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Welcome to my creative writing blog! My ability to write is a gift from God that I want to use to bring light to the lives of other people. The purpose of this blog is to allow not only family and friends but also the world to experience my writing and to experience the sublimity of the creative process. I'll be sharing essays, fiction, and poetry, works in progress and the best of what I have to share. Feel free to comment if you have feedback. I will be posting 1-2 times a week depending on what I've produced. I look forward to sharing with you!

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

How my Musings about Shakespeare and the Tudors Turned Out

Considering today is the Bard's birthday. I thought today would be an appropriate day to post this. It's thirteen pages not counting the works cited, but that's because of the one-inch margins. If I'd had my way when writing this, I would have written much more, but then it wouldn't have been as well-edited. I believe this to be one of the best academic papers I have ever written. It demonstrated to me that if I am passionate about the subject matter then I can write about anything.
Elizabeth Cole
Dr. Gideon Burton
ENGL 382
12 April 2013
Pretenders to Birthright, Heirs to Virtue:
The Legitimacy of the Tudors and Shakespeare's Characters
While William Shakespeare himself lived and wrote in an era of peace and prosperity, the early and middle decades of the sixteenth century could not have been more different, with the government in turmoil as the monarchs of the Tudor dynasty struggled for a stable rule and succession thereafter. What made all of the Tudors, including Shakespeare's patron Queen Elizabeth I, so vulnerable was the need to rule and reproduce within the standard of legitimacy. Shakespeare as well as his audience recognized this vulnerability and, oddly enough, the issue of legitimacy crops up in certain of his plays, notably King Lear, Richard III, and King John. Just as Elizabeth and her sister Mary I who ruled before her had to come to terms with their questionable legitimacy in different ways, Shakespeare presented to his audiences in dramatic form the ways in which legitimacy or the lack thereof was confronted and dealt with and why certain efforts succeeded and failed. Shakespeare recreates the legitimacy battles of the Tudor dynasty in his plays to demonstrate that it is not bastardy that corrupts a person's character but overturning the natural order of birthright and family ties, and that legitimacy does not make a person good but virtue and loyalty to one's country does.
In his first soliloquy in King Lear, Edmund comments, “fine word;—legitimate!” (I,ii, l. 18). “Legitimate” is indeed a fine word, expressing an interesting concept of what a person is and has a right to do, have, and be. The Oxford English Dictionary lists multiple definitions for the term “legitimate.” The top definition listed reads, “Of a child: Having the status of one lawfully begotten; entitled to full filial rights (OED Online “Legitimacy” A.1.a). A child is considered legitimate, particularly in Shakespeare's world, if they are conceived and born to two married parents. Legitimacy in Shakespeare's time in regard to manner of birth defines an individual's right to inheritance and, in the case of the monarchy, succession to a royal title. However, legitimate can also be used to mean, “conformable to law or rule, sanctioned or authorized by law or right.” or, “normal, regular; conformable to a recognized standard type” (A. 1. b.). Although in our time as well as in Shakespeare's the idea of illegitimacy has the connotation of being associated with immorality, “in the later Middle Ages... an allegation of bastardy was primarily a weapon in struggles over inheritance,” since inheritance laws favored children born within marriage (Niell 273). The Elizabethan attitude towards legitimacy and illegitimacy has much to do with what an individual inherits from a parent, particularly from father to son. “The whole idea of nobility rests on the assumption that men inherit at least an inclination toward virtue or vice” from their fathers that naturally makes them worthy of a physical inheritance. “If noble birth signifies potential virtue, bastardy as a violation of natural order implies moral degeneration” (Pierce 7-9). Legitimacy is not merely a label associated with birth but a stigma assigned by others in regard to one's legal and moral status, and this is clearly the case in both the Tudor dynasty and certain of Shakespeare's plays.
The history of the Tudor dynasty is a narrative of the long struggle of each member of that ruling family to secure their claim to the English throne by securing their legitimacy. The second Tudor monarch, Henry VIII, is remembered for his six wives. His constant concern for his marital status was, although profoundly affected by his romantic interests, driven by his desire for a legal heir, especially a male heir, to inherit the throne after his death and continue the family line. His first two marriages to Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn each produced a healthy daughter, Mary and Elizabeth respectively, but no surviving sons. It was his third wife, Jane Seymour, who gave him the son he so desired, the future Edward VI. In order to secure the succession for Elizabeth and any of his future sons by Anne Boleyn, Henry altered Mary's official legitimacy when he divorced her mother so she could not legally inherit the throne (Hunt 118). When Anne Boleyn failed to produce a healthy male heir, she was arrested and executed for “purportedly for having committed adultery with five men,” making it appear that “Elizabeth was not only a bastard but was most likely not even a royal bastard.” An “Act of Succession of July 1536 legally bastardized Elizabeth and Mary, chiefly so that the expected children of Henry and Jane Seymour would have no rival claimants to the monarchy ” (120-121). Mary and Elizabeth's legitimacy was not purely a question of their father's actual marriages to their respective mothers but Henry's need to protect the rights of the heir he eventually chose—he could not legitimize one of his children without bastardizing the other two. By the betrayal of his ties to Mary and Elizabeth, Henry VIII divided his family, and the two sisters judged themselves and each other by their superficial labels of legitimacy.
