Fatherhood

[friery]

Let's not be so sure that Prospero did a better job than Lear.  After all, Prospero is the reason that Miranda is stuck on a desert island.  He abdicated his responsibilities as ruler of the dukedom.  His overthrow can be attributed largely to his love affair for his books instead of his care for his people.

I was intrigued by Prospero's retelling to Miranda of the tale of his political overthrow.  First cut, I suppose you can feel sympathy for him.  But you have to remember that it's Prospero who is telling the tale.  If you step back, you see a ruler who delegated all of his duties for selfish reasons.  I think his overthrow and banishment (which could, of course have been worse--but then we wouldn't have had a story to tell) may have been warranted to save the dukedom.

If you think of it, Shakespeare is more often than not writing about failed rulers.  Lear, of course, and Prospero, and Julius Caesar.  Hamlet, you can argue, ruled for a few minutes, and then his wound killed him.  And then there's Richard III and Macbeth, who self-destructed once they gained the crown. 

I'm always wondering whether Shakespeare's plays are meant as cautionary tales to that absolute monarch who lived a few streets away.

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Laurel wrote:
He certainly did a better job than King Lear, didn't he?

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ConnieK wrote: 

Yes; father Prospero.  What do other readers think of his fathering abilities, or lack of them?

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[friery]

I took a course a few years ago at UC San Diego on Ulysses.  I was so jazzed that, on the morning of the last night of class, I called United Airlines and said, "Here are all my frequent flier miles.  How soon can you get me to Dublin?"  We went a few weeks later, and I visited the James Joyce Center, and went on the Ulysses walking tour with a docent.

BTW, my last name appears in Molly Bloom's soliloquy.

Anyhow, the class was so energized that we convinced the instructor to teach a course on Finnegans Wake.  The instructor was a recent PhD in Modern European Literature, but hadn't read the book herself.  As expected, reading it was extraordinary.  It certainly was the most difficult piece I've ever read.

Here's an excerpt from the last chapter, as ALP is dying  (and it has to do with the sea and a father, just as in The Tempest):

"Loonely in me loneness. For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I'll slip away before they're up. They'll never see.  Nor know. Nor miss me. And it's old and old it's sad and old it's sad and weary I go back to you, my cold father, my cold mad father, my cold mad feary father, till the near sight of the mere size of him, the moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes me seasilt saltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms..."

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ConnieK wrote:

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I took a couple of seminars in college on Joyce and have taught Dubliners and Portrait, but I'm not really sure if I made it all the way through Finnegan's Wake, to be honest, certainly not at the bit higher level of understanding I once had of Ulysses.  I know I would have known at the time, though, about the River Liffey, etc.  I love Joyce, as difficult as he is.  I visited the Sandycover tower when we were in Ireland and traced a small bit of Bloom's journey in Dublin.    Thanks for all these reminders!

Yes; father Prospero.  What do other readers think of his fathering abilities, or lack of them?

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[ConnieAnnKirk]

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friery wrote:

Here's an excerpt from the last chapter, as ALP is dying  (and it has to do with the sea and a father, just as in The Tempest):

"Loonely in me loneness. For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I'll slip away before they're up. They'll never see.  Nor know. Nor miss me. And it's old and old it's sad and old it's sad and weary I go back to you, my cold father, my cold mad father, my cold mad feary father, till the near sight of the mere size of him, the moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes me seasilt saltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms..."

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Oh, I was just as 'jazzed' on Joyce at the time, friery, and it doesn't take much to get me going again--ha!  We had one prof. who was completely immersed in Joyce, and she drew us in with her.  It didn't take much--many of us were there anyway (including me).  I completely understand where you're coming from!  He is certainly one of the biggest influences on my own writing, though my work would never be recognized as even being in the same universe as his.

From what I remember of Wake, though, the passage you quote above is much more intelligible than most of the book!  Ha.  Love how he plays with language so completely--just mangles it, twists it and rolls it off the tongue.  He loves it that much!  A master writer.  Gotta love him.

If I could magically read while I sleep, I would add books about Joyce's use of Shakespeare to my nightstand tonight... like Shakespeare, Joyce is another "career subject."  You could study his work for a lifetime. 

Message Edited by ConnieK on 05-29-2009 05:47 PM

[friery]

You're absolutely right--the passage quoted is pretty intelligible, compared to the rest of Finnegans Wake.  Just for fun, here's an excerpt from the beginning of Finnegans Wake:

What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh!

In any event, you're right on by suggesting there are strong ties between Joyce and Shakespeare.  Hamlet is a recurring theme in Ulysses, for example.  And here's a quote from Stephen Dedalus in Ulysses, apparently about The Tempest: "The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our American cousin."

And the passage I quoted from Finnegans Wake in my last message brought to mind King Lear: "...my cold father, my cold mad father, my cold mad feary father..."

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ConnieK wrote:

From what I remember of Wake, though, the passage you quote above is much more intelligible than most of the book!  Ha.  Love how he plays with language so completely--just mangles it, twists it and rolls it off the tongue.  He loves it that much!  A master writer.  Gotta love him.

If I could magically read while I sleep, I would add books about Joyce's use of Shakespeare to my nightstand tonight... like Shakespeare, Joyce is another "career subject."  You could study his work for a lifetime. 

Message Edited by ConnieK on 05-29-2009 05:47 PM

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[juliecFLJC]

I've seen "The Tempest" on stage four times.

At Oregon Shakes, Prospero was a woman, Prospera, and was played by an actress. At times the change seemed strained, but the end of the play resonated in ways I'd never experienced before.

And speaking of endings, I forget what happened to Prospero's staff in that production, but in others:

-- Prospero lays down the staff and exits.

