Early modern drama and the New World -OUPblog

• BY GAVIN HOLLIS
• MARCH 6TH 2016

Christoper Columbus arrives in America, L. Prang & Co., Boston (1893). Library of Congress. Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

The so-called golden age of Shakespeare coincided with the so-called golden age of exploration. Yet despite the far-reaching impact of the expanding globe, no play is set in the Americas, few plays treat colonization as central to the plot, and only a handful feature Native American characters (most of whom are Europeans in disguise). Shakespeare’s The Tempest draws on transatlantic travel narratives, it is true, yet we must remember that Caliban’s island is located in the Mediterranean, if it is really located anywhere. Allusions to the Americas abound, to specific places like Virginia or to a vaguer “Indies,” but overall early modern drama seems less interested in the western Atlantic than in, say, the North African littoral, Ireland, or the East Indies—a reflection perhaps of England’s belated presence in the Americas. (It is likely that the anonymous The New World’s Tragedy (1595), Day, Haughton, and Smith’sThe Conquest of the West Indies (1601), and the anonymous The Plantation of Virginia (1623) all had New World settings, but no texts of these plays survive.)

The impact of the New World on early modern drama, then, seems muted from our perspective. But that does not mean that there was no interest, nor does it mean that audiences were not exposed to New World subject matter. Indeed, as we’ll see, promoters of trade and settlement (particularly in relation to Virginia) were all too wary of the influence of early modern drama in shaping public opinion.

The travel play—a popular dramatic genre in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries—frequently revolved around oceanic voyaging to real and sometimes imaginary places. Even though the New World largely remains off the travel play’s world map, increased occidental voyaging likely contributed to the success of this genre. Fletcher and Massinger’s The Sea Voyage is a rare instance of a play that draws explicitly on the Atlantic world, and even then, like The Tempest, its spatial coordinates are by-and-large obscured.

Rather than travel plays (or romances), London City Comedy seems to have been the genre through which early modern English audiences accumulated knowledge of New World matters. For playwrights, the New World could stand as an analogue for the city, which—because of rapid growth and increase in foreign trade—had become, to all intents and purposes, a new world in and of itself. No wonder then that a number of plays set in London draw on New World reference points to emphasize the strangeness of the city. Trinculo the Jester, stuck on a strange island in The Tempest, recalls the behaviour of the English who would rather give “ten doit to see a dead Indian” than one “to relieve a lame beggar.” Trinculo’s “Indian” is presumably from the Americas, given the prominence of Native American visitors to London at the time—something to which Shakespeare and John Fletcher allude in their collaboration Henry VIII or All is True, with its reference to the “strange Indian with the great tool.”

If travel plays celebrate encounters with the foreign and the strange in far-flung places, London city comedies hold up characters associated with the New World as strange objects of mockery. Bartholomew Cokes foolishly ventures to the Virginia-like Fair in Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, while Justice Overdo grandiosely compares his “labours” and “discoveries” to those of “Columbus, Magellan, or our countryman Drake,” only to end up in the stocks. “Tobacconists,” inveterate smokers, are rendered impotent by their addictions; in Edward Sharpham’s The Fleer Petoune, named after a kind of tobacco, is so obsessed with “divine smoke” that he lives far beyond his means, spending all he has on “the Indian plant.” The New World is associated with bad investment, attractive only to desperados–characters like the adventurers of Jonson, Chapman, and Marston’s Eastwward Ho!, who think that they can flee their creditors by heading to Virginia.

The satirizing of adventurers and settlers caught the attention of promoters of colonialism. One member of the Virginia Company complained about “the licentious vaine of stage poets” badmouthing the nascent colony, while another accused the players of being enemies on a par with the Devil and the Catholic Church. Such invective leveled at the playing companies seems disproportionate, given that relatively few plays engage with Virginian subject matter for any length of time, and likely reflects the dire state of English transatlantic settlement and enterprise at the time. The Virginia colony, established in 1607, frequently seemed on the verge of dissipation, while the Virginia Company was permanently short of funds. It was only in the 1620s that the colony took on a degree of permanence.

But even though the Virginia Company was sensitive to how its mission was represented, when we piece together the various moments of mockery and satire across a wide range of plays, and consider how the early modern playhouse functioned as a news-source (or rumour mill), it certainly seems that early modern drama hit a nerve. Indeed, we might go so far as to say that, for supporters of transatlantic trade and settlement, drama was seen to be, as it were, anti-American.

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Gavin Hollis received his PhD in English Literature from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and is Assistant Professor at Hunter College CUNY specializing in Shakespeare and Early Modern Drama. He is the author of The Absence of America: The London Stage, 1576-1642. Originally from Great Britain, he also holds degrees from Cambridge University and the Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham.