The works of Shakespeare suggest that legitimacy should not be taken at purely face value. In King Lear, legitimacy is not merely a matter of political opinion and legal procedure but of how society defines individual worth and character. The play opens with a dialogue between the Earls of Gloucester and Kent as Gloucester introduces his illegitimate son Edmund to Kent. Of Edmund, Gloucester says, “this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, / yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making,”(I, i, ll. 21-23). The term “saucily” describes a child who is “impudent” or “'cheeky'”; however there is also a connotation for “saucily” applying to someone who is “wanton” or lascivious.” (OED Online “Saucy” 2.a.,b.). Gloucester says he enjoyed his brief affair with Edmund's mother, but it was her fault for getting pregnant and that Edmund was an unwelcome surprise. Kent remarks, “I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.” Michael Niell comments that Kent's “banter turns on a cruel pun, since to be a 'proper' person in seventeenth-century England (as James Calder wood has pointed out) is 'to be propertied [...]to possess', while Edmund's alienation from what Lear calls 'propinquity and property of blood' (I. i, l. 14) renders him an 'unpossessing bastard' (283). At their meeting Edmund appears to Kent to be as well-mannered as a nobleman. Kent thinks it is a pity that Edmund is illegitimate, as though if Edmund were lawfully-begotten and titled he would be entitled to Kent's complete rather than partial regard. To Kent and Gloucester, Edmund's illegitimacy devalues his worth as a person.
Although he does not say much in the first scene, it becomes clear that Edmund disagrees with this view. He says of himself, “my dimensions are as well compact, / My mind as generous, and my shape as true, / As honest madam's issue” (I, ii, ll. 7-9) He can be just as good a person in character as the other members of the royal court. However, other people refuse to acknowledge that because of his birth. “Why brand they us /With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?” (ll. 9-10). To Edgar, legitimacy is only a label. Edgar sees himself as equal to his noble peers, but they can only see the “brand” of his illegitimacy that prevents him from having a formal title and equal legal status. Edmund's “brand” is not literal but cultural. In Shakespeare's world and in the world he creates, the “begetting” of bastards “constitutes an act of polluting mixture which renders the offspring in some sense unnatural or unclean” (Niell 277). Bastards are viewed as unclean because their origins do not conform to the standard of being conceived within marriage but instead being the offspring of two people who are not legally joined. Marriages are sanctioned by the same laws that also govern inheritance and nobility, therefore a child born outside of marriage cannot benefit from those laws. A person who does not enjoy the benefits of being born within the law is seen by those who are as a social unequal because he or she is a material unequal. Edmund's goal, then, is to legitimize himself and then gain the noble label required for his social acceptance. Shakespeare therefore points to the idea that a bastard has no innate abnormality but the stigma of others assigns him an abnormal relation to society.
On the other hand, a similar violation of the natural order is to reduce something legitimate to being base, and to make a thing that is naturally base legitimate or acceptable. Since this violates the natural, divinely sanctioned order, this raises the need for divine retribution. Thematically as well as historically, an individual cannot legitimize himself or herself without destroying the reputation of others in their family. As was the case with some of the Tudors, Shakespeare characters seeking to overcome their illegitimacy become corrupt as they reject the natural order, and this corruption is rewarded with destruction at the hands of divine justice.
Richard III demonstrates a case of figurative illegitimacy through the character of Richard, who becomes a usurping tyrant that slanders the legitimacy of others to get what he wants. In the play, Richard is physically deformed and considers himself “not shaped for sportive tricks” that other people enjoy, “rudely stamped” by his deformity, “And that so lamely and unfashionable / That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,” as if the dogs sensed something unnatural in him (I,i, ll. 13,15, 22-23). Maurice Hunt claims,“Physically twisted, resembling the shape of neither his mother nor his father, Richard feels like a bastard, even though he is by all accounts legitimately born. Self-disgustedly, Richard feels himself to be illegitimately legitimate (or legitimately illegitimate)” (133). To Richard, his physical impairments are a label distinguishing him as a freak of nature that Hunt suggests is similar to the cultural abnormality of the bastard. Like Edmund, Richard's goal is a piece of property and a noble title to ensure his legitimacy in the eyes of others: specifically, a crown, since “coronation, as the sign of free acclamation by the secular and religious authorities of the realm” supposedly “cuts off any competing claims” and proves a monarch's right to rule (Lane 474). Behind all of his other relatives in the succession, his ascendancy is unnatural, and so Richard commits the unnatural deed of the betrayal of kin in order to become king, and he betrays his kin by attacking their legitimacy: the morally illegitimate Richard turns his legitimate relatives into bastards.