-- Prospero breaks the staff in two, leaves it behind and exits.

-- Prospero doesn't break the staff, but as he exits he hands it to Caliban.

All good productions.

[Benedict3]

juliecFLJC wrote:

I've seen "The Tempest" on stage four times.

At Oregon Shakes, Prospero was a woman, Prospera, and was played by an actress. At times the change seemed strained, but the end of the play resonated in ways I'd never experienced before.

And speaking of endings, I forget what happened to Prospero's staff in that production, but in others:

-- Prospero lays down the staff and exits.

-- Prospero breaks the staff in two, leaves it behind and exits.

-- Prospero doesn't break the staff, but as he exits he hands it to Caliban.

All good productions.

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If the staff is magical like the cloak, and if the staff and the cloak transform Prospero into the intellect of the island, not just an intellectual on the island, then I prefer to see Prospero break the staff at the end of the play. Just as my intellect is a part of my body, and if I were able to remain within a Zen state of no-intellect, I wouldn’t want some other intellect to take control of my body. Prospero is the intellect of the island, and upon leaving the island he allows it to exist in a natural, uncontrolled state.

Break the staff.

[friery]

Bidding adieu to The Tempest:

"...and all of us [found] ourselves/When no man was his own."  (Act 5, sc. 1, 212-213.)

And, "Let your indulgence set me free."  (Prospero, to the audience, Epilogue.)

[Benedict3]

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friery wrote:

Bidding adieu to The Tempest:

"...and all of us [found] ourselves/When no man was his own."  (Act 5, sc. 1, 212-213.)

And, "Let your indulgence set me free."  (Prospero, to the audience, Epilogue.)

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What do you make of this quote?  I have an idea of what it may mean, but it only fits the quote, not the scene that it is within.

[friery]

Ernest Renan, a 19th Century French philosopher, saw Prospero as the aristocratic class, Ariel as the spiritual or clerical, and Caliban as the commoners.  Sounds like the First, Second, and Third Estates.

Someone else saw the three natures of Man: Prospero the intellectual, Ariel the spirit, and Caliban the carnal.  (An earlier poster on this thread suggested that as well.)

I like a Freudian take--Caliban is the Id, Prospero the Ego, and Ariel the Super-ego.  See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Id,_ego,_and_super-ego for lots more detail.

[friery]

In the Epilogue, Prospero says that it's up to the audience to decide whether he goes back to Milan or not.  He's renounced his magic, and regained his dukedom.  But it will take the breath of the audience--by clapping their hands--to fill the sails of the ship that will take him back to Milan. (Our book suggests that the lead actor was actually looking for instantaneous first-night reviews.  If the reviews were weak, the play wouldn't be performed again.)  Either way, that's really impressive stagecraft.  Participatory theater in 1700.

The first quote I think means that every character has been changed in some way by the events of the play.  By extension, I suppose the audience should feel the same.  And we'll agree with Miranda that it's a brave new world.

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Benedict3 wrote:

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friery wrote:

Bidding adieu to The Tempest:

"...and all of us [found] ourselves/When no man was his own."  (Act 5, sc. 1, 212-213.)

And, "Let your indulgence set me free."  (Prospero, to the audience, Epilogue.)

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What do you make of this quote?  I have an idea of what it may mean, but it only fits the quote, not the scene that it is within.

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[Benedict3]

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friery wrote:

In the Epilogue, Prospero says that it's up to the audience to decide whether he goes back to Milan or not.  He's renounced his magic, and regained his dukedom.  But it will take the breath of the audience--by clapping their hands--to fill the sails of the ship that will take him back to Milan. (Our book suggests that the lead actor was actually looking for instantaneous first-night reviews.  If the reviews were weak, the play wouldn't be performed again.)  Either way, that's really impressive stagecraft.  Participatory theater in 1700.

The first quote I think means that every character has been changed in some way by the events of the play.  By extension, I suppose the audience should feel the same.  And we'll agree with Miranda that it's a brave new world.

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Benedict3 wrote:

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friery wrote:

Bidding adieu to The Tempest:

"...and all of us [found] ourselves/When no man was his own."  (Act 5, sc. 1, 212-213.)

And, "Let your indulgence set me free."  (Prospero, to the audience, Epilogue.)

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What do you make of this quote?  I have an idea of what it may mean, but it only fits the quote, not the scene that it is within.

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I interpreted the first quote differently, however, I like yours also.

Sticking with the theme of my comments about the Tempest in general, I again believe that Shakespeare is showing us the topic of the distinction between our human nature and our intellect.

For example:  At the beginning of the play, all of the passengers ‘went crazy’, or in other words, they were filled with so much fear that they lost use of their intellect.  When we loose the power of the intellect the body is allowed to act naturally.  And in essence, each person, once they loose the intellect is allowed to see his natural Nature, or true self.

Within each step of the play, Prospero distracts the intellect of the individuals in some way so that he can directly effect the Nature of the individual.

This line, to me, is simply restating this observation.

[friery]

That's excellent.

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Benedict3 wrote:

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I interpreted the first quote differently, however, I like yours also.

Sticking with the theme of my comments about the Tempest in general, I again believe that Shakespeare is showing us the topic of the distinction between our human nature and our intellect.

For example:  At the beginning of the play, all of the passengers ‘went crazy’, or in other words, they were filled with so much fear that they lost use of their intellect.  When we loose the power of the intellect the body is allowed to act naturally.  And in essence, each person, once they loose the intellect is allowed to see his natural Nature, or true self.

Within each step of the play, Prospero distracts the intellect of the individuals in some way so that he can directly effect the Nature of the individual.

This line, to me, is simply restating this observation.

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