Why the British Library Is Awesome

Okay, it is a quantifiable fact that I am a bad tourist. See the lack of photos on my Facebook. I like learning about things, and that’s my record of a visit? Or maybe it’s just that I’m lazy and I figure everyone else is taking pictures anyway. (Note to self: bug people about Arthur’s Seat photos. Because we really did hike a volcano, I promise.)
This weekend, though, I’ve got to tell you, the British Library was the best, and it definitely brought out my inner tourist from the deep recesses of my mind, where it usually keeps company with my inner basketball player.
Some of the stuff in the British Library’s collection is amazing simply because it is beautiful. Especially with many of the religious texts, the decorative embellishments are beautiful in their own right.
Other things in the collection, however, gain their worth because they offer a glimpse of history. I mean, it’s one thing to learn about the Magna Carta in a textbook and read a copy online, but it’s quite another to think about it as a living, breathing document that meant a hell of a lot to people when it was written. It was one of the center pieces of a civil war, after all. Or the Folio, for another example, which isn’t just a collector’s item but the only way we have some of my favorite plays like Measure for Measure and Macbeth. The scraps of paper or journals from various artists and writers humanize otherwise untouchable figures. For a long time, the documents in this collection were living and breathing, not just showy, and seeing said documents really helps me to remember that.
Also, the comics exhibit was awesome. Both disturbing and super informational, especially because I find indie comics something I desperately want to know more about.

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Does London Not Care About Shakespeare?

Today we went on two tours – one of the Globe and the other a walking tour of Shakespeare’s London – and the theme seemed to be that London has little appreciation for Shakespeare. Of course, we spent our first ten days in England in Stratford-upon-Avon, where the focus on Shakespeare is rather single-minded and almost religious, and that could have skewed my perception somewhat, but both of the tour leaders commented on how low of a priority Shakespeare is for London.

In the Globe I heard again what I’d learned about a week ago (to my great surprise) – that the replica of the Globe now standing was only completed in 1997, and only begun at the behest of American actor Sam Wanamaker, who was shocked during a visit to London when he discovered that only a plaque memorialized the spot where Shakespeare’s Globe once stood. He’s now known as “the man who built the Globe,” even though the process took so long that he died four years before it was finished. Apparently the citizens of London weren’t exactly gung-ho about the project – our tour guide told us that objections were raised because the area where the replica now stands used to hold a warehouse that stored carts for street cleaning, and some considered that more important.

For whatever reason, possibly due to London’s size, I had assumed that the Globe had been around for decades, and that it was the most respected, established Shakespearean theatre, while the RSC in Stratford-upon-Avon, although excellent nonetheless, was more of an underdog. According, to our tour guide, it’s actually the opposite! People were reluctant to support the Globe because the RSC already existed, and the RSC gets government support while the Globe gets none.

Later in the day when we went on a walking tour of Shakespeare’s area of London, we heard more along the same theme. We visited several locations very important to Shakespeare’s life, including another of his main theatres and two places where he actually lived, and only one or two of them had a plaque denoting their significance. Stratford, which has made a museum out of Shakespeare’s grandaughter’s house, would have made so much of it!

Is Shakespeare only so important to Stratford because they really don’t have anything else? Or on the flip side, does London have so much that it doesn’t think it needs Shakespeare?

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“There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.” ~ Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady

I tried tea for the first time about three months ago and really enjoyed it, but over the past few weeks in the United Kingdom my actual love of afternoon tea has increased exponentially. My first tea and scone experience occurred two and a half weeks ago in Stratford-Upon-Avon at Hobsons Patisseries and I was delighted to find one more classically British thing that I loved.

I loved the ambiance, the beautiful plating of the pastries, and I even loved the scones. Prior to coming to the UK, I thought scones were hard, dry, and rather tasteless pastries and I had no clue why people ate them. But after my experience at Hobsons it was like I had opened up my eyes to a whole new world. They were flaky, and buttery, and sweet, and just little mounds of golden deliciousness. They were everything I had thought scones weren’t and I was shocked and delighted to discover this. I was ecstatic to finally be able to say I love tea and scones.