In attacking his relatives' legal eligibility for the throne, Richard not only suggests the legal implications of allowing bastard kin to rule but also implies that his relatives' bastardy makes them inhuman and unworthy. Richard becomes king of England after the death of his brother Edward IV by proclaiming to the people that Edward and his two sons, the eldest of which being Edward's successor, are all illegitimate. Richard tells Buckingham to inform the people of Edward's “hateful luxury / And bestial appetite in change of lust” in spite of his betrothals to other women, therefore disqualifying his two sons as legal heirs (III, v, 80-81; vii, l. 5). At a later assembly, Buckingham dramatically tells Richard, “it is your fault that you resign / The supreme seat, the throne majestical, [….] To the corruption of a blemished stock” and he must become king to preserve the legal as well as moral integrity of the throne from the inhuman designs of Edward's bastard heirs (vii, ll.117-118, 122). Once he has the approval of the people, Richard orders the assassination of his nephews who are at that time imprisoned in the Tower of London. He summons an assassin, Tyrrel, and informs him that
two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower (IV, ii,l. 72-75).
Richard may likely be referring to his two nephews as “bastards” to keep in line with his own story. However, in the rest of the line he refers to them indirectly as “two deep enemies” and “Foes to my rest” because he is more concerned about how they threaten his claim to the throne. Richard is so absorbed by the idea of his nephews being bastards that he has dehumanized them and distanced himself from them as a relative: having disavowed all familial ties and obligations, he seeks to kill them as he would kill thieves threatening to steal his property. What makes Richard a unique villain is that he “thrives by an ironic detachment from all the standards of traditional morality, including the claims of the family” by undermining “the bonds of natural love by his plots. Richard shares with the Vice his consummate hypocrisy and his demonic sense of humor, both of which exploit the morality of the family” (Price 90) Shakespeare's presentation of Richard III is a commentary on the legal brutality of sixteenth-century European politics: if someone wanted to steal something, all a person had to do was prove a rival's illegitimacy. Maurice Hunt comments that by the time of the Tudors, “this legislative method for 'proving' (or 'disproving') legitimacy had transparently become the tool of political opportunists, often of the crassest stripe” (119). As the conclusion of Richard III unfolds, Shakespeare makes it clear that Richard's falsifying of legitimacy and illegitimacy is a perversion of the natural order, an order which must be restored.
After becoming king, Richard continues this practice of slandering the legitimacy of rivals, this time to counter the threat of Henry, the earl of Richmond, who would later become Henry VII and founder of the Tudor dynasty. While Richmond's claim to the throne comes from a line of marriages and births of questionable validity, according to Shakespeare it is Richard who is illegitimate as in being outside of a moral standard, being an enemy of morality and an usurper who murders his own family. Richmond's speech to his troops alludes to this, as he refers to Richard as “A base foul stone, made precious by the foil / Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ” (V, iii, ll. 250-251). Hunt states that “In this pejorative context, the word 'base' catches the overtones of figurative bastardy inherent in Richard's own dehumanized conduct and his tacit self-appraisals and condenses them in the mouth of his adversary” (136). According to Hunt, then, Henry knows that Richard has not validated himself by his immoral or illegitimate behavior but he has proven his own bestiality. However, there is additional evidence of Richard's moral illegitimacy in the following lines, as Henry also calls Richard “One that hath ever been God's enemy.” He tells his soldiers, “Then, if you fight against God's enemy, / God will in justice ward you as his soldiers” (ll. 2520-254). Richard, because of his murderous behavior, has bereft himself of divine favor, and so there is a divine sanction for Richmond, a man of more questionable literal legitimacy than Richard's, to overthrow someone of moral illegitimacy.
In this examples from Shakespeare's works, it is clearly demonstrated that artificial legitimacy is clearly corrupt and easily exposed. The historical basis for these ideas can be traced back not only to cultural perspectives on legitimacy but to the life of Mary I, who was the next successor to Henry VIII after her brother Edward. Mary was the daughter of Henry's first wife, Catherine of Aragon, who had been divorced in favor of Anne Boylen. When Mary ascended the throne as England's first female monarch, she made herself legally legitimate (Hunt 121), but then she smeared the legitimacy of her half-sister Elizabeth to prevent her from threatening her own right to rule. Mary was suspicious of Elizabeth since she represented a security threat, considering at least one rebellion during her rule was intended to depose her for Elizabeth (Loades 201). Undoubtedly, memories of the cruelty shown towards her and her mother, Catherine of Aragon, as well as jealousy poisoned her relationship with Elizabeth. Being the only “legitimate” daughter of Henry VIII, Mary saw Elizabeth as a reminder of her father's and Anne Boylen's sins, and she would not have such “blemished stock” take the throne away from her:
