No worries ‒ the earlier post today was just a hoax. This is what I’ve been planning to post for a while now. The upside about having to wait a week to post anything is that I’ll have something in my secret reserves for the whole coming year, if things go as planned. They never do, which is exactly why plans are needed, as a partial remedy.

Even though I may not be reaching my target readership with these kind of posts, I’m going to keep up with this silly Shakespeare-related babble. I find everything about this literary icon endlessly amusing, ever since I learned about the authorship question. Oh, it’s almost too juicy sometimes.

Of course, many will be bored to death with this. I realize that my posts look rather long, but why is it that text is somehow less accessible in large amounts on a computer screen, on a website (sorry, blog)? I might shrink the font size in the future, to make my rantings look nice and concise.

But it’s my blog, my power, my kingdom and my horse that I’ll kiddy up any way I wish to go. In the name of myself, this blog and the holy ghost of Shakespeare, whoever s/he was. Amen.

So the other day it occurred to me to search for videos related to the Shakespeare Authorship question (wholly deserving of the capital letters right) on Youtube. Nothing too original came up, except for this fine piece of someone playing Edward de Vere.

There’s also the taping of the mock trial in Washington. The audience will apparently laugh at anything. Some people just listen and wait for anything to laugh at, so as not to give an impression of having no sense of humour. Silly if you ask me.

Then I ran into John Hudson’s theory of Emilia Lanier as Shakespeare. Or rather, his “discovery”. Finally a candidate I’d love to believe in. What if Shakespeare was a woman? Wouldn’t that be so cool?

Seriously speaking, I still know too little of the issue to vouch for any certain candidate. I’m still not sure I have to. The agnostic camp may not be a whole lot of fun, but at least I know I don’t have any ulterior motives behind every statement I might make.

(“Edward de Vere” from aforementioned Youtube video)

Earlier this week I  read a book pertaining to methods in historical study. There were many points that struck a chord in me, thinking back to writing research papers of any kind. There was something about being able to relate to the people in the past, in order to draw the right conclusions about anything they did, to do justice to them when writing about them.

When I was writing on the authorship question, this aspect puzzled me. Who exactly should I try to relate to? Shakespeare, whoever s/he was, and his/her contemporaries, or the authorship question enthusiasts? If the latter, it looks like I failed miserably. It put me off how so many of these researchers were trumpeting their respective candidate without seeming to have much of self-criticism. Once they had made up their mind about their choice of candidate, they turned on the defensive and overly assertive gear.

Now that I think about it, the strong rhetoric is probably partly due to the publicity that the question has received. In addition to multitudes of books by professionals and amateurs (here meaning simply someone without a scholarly background), there are also websites galore that can be accessed by anyone, anywhere, any time. In public, you obviously have to make your statement without hesitation if you want to get it through to people. They’ll have none of this hedging that is so natural and even imperative in the scientific way of writing.

Another interesting point in the book was something about certainty with your research results. It reminded me of what was said in a book on the history of childhood. Something along the lines that childhood historians often wake up in cold sweat in the dark of the night when realizing how thin a line separates their work from fiction.

(What came up with “hysteria + rhetoric” on Google Image search)

I wonder if there isn’t something of this kind of hysteria present in the rhetoric of the authorship scholars and researchers. If you’re going to spend years on studying an author’s work, you don’t want to be held in an eternal state of suspense as to who it is you’re studying, even if it doesn’t always matter in literary analysis.

It could also be the case that these brits and americans simply write differently from what I’m used to reading. It’s strange, though, since I rarely read anything in any other language than English. You’d think I was used to it by now. It must be related to the genre of writing, i.e. books aimed at a popular audience, as well as internet websites.

So don’t be fooled by Hudson’s less than convincing case on that video. Calling the Stratford Shakespeare “Shaksper” would make anyone sound a little cuckoo. His website is more impressive (takes a while to load, be warned).

Besides, “there are just too many coincidences here”! Wow, I was instantly won over by that particular statement! She was a known feminist, a Jew, used De Pisan as a source as did Shakespeare and ‒ gasp ‒ was mistress to Henry Carey,  who was the patron of the acting company Lord Chamberlain’s Men, which performed Shakespeare’s plays among others. It boggles the mind!

