded relative to the general ranks of Shakespeareans. The rule of thumb for Shakespearean bawdy, which has always worked pretty well for me, is "If you think something sounds dirty, it probably is." (The more extensive form of this rule is "If you think something sounds dirty and could conceivably have sounded dirty to an Elizabethan audience, it probably is," but that takes longer to type. Yes, I know I just typed it. I do a lot of things to be informative.)
Also, it doesn't help that the examples they cite are among the most obviously raunchy passages in Shakespeare (the wall dialogue from Midsummer and the "bauble in a hole" exchange from Romeo and Juliet).
That said, I now feel compelled to find that edition when it comes out. Especially because I want to see if they've got all the lewd bits in the histories. The garden scene in Richard II, for instance, is totally about sex, but all garden scenes are, really. ;)
From the department of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Stanley Wells holds forth on the new Arden edition of Hamlet (thanks to commodorified for this link):
"Maybe it was to be expected that the jacket of the first major edition of Hamlet to be prepared, at least in part, by a woman would carry an image not of the play's hero, but of mad Ophelia (or Ofelia, as in one of the texts printed here). And the Freudian interpretations discussed in the introduction may help to explain why she appears to be clutching at her vagina. But this, like so much about the play itself, is a matter of interpretation."
*HEAD. DESK.*
I'm not even sure where to start on the WTFness of that opening (although the bit about "well, of course a female editor would put Ophelia on the cover" probably grinds my gears the most). Though, to be fair, the rest of the review is interesting enough.