But what really “had me at hello,” so to say, was the clotted cream and the lemon curd. Oh the clotted cream and all its sweet, buttery goodness. It’s like a combination of the softest butter and the sweetest cream. And then the lemon curd is just its own sort of specialness, topping off the scone perfectly. It’s sweet and zesty and just the right combination of sticky and spreadable. Both slathered on a freshly baked scone, clotted cream is otherworldly. It’s basically what I wish butter tasted like and what I’m sad it doesn’t.

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Though I loved Hobsons, it wasn’t until today though that I truly understood the concept of afternoon tea. I, along with a few other classmates, went to Fortnum and Mason, the specialty gourmet food store of London, and I swear my eyes popped out of my head a little as we entered. The main lobby is just a sea of tea, and truffles, and jams. The downstairs carries more brands of alcohol than I knew existed and the upstairs has designer bags with price tags bigger than some people’s monthly salaries. And then there’s the tea room. Though we didn’t splurge this time and get actual afternoon tea in The Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon, we did venture to The Gallery for tea, scones, and for a few chips, salad and steak tartare. Thankfully they had decaf tea and it was one of the best decaf teas I’ve ever tasted. It was lemony and crisp, yet still warming to the soul. Finally the scones came out looking like fluffy mounds of heaven, accompanied by cute balls of clotted cream and bright pink jam. I’ll be sad to go home to crescent rolls and biscuits after trying the British superior.

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Will the Real Shakespeare Please Stand Up?

This morning, our class went on a walking tour of Shakespeare sites around London led by a Declan McHugh.  Mr. McHugh was a great guide; he obviously knew a great deal about the Bard and the period in which he lived and his passion for the subject matter was obvious.  However, certain statements he made in regards to Shakespeare the man were. . . controversial among certain members of our class, to say the least.  In particular, his assertion that Shakespeare was a closeted Catholic and his more ambivalent pondering of whether the Bard was a closeted bisexual drew some strong disagreements from some.

After the tour ended, I decided to do some in-depth research on the subjects of Shakespeare’s sexuality and religion, and by that I mean I skimmed some Wikipedia articles.  Glancing over all this scholarly debate about these incredibly significant aspects of Shakespeare’s character, I was struck by how little we truly know about the man.  We have no letters written by him, no tell-all journals, no autobiography nicely spelling out for us exactly who he was and how he thought about the world.  Instead, academics and other Shakespeare enthusiasts have had to take a fine-tooth comb to the one existing letter written to Shakespeare, the few times his name appears in various legal documents and registries, and brief comments about him by his contemporaries.

Unfortunately, given the great variety of disparate interpretations I’ve seen just in my own very brief glances into the subject, it appears that clarity has proven elusive.  There’s just not enough evidence for any one side to close the case on issues like Shakespeare’s sexual or spiritual leanings, or indeed on many other aspects of his character.  It’s certainly frustrating to think that we might not ever get an answer more definitive than “We don’t really know” to questions like these.

We have few definitive answers about Shakespeare’s biographical details, yet we feel we know him well enough to name him “Man of the Millennium.”  Perhaps, though, that’s just a testament to the strength of his work: even in the absence of almost any detail about Shakespeare’s life, his plays and sonnets alone have ensured that almost everyone on Earth knows who the Bard is.

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For the Birds

Prior to actually getting the chance to see a play at an outdoor theater, I had never actually considered how it might be different than seeing a play indoors. I figured that they would be essentially the same, only with more sunburn involved for both the actors and spectators in the outdoor version. I had especially never considered the different challenges of the two spaces from a performer’s point of view.

While my two (thus far) experiences with seeing plays at the Globe Theatre (which is actually outdoors and completely ceiling-less) has shown me that indoor and outdoor plays are radically different beasts, I believe that the difference that has struck me the most has been the birds. During both of the shows I have seen in the Globe, pigeons have been mixed in with people to comprise the audience for the plays. The presence of the birds was more than just a (in hindsight, quite obvious) surprise, however; their presence gave me (another) reason to be quite impressed by both the actors and the staff of the theater.