Mary had said some time before – even before her own marriage – that she did not want to contemplate Elizabeth as her heir 'for certain respects in which she resembled her mother (Anne Boylen).' By 1557 it seems that she had convinced herself that Elizabeth was not really her father's daughter at all but the child of one of Anne's alleged lovers. [A potential noble husband] was far too good for such a bastard' (204).
Mary was so estranged from her sister that she convinced herself that Elizabeth was not related to her at all and, not being Henry VIII's child, as she believed, she did not have the right to rule because she did not have the sanction of royal blood. Elizabeth was held captive in the Tower of London during part of Mary's reign and later banished to remote country estates. Although she was well past childbearing age, Mary married Philip of Spain in the hopes that she would produce an heir to prevent Elizabeth from becoming queen after her. By banishing Elizabeth and trying to exclude her from the throne, Mary disassociated herself from the trauma of her past but unknowingly sought to pervert the decreed order of her succession.
While Mary succeeded in taking the throne, her efforts to prevent Elizabeth from becoming queen failed, and over time her own subjects began to doubt Mary's legitimacy. Mary's marriage to Philip complicated the politics of her reign and increased rather than relieved the stress of her personal life. In 1555 and 1557, her womb appeared to swell with what appeared to be a pregnancy, but no child ever appeared (200, 204). When she died in November 1558, “the most likely explanation is that she died of cancer of the womb, a disease of which her false pregnancies had been advance warnings (206-207).” In addition, “the harvest failures of 1555 and 1556 had been followed by food shortages, and then by epidemic disease.” The European war that Philip had started went “from bad to worse and, in January 1558, the ancient English enclave of Calais fell to a surprise French attack” (204-205). In her increased affliction, Mary acquired “a fierce determination to exterminate [religious] heresy” which would remedy “all the ills that had afflicted England” (205). However, her religious extremism only compounded her increasingly unpopular rule. Mary's false pregnancies and the harvest failures may have been a sign to her subjects of divine retribution against her strongly Catholic rule, making it both literally and spiritually fruitless. It may also have been a sign that Elizabeth had the divine sanction to be England's next ruler, since Mary had committed the crimes of betraying her own kin and also forcing England to return to the rejected Catholic faith. Although Mary gave everything to prevent her hated half-sister from becoming queen, “...towards the end she had recognized the inevitable – her people would have no one but Elizabeth. So her life ended in bitter failure...” (207). Like Richard III, she was a “legitimately illegitimate” ruler who failed to supplant the next rightful monarch.
Since an individual's betrayal of the natural order to prove legitimacy is a manifestation of corruption, therefore loyalty to one's country and family is the manifestation of moral legitimacy or virtue. A legal birthright is not necessary to being a good person, just as Elizabeth I realized that her own legitimacy had nothing to do with her capability as a monarch. During her childhood, Elizabeth was dismissed as a bastard because of the nature of her parents' relationship, Henry having courted Anne Boylen while still married to Catherine of Aragon. Her legal bastardization was only a confirmation of public opinion (Hunt 120). Towards the end of his life, Henry VIII wrote a will declaring that if his son Edward died without heirs, then he would be succeeded by Mary, who in turn would be followed by Elizabeth. It was the right of this will that gave Elizabeth the right to succeed her sister in the eyes of the people. On her ascension after Mary's death, “Elizabeth's counselors advised her not to repeal the Act of 1536 which bastardized her, or to proclaim her biological legitimacy” and claim the right to rule instead on the basis of her father's will. “In effect, this decision made at the beginning of Elizabeth's long rule kept her bastardization official throughout her lifetime” (121). So how did a technically “illegitimate” monarch become one of England's greatest rulers? After her sister's chaotic reign, Elizabeth restored the Protestant faith, and she defended Protestantism and the security of her homeland from invasion by the defeat of the Spanish Armada. Furthermore, Elizabeth cultivated an image of virtue that overrode her literal illegitimacy.
Part of the image of virtue that Elizabeth projected to her subjects was her refusal to marry to protect the integrity of the nation. Whereas Mary's marriage to Philip of Spain made the domestic and foreign policy during her rule much more complicated, Elizabeth's refusal to marry, particularly to enter into a foreign marital alliance, was far more beneficial (Loades 209). There was also spiritual message that she wanted to send to her subjects:
When the House of Commons petitioned her to marry in the spring of 1559, at which time she had been on the throne barely six months, she replied ...'I am already bound unto a husband, which is the kingdom of England, and that may suffice you'.... She then showed her coronation ring, as the pledge of that marriage, and concluded 'reproach me so no more that I have no children, for every one of you, and as many as are English, are my children and kinsfolks' (210).
