The Thoughts That Remain Below

Although I avidly love Shakespeare now, I never had a taste for it when I was younger. My first experience was as most, reading A Midsummer Night's Dream in the eighth grade. Naturally, I was very bewildered by it. Why were there people name after condiments and body parts and dust particles? Why are they putting things in people's eyes? Why did those guys write such a terrible play? IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE!

Nevertheless, Shakespeare kept coming back.

The next year fell prey to Romeo and Juliet. Oh yes, the one that everybody knows. Fortunately for me, this one was not fraught with LSD trips and transmogrifying spells. Just severe misunderstandings and sudden death. Much better, right? Everything is normal there!

Later that year, I was excited to see Verdi's Macbeth opera. Upon seeing it, I was rather dumbfounded. The LSD trips had returned in the form of a zombie Banquo, a child Lady Macbeth stabbing her doll, and a thick, dark liquid dripping down the walls of the set. It was all very spooky and ethereal. Oh yeah, and it was in Italian, so I couldn't understand what they were saying anyways because it actually was another language! Go figure, right?

Julius Caesar,  read my sophomore year, was my least favorite. Let's leave it at that now I'm always bewaring the ides of March.

Finally, with the addition of an AP Literature class in my senior year, I read Hamlet. That's what really got me into Shakespeare. And, it was taught much better than its predecessors. That always helps, right? At the same time, I read some of his sonnets. I loved each one I read, for one was more engaging than the one before. In my free time, I also read Othello and loved it as well. My teacher, Mrs. Fajardo, will certainly remain one of my very favorites and always has my utmost thanks for carefully cultivating a proper Shakespearean knowledge in me.

Because my voice teacher's husband was not fond of the opera, she invited me to go with her to see Charles Gounod's Roméo et Juliette. It was a fairly true reproduction, and everybody still died at the end! Tragedy struck at the opera! (Who would have ever thought?!) Of course, in the operatic world, instead of dying when you get stabbed (or after stabbing yourself in this case), you sing! The fourth and final act was set in the tomb, and was by far the longest death sequence I've ever encountered.

Coincidentally, that same year came with my high school's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, set in a circa-1970's Central Park. Finally, I too got high with a little help from my friends. It was a fantastic production, and I finally understood the jokes that flew over my head as an eighth grader.

Ironically, my experiences with Shakespeare are almost following a chiasmus. In a way, it's cool. Realizing that, however, makes me a huge nerd. I hope, dear Reader, that you will enjoy reading my blog.

-Meg