At no point were the pigeons weren’t just sitting by and idling watching. It seemed that every five minutes, the pigeons were flying from one end of the theater to the other, flapping loudly and cooing, sometimes even coming to land on the stage and peck about for a few seconds before flying off noisily again.

Here’s the part that impressed me, though. The birds were distracting, and successfully diverted my attention away from the performance the first few times they started up their antics. The actors, however, weren’t even phased. Not only did they ignore the pigeons, which seemed to find it fun to fly in front of the actors’ faces and hang about underfoot, but the actors also succeeded in winning back my attention just as quickly as the birds could steal it away.

I also send props out to the ushers of the Globe, for persistently engaging in the futile task of chasing the pigeons away from the stage and the spectators for the entire performance.

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Looking for Our Heroes

London might be the best city for an English major to visit – I don’t think there’s any other place where so many great authors have lived throughout time (at least, for English literature). If you spend any amount of time walking in London, you’re sure to come across a circular blue plaque on a building, marking that someone notable lived there. Often I don’t recognize the name because it’s a for an architect or a botanist or the like. But on one of my first days in London, I was trying to find the Victoria and Albert Museum on my own when I accidentally wandered into a residential neighborhood. I was annoyed with myself for getting off track, but soon I caught sight of one of those ubiquitous blue plaques. Somehow by accident I’d found what many people would spend a day searching for – the house where T.S. Eliot lived and died.

DSC01591 That was a lucky accident, but I’ve also deliberately sought out the homes of two of my personal favorite writers – Charles Dickens and John Keats. In a convenient coincidence, Charles Dickens’s house is only a few minutes walk away from the flats where we’re staying. I was absolutely thrilled to be there, and I lingered as long as I could, trying to soak everything up. I probably took more pictures there than I’d taken in total since I’d arrived in London. They had his private possessions, a first edition of Nicholas Nickleby, and so many of his letters – I quickly became familiar with his distinctive signature. They even had the desk at which he’d written some of his best works, like Bleak House.

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I also went to visit John Keats’s house, which was further out, but still in London. I like that Dickens lived in a central area of London, while Keats lived in a more rural part – I feel like it suits at least their writing, if I can’t speak to their characters. I’d seen the film Bright Star about the romance between Keats and Fanny Brawne, ending with his death, and it takes place at this house! There were copies of Keats’s letters in every room, and I got to read about him making a pilgrimage of his own to visit Robert Burns’s home in Scotland. It reminded me that Dickens had made a similar journey to Stratford-upon-Avon to visit Shakespeare’s home. Why are we driven to visit the homes of our literary heroes? Do we want to catch their greatness, or do we just want to feel close to these people we can never meet?

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Wednesday, Bloody Wednesday

Since I uncouthly searched Titus Andronicus online before we watched it, I went into the production knowing that around seven people had fainted at one point. Admittedly, I was intrigued. Was it really that graphic?

The answer: it was. It truly was.

Immediately post-performance, I was not as innerved or drained as everyone else. This sort of worried me in an oh-maybe-I’m-a-sociopath type way, until I remembered that I come from a family that used to watch CSI: Miami over our Sunday spaghetti; my gore meter isn’t as finely attuned as other people’s can be.

Post-performance, the splatter ignited quite the chatter—but what was it that made this blood so disturbing? Sadly, it’s a safe bet to say that everyone in the group and even the larger audience has seen a fictitious character get killed bloodily, whether on film or television. Anyone who’s seen anything from Quentin Tarantino or the Saw franchise would say that the amount of blood in Titus is at best tangential. However, a great explanation can be found in the production’s program: since the play’s action takes place under natural light outside in realistic physical conditions, seeing blood is more visceral because it is all the more tangible.

