Shakespeare

I feel like I'm not supposed to admit this. I like Shakespeare, but I don't love him. Don't tell my brother, whatever you do. I'm reading A Midsummer Night's Dream right now. And it's interesting, and I enjoy it. But I don't love it. Shakespeare is funny. His use of language is fun and interesting. But (and I feel like this just isn't what I'm supposed to say) I just don't find much meaningful in Shakespeare. This isn't what English teachers are supposed to say or think. And I feel funny admitting it. Maybe it's like coming out of the closet. I have heard people say that in the end you either come down on the side of Shakespeare or the side of Milton, that you are the type of person who can love one or the other, but not both. Maybe I'm the type that loves Milton, if that dichotomy is true. I've also heard people say that it's either Shakespeare or Chaucer. If that's the case, I'm definitely a Chaucer kind of gal. Chaucer shows us human nature; Milton shows us "man's first disobedience;" but Shakespeare is just "words, words, words." I know that his tragic heroes have these great, heart wrenching speeches that are supposed to explore the human condition, the human tragedy. But in the end, their speeches always strike me as empty somehow, because the characters are so unable to transcend themselves. Maybe that's my problem. Shakespeare's characters never seem to get beyond themselves. Even the characters I rather enjoy--Benedic, Beatrice, Mercutio, Lear--they are just all about themselves. And nothing more.

I feel like maybe somewhere along the way I missed something really important that I was supposed to understand about Shakespeare and never quite got. Shakespeare is good. He's entertaining. He's a master of the language. But he's not great.

There's a tiny piece of me that fears the defect is in me, not Shakespeare. Afterall, western civilization (or at least the English speaking world) reveres him as some kind of god of literature. But he's missing something. He's missing the bigger picture.