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wordwhackerWas it just me, or was this play a surprisingly quick read? Either way, I'm finding that as the course goes on I am definitely getting better at reading this material. Seeing a couple of the plays (or excerpts, anyway) was a huge help. The characters are starting to "pop" (as much as they're going to, anyway) and I'm starting to get a better feel for the social mores of this period. I'm looking forward to breezing through some of the earlier plays we studied over March Break.
Having said that, this play was still something of a hard read - not technically, this time, but emotionally and intellectually. Comedies seem to be easier to swallow in a lot of ways, because even though they eventually iron everything out with marriages, they spend an awful lot of time riffing on the institutions of the day. I can dig that. I watch "This Hour has 22 Minutes".
But the main focus of this "she-tragedy" is the (literal) horror, death, and destruction that is caused when woman has extramarital sex. It's not fun and games any more. No more cute scenes where Palamede and Doralice almost have sex. Nope. Calista gone and done it, and all hell has broken loose. Of course they flirt with the idea that she can be forgiven, but it's just for the titillation factor - like Palamede and Rhodophil contemplating a wife-swap for 2.5 seconds. She has to die.
She raises some interesting questions, too. Whose fault is it, anyway? She says to Lothario: "I come to charge thee with a long account / Of all the sorrows I have known already / And all I have to come: thou hast undone me." (IV.i 33-35) She rejects the idea that her virtue was only her responsibility. And yet she doesn't take lightly to Horatio meddling in it: "I am myself the guardian of my honor / And wonnot bear so insolent a monitor." (III.i 186-187) More than once she questions her father's authority over her, even when she's just about ready to throw in the towel: "Is this, is this the mercy of a father? / I only beg to die, and he denies me." (IV.i 201-202)
And then she dies, conveniently, so Rowe doesn't have to answer any of them. Of course. This could be read in a number of ways: asking the questions = death, doing the act = death - spiritually, as evidenced by her repeated rejections of Christian ideals: "Yet Heav'n [...] / Makes not too strict enquiry for offences / But is atoned by penitence and pray'r. / Cheap recompense!" (iV. 157-161)
It's interesting that contemporary folks complained that Calista wasn't penitent enough. They were probably taking a strictly religious definition of "penitence", which would be refuted by comments like the one I quoted above. But in terms of "sorrow for sins and faults," she has plenty:
Geeze! She's sorry already! Would someone forgive her or kill her, or both, or whatever it is she wants?
When I re-read the introduction for this play in the text, I had to giggle a little about Calista being "the play's central focus" (p. 637). I mean, okay, in terms of her as an object that instigates death and destruction en masse, things certainly turn around her. She is definitely a Bad Girl and that's made pretty clear. But the real story here, the real source of pathos, is the love story.
What? No, not the one with Calista. I'm talkin' about Altamont and Horatio. Seriously, if I ever meet someone doesn't believe in the privileging of homo-social relationships, I'll get them to read this play. Lavina exists only as a beard for Horatio and a mediator for the boys' deep, fulfilling, loving relationship. When they "break up" in Act III her entire existence revolves around getting them to make up. And who broke them up? Calista! Apart from disappointing herpatriarchal overlord father, this is one of her worst sins (to which we're directly privy, at any rate.)
I'm sure a modern take on this play could have a lot of fun playing up Altamont and Horatio's (supposedly) platonic love affair. Man, now I almost want to write fanfiction about it... A niche audience I'd have, that's for sure.
Number of plays read: 7
Ladies-dressed-as-boys: 5 (I weep.)
Having said that, this play was still something of a hard read - not technically, this time, but emotionally and intellectually. Comedies seem to be easier to swallow in a lot of ways, because even though they eventually iron everything out with marriages, they spend an awful lot of time riffing on the institutions of the day. I can dig that. I watch "This Hour has 22 Minutes".
But the main focus of this "she-tragedy" is the (literal) horror, death, and destruction that is caused when woman has extramarital sex. It's not fun and games any more. No more cute scenes where Palamede and Doralice almost have sex. Nope. Calista gone and done it, and all hell has broken loose. Of course they flirt with the idea that she can be forgiven, but it's just for the titillation factor - like Palamede and Rhodophil contemplating a wife-swap for 2.5 seconds. She has to die.
She raises some interesting questions, too. Whose fault is it, anyway? She says to Lothario: "I come to charge thee with a long account / Of all the sorrows I have known already / And all I have to come: thou hast undone me." (IV.i 33-35) She rejects the idea that her virtue was only her responsibility. And yet she doesn't take lightly to Horatio meddling in it: "I am myself the guardian of my honor / And wonnot bear so insolent a monitor." (III.i 186-187) More than once she questions her father's authority over her, even when she's just about ready to throw in the towel: "Is this, is this the mercy of a father? / I only beg to die, and he denies me." (IV.i 201-202)
And then she dies, conveniently, so Rowe doesn't have to answer any of them. Of course. This could be read in a number of ways: asking the questions = death, doing the act = death - spiritually, as evidenced by her repeated rejections of Christian ideals: "Yet Heav'n [...] / Makes not too strict enquiry for offences / But is atoned by penitence and pray'r. / Cheap recompense!" (iV. 157-161)
It's interesting that contemporary folks complained that Calista wasn't penitent enough. They were probably taking a strictly religious definition of "penitence", which would be refuted by comments like the one I quoted above. But in terms of "sorrow for sins and faults," she has plenty:
Now think thou, curst Calista, now behold
The desolation, horror, blood, and ruin
Thy crimes and fatal folly spread around [...]
Nothing but blood can make the expiation
And cleanse the soul from inbred, deep pollution. (V.i 153-163)
Geeze! She's sorry already! Would someone forgive her or kill her, or both, or whatever it is she wants?
When I re-read the introduction for this play in the text, I had to giggle a little about Calista being "the play's central focus" (p. 637). I mean, okay, in terms of her as an object that instigates death and destruction en masse, things certainly turn around her. She is definitely a Bad Girl and that's made pretty clear. But the real story here, the real source of pathos, is the love story.
What? No, not the one with Calista. I'm talkin' about Altamont and Horatio. Seriously, if I ever meet someone doesn't believe in the privileging of homo-social relationships, I'll get them to read this play. Lavina exists only as a beard for Horatio and a mediator for the boys' deep, fulfilling, loving relationship. When they "break up" in Act III her entire existence revolves around getting them to make up. And who broke them up? Calista! Apart from disappointing her
I'm sure a modern take on this play could have a lot of fun playing up Altamont and Horatio's (supposedly) platonic love affair. Man, now I almost want to write fanfiction about it... A niche audience I'd have, that's for sure.
Number of plays read: 7
Ladies-dressed-as-boys: 5 (I weep.)
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Re: and
Date: 2007-03-01 08:09 pm (UTC)