It’s surreal to think that Romans actually witnessed the outlandish violence depicted in Titus. Gladiatorial contests and frequent wars were the norms of the day; it’s easy to think of such things as barbarous until modern violence is also examined. UFC contests, for example, are a modern day equivalent to gladiators. War is always occurring, everyday, in some part of the world. Oddly enough, the proliferation of technology makes it easier to both document and distract ourselves from these wars. Shakespeare obviously didn’t have access to this technology, but Titus Andronicus, his ode to pacifism, lives on.

 

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“This train is alive with things that should be seen and heard. It’s a living, breathing something — you just have to want to learn its rhythm.” ~ David Baldacci

I’ve decided that whoever invented the bus system in London was not a nice person, but whoever invented the London Underground, aka the Tube, was a genius. Buses are problematic. No matter how much you attempt to plot out your route, it seems like there is always some mishap with bus routes, whether that means the bus you need does not actually stop at your intended location, requires you to travels blocks to another stop, or to wait 20 minutes for the next bus is always a possibility. Now the Tube I get, the Tube makes sense, the Tube and me have become great friends during my time in London.

It’s color coordinated, which pleases my OCD riddled mind. Each color line has a fairly distinct name, which makes it easier to remember which line is which. And even when a specific station is down, there is always some pretty simple way to find another route to your intended destination. One of my favorite things about the Tube though is how much people watching it allows. Though my previous experiences on public transportation had involved me frighteningly clutching my purse as I made feeble attempts to understand where my stops were, this experience has given me a fresh perspective.

On the Tube I can be whoever I want to be. I can speak to my friends and stick out as an American tourist. I can wear my ASOS attire, listen to my iPod and not speak, in turn partially blending in with the London population. I can even ride the Tube on nights out and make friends with random French couples.

On the Tube, the world is my oyster. Last night, as I was riding the Tube to a concert at 22:00, I made friends with two British guys who were planning a trip to Japan. I’m pretty sure they were drunk, but it was pretty amusing for me as they argued about what stop they should get off. But aside from listening into random conversations and blending in, I’ve mostly enjoyed looking at London fashion on the Tube.

Before I even came over here I had preconceived notions about London fashion. I knew from prior sightings and my online shopping addiction that London women knew how to dress, but I have been overwhelmed by the various wardrobes I’ve seen. I’ve seen leather jackets (and pants), studded boots, ivory chiffon tops, and amazing coats for days. The Tube has made me jealous of the coat/jacket and shoe collections of most British women. They’re classy, edgy, and all around put together and I have the Tube to thank for learning this. So thanks London Underground, it’s been fun doing business with you.

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All’s Well that Wears Well?

Sunil Shanbag’s production of Shakespeare’s All’s Well that Ends Well at the Globe Theatre was vivid, bright, and bold. It was also performed entirely in Gujarati. The production was complete with Gujarati names for Shakespeare’s characters and super titles on the sides of the stage that provided brief English synopses of each scene, making the production’s overall look and feel almost entirely Indian–except in costume. Costume changes throughout the play showed each character’s views on wealth, love, and marriage, as characters faded in and out of subtly and blatantly Western dress while other remained in consistently Indian dress. Moreover, the addition of European dress in various scenes had significant implications about the values of Shakespeare’s protagonists, such as Bharatram’s obsession with money and Heli’s manipulative tactics. Specifically, their costumes show Heli’s possible progression towards a more stereotypical and negative Western view: a possible prioritization of marriage over love.

All's Well That Ends WellThe play opens with a discussion between the King of France, renamed Gokuldas, and the Countess played by Meenal Patel, known in this production as Kunti. Because of their characters’ high social class, both of their costumes are simple but elegant and appear traditionally Indian: intricate and colorful designs in loose cut style. In this scene, Kunti wore faded gold suit while Gokuldas’ white suit and primary colored scarf. However, as soon as Heli (known as Heli and played wonderfully by Mansi Parekh) walked on stage, the boldness of her rainbow colored and intricately woven and dress dulled Gokuldas and Kunti’s costumes. All three characters appear in traditional Indian dress, but Heli’s actions added to her colorful ensemble suggested something bolder, just as her personality appeared in this scene.