Elizabeth used the image of her being married to the kingdom throughout her reign, and these and other measures did much to secure the approval of her subjects, making her, in their eyes, legitimate. Loyalty to this metaphorical “husband” and “family” – her kingdom and subjects – made up for the literal family that had preceded her in death. It was not Elizabeth's background that gave her the right to rule but the wisdom and strength with which she governed. Elizabeth created for herself the identity of a “Virgin Queen” who found figurative virtue in devoting herself to her country, and hence she legitimized herself in the eyes of her subjects.
Shakespeare's play King John was written towards the end of Elizabeth's rule, the thematic focus of it being the struggle for legitimacy as the right to secure the succession as Elizabeth's death was drawing near and the question of who would rule in her place was gaining interest (Lane 462-3). While King John and his relatives destroy each other in the fight for legitimacy, the illegitimate Faulconbridge comes out alive and on top in a manner comparable to Elizabeth outliving her overly-burdened sister Mary. Just as Elizabeth had more to gain for her kingdom by not marrying, Faulconbridge embraces his illegitimacy because he has more to gain from a bastard identity. What Elizabeth and Faulconbridge have in common, giving them the moral legitimacy to survive, is acceptance of family ties and virtuous devotion to England.
While Elizabeth may have downplayed the questionable legitimacy of her conception, Philip Faulconbridge chooses to embrace his bastard identity. He and his half-brother Robert enter King John's court to resolve an inheritance dispute because, although Robert is younger, he has inherited his late father Sir Robert Faulconbridge's estate because he is the legitimate son. King John and his mother Eleanor see “a trick of Couer-de-Lion's [Richard I's] face” in Philip and, to save him from the consequences of being dispossessed by the family that raised him, offer to elevate him to the noble status of being “the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, / Lord of thy presence and no land beside,” which he accepts (I,i, ll. 85,135-6). The Bastard is pleased with this change in fortune because being an illegitimate royal still apparently makes him royalty. Says he to Elinor's recognition of Richard's features, the Bastard says, “I would give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob [Sir Robert Faulconbridge] in any case” (ll.146-7). Robert Pierce notes that “His decision in the first scene can be viewed in quite a different light. After all, Richard I was in fact his father, and so in taking his name, he is really accepting his parentage, not denying it.” Furthermore, “Eleanor tests his moral inheritance before accepting him as her grandson and ally, and he passes the test when he displays the cavalier boldness of his father. He completes the proof that he is heir to Richard's courage” and goes on “to become the mainstay of the English army and John's rule” (142). By accepting his illegitimate ties, he shows his devotion to his birth father's family, and that devotion earns him a type of moral legitimacy.
Shakespeare plays up Faulconbridge's embracing of his illegitimacy to heroic (and not to mention comic) effect. On the battlefield in France, Philip meets the Duke of Austria, who killed his father Richard I. When the duke sees him and asks, “What the devil art thou?” , Philip retorts, “One that will play the devil, sir, with you,” or in other words send him to the devil (II, i, 134-135). Faulconbridge's constant reference to his father's lion-like qualities (Richard I was known as “Couer-de-lion” or “the Lionheart”) makes it obvious that he wants to follow in the footsteps of his heroic parent. As he is taunting the Duke, he says, “I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, / And make a monster of you.” (l. 292-293). Instead of the fault being with Richard I for begetting an illegitimate son, Austria is a monster for killing the noble king, and it is the illegitimate son who delivers justice. Ultimately, Faulconbridge avenges his father's death, and in a later battle with the French he is also a heroic leader and described as “valiant” (V,iii, l. 5). The Bastard finds personal as well as moral legitimacy in serving his country and destroying the immoral villains that fight against England. Price writes that Philip's “acceptance of a tainted descent from Richard I may imply that virtu is more important than a formally correct title” (131). Like Elizabeth I, who ruled as the daughter of Henry VIII, Faulconbridge may carry the stigma of illegitimacy but he wants to be remembered for emulating his royal father and upholding English realm. Deeds, not birth, determine legitimacy.
William Shakespeare used his plays as a venue for demonstrating how the Tudor monarchy's struggle for legitimacy succeeded in proclaiming legitimacy through virtue and patriotism, and failed in the family's internal betrayal and the falsified legitimacy of its members. What ultimately mattered to Shakespeare's audience was that Queen Elizabeth I, although technically and legally a bastard, was a virtuous leader and that England was safe in her hands. When she died and was replaced by James Stuart her legacy of moral legitimacy would continue. In Shakespeare's works as it was in his day, being of legitimate birth is hardly a stable definition of character. Rather, legitimacy is a complex element of the complex identities of his heroes and villains alike, just as it was for his royal patron.