Marlowe, not Shakespeare—so what? - OUPblog

Unknown 21-year old man, supposed to be Christopher Marlowe by unknown. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

• BY RORY LOUGHNANE
• NOVEMBER 4TH 2016

The recent media furore surrounding the publication of new findings about the authorship of Shakespeare’s works reassures us of one thing: people care about Shakespeare. Or, perhaps better stated, people care about caring about Shakespeare. A momentary venture into the ‘comments’ section to any of these news stories (a risky move at the best of times) reveals at least three camps of commentators: those who care about Shakespeare, the Stratford-born author; those who care about ‘Shakespeare’, the imagined mastermind of conspiracy theorists who ‘really’ wrote the plays (De Vere, Bacon, et. al.); and those who protest that they do not care at all about Shakespeare, but still took the time to comment. This short post is for those in the first and third camps. For the first, I want to briefly outline what is new. For both groups, I want to suggest why any of this matters.

Christopher Marlowe was and remains box office. Though one of the more shadowy figures of the period—much more has been speculated about his extra-literary activities (espionage, homosexual affairs, smoking tobacco) than is known—his astonishing retinue of plays (Doctor Faustus, Jew of Malta, Edward II,Tamburlaine) assure his place at the centre of teaching and research canons in early modern drama. His plays are often performed. His creative genius, and his murder at the age of twenty-nine, makes us wish that more of his work survived. But such wishing has no place in modern attribution research. No-one undertaking an analysis of the three Henry VI plays, for example, should begin with a desire to supplement the canon of Marlowe or Kyd or any other writer. Any such approach risks bias. So, too, skepticism is a must in the ways in which people interested in Shakespeare receive this news. Just because Marlowe’s name is printed on the title-page to these three plays in the New Oxford Shakespeare does not mean, of course, that readers must accept this unwittingly. Many won’t. But before dismissing it as a novelty, perhaps readers should cast an eye on the new research about this (Hugh Craig, John Burrows, John V. Nance, Gary Taylor). Or look over the summary of previous scholarship on the authorship of these plays in the Authorship Companion’s ‘Canon and Chronology’ essay. The new attribution of scenes and passages to Marlowe may not convince everyone, but the case for his hand in these plays has been built slowly, cumulatively, and cautiously.

The Marlowe news, box office as he is, buried another remarkable disclosure. Drawing upon the pioneering work of MacDonald P. Jackson, the New Oxford Shakespeare is the first edition to include Arden of Faversham in a Complete Works of Shakespeare. In his 2014 book, Determining the Shakespeare Canon, Jackson persuasively argued that Shakespeare as the author of scenes 4-9. These findings are supplemented further in the Companion by Jackson, Jack Elliott and Brett D. Hirsch. (Notably, the same modern attribution techniques that confirmed Marlowe’s presence in the Henry VI plays have disproven conjectures that Marlowe is present in this play.) Arden of Faversham is a brilliant ‘domestic tragedy’, dramatizing an infamous Kent scandal about a cheating wife, hired assassins, and a murdered husband. The Shakespeare canon is infinitely richer for its inclusion: its emotional depth, memorable if not necessarily likeable characters, tight-knit plotting, and one of the period’s longest and most complex female roles, mean it can be astonishingly effective in performance. The 2014 RSC production was praised as ‘comically sublime’ and noted that its ‘mixture of lust, greed and dark humour has a distinctly contemporary edge.’ The 2014 Indianapolis production, directed by Terri Bourus—was praised for affirming the ‘value of theatrical performance in scholarly debates about attribution.’ This play needs to been seen, heard, read, performed, and taught; its new status will surely encourage further productions and further interest.

But while we might care (or not care) about Shakespeare, why does any of this new attribution work matter? Why, in this sense, does authorship matter? It is easy, perhaps even reasonable, to be weary of the application of ‘Big Data’ to studies of Shakespeare. His plays are still taught and performed not because we can measure his distinctive use of ‘function words’ and ‘n-grams’. But if we disavow an interest in authorship, we teeter perilously on the edge of two traps. One, if we think the work stands alone, regardless of the contexts, conditions, and contingencies of its authorial provenance and transmission from script to print, we are deliberately, consciously, choosing to know less about how these masterpieces came into being. Two, if we think the authorship debate is irrelevant and choose to think of the work as Shakespeare’s alone regardless (as many undoubtedly will for the Henry VI plays), then we are in fact making a stand on authorship but just not explicitly stating it. This matters on a literary and theatrical level of analysis because if a critic identifies a thematic pattern or motif running through a co-authored play, then in fact what they have noticed is either a feature decided upon by the play’s collaborators, or it is one co-author picking up on what another author has already done. Such findings do not (necessarily) invalidate previous critical readings; rather, they add nuance, texture, and complication. But, perhaps most of all, these new findings matter because they disabuse the notion of Shakespeare as an always-solitary genius.

In our modern times, when so much work is collaborative and network-driven, surely this is an idea we can all get behind. Shakespeare’s genius is hardly in question, and he is the sole author of most of the plays and poems in the Complete Works (including his most famous texts). But such new analyses of his works demonstrate emphatically that he was a man of his time, despite Ben Jonson’s hyperbolic assertion that his peer was ‘not of an age’—like his contemporaries in the theatre trade, Shakespeare relied on the collaborative work of co-authors, companies, censors, performers, audiences, printers, and publishers. Jonson, who would have known the toil of a working playwright as well as any, probably recognized no contradiction in saying that Shakespeare was also ‘for all time.’