These initial costumes displayed the female character’s views of love as traditional or idealistic, creatively expressing two of the play’s biggest tropes. Kunti’s monotone gold implied wealth, and constant gold implies practicality, as she suggests that Heli avoid her own son and maintains such consistency throughout the play. This costume juxtaposed Heli’s freer and brighter dress, which showed her more idealistic behavior. She looks more traditionally Indian. She has fewer inhibitions, and this freedom coupled with bright, colorful dress suggests idealism about love, and particularly her love for Bertram or Bharatram. When Kunti and Heli discussed Heli’s love for Bertram, known as Bharatram, Heli flitted around her almost frantically, as though possessed by her own love, while Kunti remained still.

However, the European suits worn by the play’s male characters implied a stereotypically negative European preoccupation with money and class, two other crucial elements of Shakespeare’s text. Bharatram entered his first scene wearing an indistinct costume matching that of his father, although less ornate in design. The level of his European dress heightens and lessens throughout the play, depending on the prominence of money in the dialogue. In scenes where money was a key factor in conversation, such as the scene when he discusses a “business venture” with his father, Bharatram wore a full-suit.

In fact, Bharatram almost always appeared on stage in at least a European-style jacket, which suggested that money or class were ever-present in his mind. In another scene, when he and Parabat traveled to Bombay, both wore jackets over their bland shirts and pants while a townsperson danced around them wearing colored pants and a blouse. This scene drew a direct comparison between the liveliness of the city-dweller and Heli, who danced in a similar manner in the beginning and wears a similar costume. It also put Bertram’s upper-class position into light. He awkwardly clapped and laughed while the man bounced freely around them, just as Heli seemed freer compared to Kunti’s formality in the first scene.aw8

Heli’s costumes changed as the play progresses as well. The play opens after intermission with Heli grieving Bharatram’s rejection of her. She wore a striking red dress as the super title projected the caption essentially saying “Heli describes her growth from girl to women.” This costume choice coupled with the super title proves that Heli has at abandoned her hope that Bharatram could authentically love her. She wears a monochromatic, tighter dress that is still bright but also cut more traditionally European cut, suggesting that she has gained a more European view of love as marriage more so than passion.

This transition becomes more apparent when Heli meets Alkini. She began to take on Alkini’s more feminine, sexualized style and maintained it for the rest of the play. In the scene when they meet, Heli wore a cut and colored dress. She appears more sexually free, like Alkini, and her mimicry of Alkini’s costume suggests a parallel between them, as she uses her wiles and her sexuality—literally, a bed trick—to win Bharatram. Did this costume transition imply empowerment or exploitation?

The play’s final scene solidified these transitions and the questions they raise about Heli’s character. Heli walked on stage in a dress with similar cut to the one she begins to wear with Alkini, which suggested her return to vivacity as in the first scene, but with a more empowered feminine stance based on the dresses’ cut and bright red color that stood out blatantly next to Bharatram, who wore a stiff, tan suit. He radiated the idea that despite an admission of love, he felt nothing for Heli. Color choices here reflected Heli’s empowered victory in marrying Bharatram, but the European style of both costumes also suggested a sad acceptance of the situation as opposed to passion. Was she empowered for her victory, or does her abandonment of the idea of true love prove a greater loss?

Globe_2014_G2G_AllsWellCostume choices in this production highlighted the problem of the play’s ending, particularly the question of Heli’s character at the end. Marriage and love do diverge in their own ways in India; however, the addition of starkly European dress contrasted with traditional, freer Indian attire had a negative implication about the latter. While I highly enjoyed the play and felt upbeat through most of it, costume choices and the end on European dress suggest that while the production was vivid and upbeat, Shanbag does not view Shakespeare’s text as a comedy. Costumes show that this production costumed a darker truth, the text’s essential question: when money and marriage get in the way of love, perhaps things cannot truly end well. 