Works Cited
Evans, G. Blakemore, and J.J. M. Tobin, eds. The Riverside Shakespeare, Second Edition. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1997. Print.
Hunt, Maurice. "Shakespeare's King Richard III And The Problematics Of Tudor Bastardy." Papers On Language & Literature 33.2 (1997): 115. Academic Search Premier. Web. 6 Mar. 2013.
Lane, Robert. ""the Sequence of Posterity": Shakespeare's King John and the Succession Controversy." Studies in Philology 92.4 (1995): 460-. ProQuest Research Library. Web. 7 Mar. 2013.
"legitimate, adj. and n.". OED Online. March 2013. Oxford University Press. 5 April 2013.
Loades, David. The Tudor Queens of England. London: Continuum, 2009. Print.
Neill, Michael. “'In Everything Illegitimate:' Imagining the Bastard in Renaissance Drama.” The Yearbook of English Studies. 23: Early Shakespeare Special Number. 1993: 270-292. Web. 1 April 2013.
Pierce, Robert. Shakespeare's Histories: The Family and the State. Ohio State University Press, 1971. Print.
Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works of Shakespeare. Latus ePublishing. Kindle Edition.
"saucy, adj.1". OED Online. March 2013. Oxford University Press. 5 April 2013.



Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Thoughts on Shakespeare, Monarchy, and Northern Warriors