As sugar at the bottom, she even included the names of important people in her life in the plays, in the form of clever puns. To show to the posterity that it was her who wrote them. It can’t get any more obvious than that.

It’s the cumulative argument all over again. A large number of coincidences sharing one common denominator must by laws of nature entail truthfulness of the original premise! It’s like horoscopes: the parameters are so loosely defined that they’ll fit any person to a tempting degree.

(Was Emilia Lanier Shakespeare – the most brilliant hermafroditic literary genius in the world?)

Emilia Lanier was not a complete stranger to me. Earlier, she’s been identified as the “Dark Lady” of the sonnets. For instance, Michael Wood (2003, In Search of Shakespeare) reckoned that Shakespeare might have had an affair with this woman when living in London, away from his wife and children in Stratford.

Maybe she’s the one who gave Shakespeare syphilis (again proposed by mr. Wood), so as a result the 40-something Shakespeare described himself as old and decrepit in the sonnets. Wouldn’t that explain everything so neatly? In your face, Oxfordian heretics!

Hudson connects Lanier with Shakespeare because of her background in music, among other things. Her family performed in court. And what d’you know: Shakespeare’s plays are “the most musical” in England! Witness “nearly 2000 musical references” and “300 different musical terms” – clearly proof that Shakespeare the author must have been a professional musician, or connected to such people.

Obviously I don’t dare to argue on this with Hudson, who holds a certificate in a Shakespeare Institute, who reviews for a Shakespeare journal, and who is writing a thesis on a Shakespeare play. He must know the plays far better than I ever could.

Yet I can’t help wondering, how come is it that I keep bumping into these fabulous figures and almost incredible assessments of the nature and vocabulary of Shakespeare’s plays. It all makes the (wo)man sound completely inhuman in his boundless abilities and knowledge of everything there is to know in the world.

Taking a wild guess, if I had a look at the list of the references and terms, I would probably find perhaps 50 quotes of the word “music”, or some musical instrument. Surely, if you refer to music and musical instruments a lot, it means you must be musically talented. Right?

Music, lute, piano, violin, string, chord, note, minor, major, melody. What if I added a string of musical terms at the end of each of my posts? Or better, sprinkled them here and there to spice up my language? If some day some future historian for some reason created a corpus of my posts and started searching for musical terms, they could conclude that I was a very musical person. There could simply be no other explanation.

*Ever wonder why 19th century novels nearly always seem to have subtitles starting with “or, [yada yada yada]“? I have. Did the authors have trouble making up their minds about the title, or were they just trying to be as informative as possible?

(The first picture shamelessly ripped from the Youtube video; the second picture from John Hudson’s website.)

I know it’s been only three days since my last post, but I’ll soon revert back to my one-post-per-week policy anyway. Take this as a warning that in the future it may not be worth the trouble checking back here more than twice a week, at the most. Unless you want to explore the archives and discover the less than glorious past of this blog. Actually you should, if you only like the paintings. There’s much less of these boring ramblings of mine over last winter.

Down to business it is. As I mentioned in my previous post, in Munich I bought an old German translation of Shakespeare’s King Henry IV Part 1 AND 2 (I noticed later that both were included). I was annoyed to find no mention of when the book was printed.

I could guess that it must be old, at least -ish, judging by the yellowish paper and the ribbon bookmark (those ribbons you only find in Bibles these days), let alone the very-old-and-Gothic-looking font of the German text. Strangely, the English text is in a more modern font.

The translator, August Wilhelm von Schlegel (1767-1845), a poet himself, is still considered one of the best German translators of Shakespeare, according to Wikipedia. Someone else apparently thinks that Schlegel’s translation is remarkably different from the original, for example as regards the verse style. Shakespeare often wrote in blank verse, which in his case means he wrote with an unrhymed iambic pentametre. This writer says that Schlegel transformed the blank verse into “the iambic pentametre with either male or female cadence”, i.e. 10 or 11 syllables on each line.

Now I’m not very well-versed in these technicalities of poetic composition, but is the iambic pentametre with male or female cadence really so strikingly different from the regular one, which has ten syllables on a line? Anyone care to explain this to me? But be that as it may, I can appreciate the various problems Schlegel must have had, considering how different English and German are when it comes to word order and syllabic structure.