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William Shakespeare’s The Shining: Titus Andronicus as an Exploration of Insanity

The Globe’s recent production of Titus Andronicus, a story already full of betrayal, murder, and cannibalism, presents a particularly bloody version of the play, but it was one small moment in the (relatively) quiet first scene that has stuck with me since the curtains fell.  After Titus has made his dramatic entrance and presented his captives, he makes an impassioned speech about his experiences in the war and his many losses.  Suddenly, in the middle of his speech, as he berates himself, “Titus, unkind and carless of thine own,/ Why suffer’st thou thy sons, unburied yet,/ To hover on the dreadful shores of Styx?” William Houston (Titus) grabs his head, and his words become slurred.  The music ramps up to a high-pitched tone, and Titus almost swoons.  Suddenly, the music returns to normal, and Titus straightens back up and resumes his speech.  No one comments on the sudden aberration, and Titus doesn’t try to explain it.

It is an odd moment, and as far as I can tell, there is nothing in Shakespeare’s script to suggest it.  Obviously, the subject matter is grim—a father declaring that he must now bury his slain son—but, if I were a director, I wouldn’t look at those lines and immediately see an opportunity to hint that Titus is already insane.  Nonetheless, that is certainly the impression I got from this moment—the high-pitched noise and Houston’s body language strongly hint to the audience that this a man who is already insane, long before Tamora and Aaron begin to plot their revenge.  In the Q&A with the actors after the performance, Indira Varma (Tamora) revealed that Houston looked into the psychology of post-traumatic stress disorder to inform his performance as Titus.  Knowing this, this seemingly odd scene makes much more sense, and I realized that Houston is using these lines as an opportunity to convey his interpretation of Titus’s psychology.

Of course, during the later acts of the play, Titus’s insanity becomes even more overt, but upon reflection, I realized that many of the techniques that Houston uses to illustrate Titus’s abnormal mental state are present in that first scene as well.  For example, one easy way to convey that a character has gone insane is to have the pitch of their voice fluctuate wildly.  Houston certainly relies on this technique: during his various speeches, Titus’s voice rises and falls noticeably without any discernable pattern.  One would expect him to do this only in the later scenes of the story, but Houston’s Titus displays this irregularity of voice even in the first scene.  Again, it’s a small detail, but the audible strain in Houston’s voice even in his first moments on stage paints this Titus as coming into the play with his sanity damaged beyond repair.

These may seem like insignificant details, but the decision to play Titus as being mentally ill at the start of the play fascinates me, as it radically alters the character arc that forms the core of the narrative.  I always understood this play as depicting the downfall of a proud general into a bloodthirsty killer.  By portraying him as insane from the start, the Globe’s production abandons that emotional arc and replaces it with the story of a man turning his bloodlust from foreign enemies to his former masters.  This in turn significantly changes the moral timbre of the play.  The original script seems to direct its anger at Rome’s squabbling leadership.  In contrast, by portraying the basic root of Titus’s insanity as stemming from his war experiences rather than the machinations of the Roman rulers, the recent Globe production imparts a broader but perhaps more timeless condemnation of the brutality of war rather than a specific dig at a particular corrupt government.

Does this revision on the part of director Lucy Bailey represent some kind of heretical revision to Shakespeare’s story?  Perhaps.  But I actually think this change adds a great deal of emotional depth to a story that otherwise relies too heavily on shock value and gore.  In the actors’ Q&A, Indira Varma called the play an anti-war parable.  Portraying Titus as a shell-shocked veteran suffering from the psychological after-shocks of his years of battle adds another layer of tragedy and poignancy to the narrative.  Many of Shakespeare’s protagonists are former soldiers trying and failing to adjust to civilian life—see Macbeth, Henry IV, and (in some interpretations) King Lear.  This was clear a theme dear to the Bard’s heart, yet in the text of Titus Andronicus, any deep statements on the long-lasting effects of war on men’s minds are subsumed by cheap violent thrills and shock scenes.  In depicting Titus as having been driven insane not by Tamora’s machinations but by his previous tours of duty, Bailey’s production taps into that Shakespearean tradition and gains far more than it loses.

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