Featured image credit: King Henry VI, part III, act II, scene III, Warwick, Edward, and Richard at the Battle of Towton (adjusted) by Jappalang. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Rory Loughnane is a Lecturer in Early Modern Literature and Drama at The University of Kent, and Associate Editor of the New Oxford Shakespeare. He edited ten plays for the edition, including2 Henry VI, and co-authored the New Oxford Shakespeare Authorship Companion’s ‘Canon and Chronology’ essay.

https://blog.oup.com/2016/11/marlowe-shakespeare-play-authorship/?utm_source=gplus&utm_medium=oupacademic&utm_campaign=oupblog

Luis Camnitzer: “La ignorancia es un fascinante campo más allá del conocimiento”

El artista conceptual y escritor uruguayo reflexiona sobre la relación entre arte y educación y destaca el papel clave de la ignorancia

GUILLERMO BUSUTIL

Málaga 29 ENE 2017

El escritor, artista y pedagogo uruguayo Luis Camnitzer, en Málaga. GARCÍA-SANTOS

Artista conceptual y escritor, el uruguayo Luis Camnitzer (Lübeck, Alemania 1937) es también un reconocido pedagogo que ha impartió un curso en el Museo Picasso Málaga, del 18 al 20 de enero, sobre Educación y arte. Asuntos sobre los que charló con este diario.

Pregunta. ¿El arte es el lugar donde puede suceder lo que no puede suceder en otro sitio?

Respuesta. Sí, pero es necesario informar a los otros lugares de qué sucede allí, de cómo en ese lugar se pueden mezclar órdenes que se supone que no se pueden mezclar y hay sistemas alternativos y quizás mejores. El arte es como el Aleph borgiano que abre la expansión del conocimiento.

P. ¿El arte olvidó al público?

R. La obra se realiza en el público, pero hoy el artista no quiere entender que hay muchos públicos, y que hay que elegir al que se dirige. Ocurre lo mismo en los colegios donde los maestros creen que todos los estudiantes son iguales. El artista olvida que el reto consiste en atraer a nuevo público, en convencer al adversario.

P. Los museos se han convertido en supermercado de lujo para el consumo. ¿Qué función deberían cumplir hoy día?

R. Los museos se autodefinen como un recinto cerrado. Su futuro pasa por abrirse y conectar con las escuelas para integrar el pensamiento artístico en el sistema educacional y corregir la fragmentación del conocimiento. Al final te dan un título por los créditos que has comprado pero no por la educación que tienes, y el sistema te absorbe como una pieza de mercado. Es una forma de esclavitud escondida y el arte es lo que puede inmunizar contra ella.

P. Usted propone actuar contra esa enseñanza en la que los profesores digieren los contenidos para que los consuman pasivamente los alumnos.

R. La pedagogía de la educación está concebida como un entrenamiento en el que se transfiere a las otras personas el modo de conocimiento que más conviene. En cambio, en una educación real se facilitarían el descubrimiento y la creatividad para que el alumno llegue a sus propias conclusiones. El arte no es una forma de expresión, es una forma de pensar, la más libre que hay, pero siempre se ha dejado de lado en la educación porque se supone que es un instrumento emocional que no es útil.

P. ¿Cómo se enseña a pensar el arte?

R. Proponiendo problemas para que uno explore alternativas, siempre que el sistema en el que está sea el correcto para sus propósitos, y busque una solución indispensable, capaz de romper las limitaciones para que el artista logre la subversión crítica del sistema convencional. Enseñando la percepción de la complejidad.

P. Pero si uno pasea por Arco o por las galerías, observa que el arte ni se desafía a sí mismo ni perturba al espectador.

R. El arte se convirtió en una forma de producción de objetos y de situaciones de espectáculo, y es difícil crear constantemente un modelo nuevo. Yo defiendo que el arte sea un agente de transformación cultural y de percepción crítica. Que busque la elegancia de la complejidad y no de la complicación. Que desafíe las etiquetas y las categorías.

P. En su libro Didáctica de la liberación, alude a Roberto Jacoby y su póster del Che en el que se dice: “Un guerrillero no muere para que se le cuelgue de una pared”. ¿Cómo devolverle al arte ese espíritu de combate?

R. Desacralizándolo. Teniendo claro que se trata de pensar críticamente sobre a quién le conviene que esto sea así y que no cambie. Al final todo conduce a quién tiene el poder, por qué lo tiene, cómo lo usa. Con esas preguntas el artista tiene que imaginar respuestas indefinidas y ser capaz de concretarlas en la realidad.

P. Otro de sus argumentos es el papel clave de la ignorancia.

R. La ignorancia está considerada como algo negativo porque todo se enfoca desde la aplicación del conocimiento, y si no sabes, estás fallando. Sin embargo, es un fascinante campo más allá del conocimiento. Es un campo de misterio, de exploración. El ignorante es más rico porque su espacio de aprendizaje es más grande, y es estimulado a lanzarse a descubrir y colonizar ideas para sumarlas al conocimiento.

ElPaís: 

http://cultura.elpais.com/cultura/2017/01/29/actualidad/1485709630_980139.html