(August Wilhelm von Schlegel)

As for my problem of dating the volume. Schlegel’s Shakespeare translations span the years 1797-1810. König Heinrich der Vierte was published in 1800. Obviously there have been reprints, through the 19th century until around the time of WWII. The later reprints, however, all seem to be collections including several plays. But I’m not sure whether that means that they were still printed as individual volumes or as a single book.

Next I tried to find information on the publisher, Der Tempel Verlag. It was founded in 1909, so my book can’t be more than almost a hundred years old – not much, eh? Apart from these tiny parsels of information, google really isn’t almighty when it comes to finding bibliographical information. I don’t mean just old books, but even more recent ones are surprisingly non-existent in the virtual world of search engines. Yet things, or even people, aren’t supposed to be important if you can’t google them. Fiddlesticks,* I say!

My final resort was the university library’s online search engine(s). It’s a real drag to go through all sorts of collections on god knows how many different portals, because for each search it takes so long to process. The end result still zilch. I’m slightly disheartened now with my less than resourceful detective skills.

Something good came out of all this though: I stumbled upon a website which has pictures and transcriptions of American diaries from late 19th to early 20th century: www.writtenbyhand.com. Perhaps not eligible for including in a corpus, but interesting nevertheless.

(Picture from Written by Hand Manuscript Americana)

Speaking of corpora, it occurred to me that there might be a possibility of compiling an Edward de Verean corpus for the purposes of comparing his language with Shakespeare’s. I definitely need to look into it, since it would make for such an exhilarating research project. I know some websites with transcriptions of his personal letters, draft interrogatories (whatever those are) and memoranda, so all I need to do is find out if they’re up for grabs or not.

I do know of one linguistic comparison between these authors, aided by a computer, using statistical methods: Was Oxford Shakespeare? A Computer-aided Analysis. Needless to say, these guys with all their knowledge of statistics still err somewhat in other methodological issues. They assume too much, take so much for granted, and any complexities that don’t quite fit are pummeled flat. All in a day’s work for anti- or pro-Shakespeareans alike!

*Another Shakespearean term, from no other than 1 Henry IV! Says Falstaff, “Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddlesticke: what’s the matter?” Of course, not quite in the same sense as in present-day use.

I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. Because it would be such an annoying thing to say.

Let’s up the postmodern in this blog a little.

Since many people associate postmodernism with randomness, here’s a random quote for ya.

To regard the imagination as metaphysics is to think of it as part of life, and to think of it as part of life is to realize the extent of artifice. We live in the mind.

Wallace Stevens

Actually it isn’t random in the sense that I believe in this and that’s the reason I chose it.

Mr. Stevens was a modernist. How many people in the end have moved on from modernism? How many even know about postmodernism on a global level? Can you even employ the postmodern as an era? Are eras ever truly global?

Maybe the irony of postmodernity is that we’re living in postpostmodernity now. Nobody outside the academia noticed.

I’ve been really exhausted lately. I can’t get no sleep. I’ve tried running longer and faster and more often to help me sleep at night, but all it does is kill my leg muscles.

I blame my lack of sleep for my recent penchant for reading whatever seems to confuse the hell out of me.

Being groggy after a bad night’s sleep blurs the distinction between reality and thoughts even more than usual. Somehow though, it helps me focus better on reading.

I rediscovered some interesting books I’d forgotten I owned. One of my old favourites is Theodor Adorno’s Aesthetic Theory.

It’s a somewhat ancient book as is its author, but my 2004 reprint volume by Continuum is simply beautiful:

I’ve found a couple of interesting points there that just might be useful in nailing down the aesthetics of urban exploration. Even though Adorno apparently tries to defend modernism. He didn’t know of anything better.

This book is surprisingly readable, unlike some of his other works. Like the one on englightenment reverting to myth. The gist of the idea is easy enough to fathom out, but boy can he write ridiculously long sentences.

I know his writing style is supposedly part of his overarching argument, but I can’t help but wonder if he couldn’t have written with the same effect a little more lucidly.

Aesthetic theory is another matter. It’s mostly transcriptions of his speech, written down by his wife. It’s a posthumous work, so his chaoslike writing style is in a way still present in the disorderly disposition of the chapters.

Beyond that however, it’s almost a pleasure to read. The font is so beautiful too. And don’t you just love to say “Adorno”? I think it’s a really cool name.