We've hit our research unit in my Shakespeare class. For some reason in the plays I read earlier in the course, I kept picking up on vibes about how the history of the Tudor family was reflected in some of the plays, particularly in King Lear: a king who suddenly turns on his innocent daughter and his evil daughters turning on him, which, taking a big theoretical leap, I think could be a grim parody of Bloody Mary's tyranny and Elizabeth I's purported virtue. I also read the first half of The Winter's Tale as Henry VIII's rejection of Anne Boylen and Elizabeth's bastardization.  I elaborate in the following post on our class blog:

The Beginnings of Tudor Theory

Then this afternoon while I was trying (fruitlessly) to find semi-decent articles to support my ideas with, I started thinking about the royal family in Northern Warriors, particularly Alexia, Dmitri, and Caroline. Their misfortunes, I think, are typical of what I see in a lot of historical and fictional royalty. Right off the bat in Chapter 1, they are forced to watch their father's execution. After being rescued from their imprisonment, their mother goes into exile. In their service to the Opposition, they are hardly treated like royalty and rarely spend time together. In fact, they hardly feel like a family anymore, which I am sure Alexia wonders about on more than one occasion.

So once Revunia is liberated and they are reunited, what is their family life going to be like? What is Brittany Stevens going to find when she sees them together?

So far, it's looking like things are going to be better, but there are still a few sore spots that redemption from responsibility and captivity are going to remedy.

“Is Revunia a nice place, then, when there isn't war and all that going on?” Brittany asked them.
“Of course it is,” said Dmitri.
“It gets horribly cold in winter,” said Alexia.
“Well, not as cold as some places,” Caroline corrected her. “There are perks to living right on the ocean—milder winters, for one. But the sea port's only open half the year because it gets icy in the winter, so it feels dead because there isn't as much to do and there aren't as many visitors.”
“But we get good snow up here,” Alexia told Brittany. “One winter we made a huge ice fort inside the castle courtyard—remember that?”
“I sure do,” said Dmitri. “And I remember Papa wearing that big old bearskin coat of his and looking like a bear himself.”
“Let's not talk about Papa,” said Caroline suddenly. Dmitri and Alexia's merriment subsided.
 
Notice the sudden change in the mood.

Their father is dead, killed in the name of power and political revenge. The three children miss him terribly, and there is a big gap in their lives without him. The members of their family who take smaller roles in the story also feel this gap: their mother, for instance, will never remarry.

For the record, I am not from a dysfunctional or broken family, and neither is Brittany, although we both have friends who live in those circumstances. But I've read a lot about how noble and royal families tend to break apart under political pressure. I elaborate on the Tudors in this post:

Royal Pains, Family Pains

Another example from Shakespeare, of course, is how this happens in the house of York in Richard III. Richard kills his own brother and his two nephews so he can take the throne for himself. Such a thing can seem acceptable in the power politics of a royal court, but when you look at the Yorkists as a family, how can you justify that? Shakespeare's audience were largely ordinary people living ordinary lives, and they were no doubt appalled by the cruelty shown by members of royal families TO EACH OTHER. In Northern Warriors, for instance, the Opposition is betrayed--and Dmitri is almost captured and killed by the goblins--by a member of the royal family, Nikolas Morhanat, who was once married to Dmitri's deceased older sister. Although Nikolas, Dmitri, and Dmitri's sisters were not close, there was still an expectation that Nikolas would have fulfilled his familial obligations to them. In fact, Nikolas betrays them because he believes they have obligations to him that they have not fulfilled.

And even if they aren't killing each other, royal families are often the victims of other people's desires for power. Another famous royal family, that of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, were prisoners in their own palace and later in Siberia after his abdication and then executed--nay, butchered--by the Bolshiveks. And of course, in Northern Warriors, the children's father, Grand Prince Orlando, is executed on the orders of members of his own government that have overthrown him and allowed foreigners to invade Revunia.

Such is the plight of royal families. But what about ordinary families that fall victim to divorce, abuse, and other misfortunes? Haven't they earned our sympathy, too?

So that's my analysis of my mostly-written novel. Royal families are just like ours and are prey to the same dissolution, but with the added woes of extreme political estrangement and death.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Where Plot Lines Start Coming Together

I knew that once I had gotten over halfway through Northern Warriors that things would be a lot more interesting, since the second half is where the more interesting events happen.

One of those more interesting events is the part where different characters from different plot lines begin to interact due to the various circumstances that have brought them together.

In this first excerpt, Orion the eagle, an adviser to the Opposition, is playing host to the Revunian fairy lord Kilan, whom we met in an earlier blog post.

“Sir Ambassador,” came Lord Kilan's voice. The fairy lord entered the room. He bowed to Orion.
“How do you do?” said Orion.
“Very well, sir,” said Kilan.
“Glad to hear it. Gladya, you are dismissed,” he said to Gladya.
Gladya sniffed. She bowed to the fairy lord and departed without another word.
“What was that about?” asked Kilan.
“A small matter pertaining to the royal family, it is of no concern,” said Orion casually.
“I see,” said Kilan. “Where is Prince Dmitri?”
“Dmitri is not feeling well at the moment,” said Orion. “I am afraid he would rather not be seen.”
Lord Kilan came to the window and looked down at the beach. Dmitri had climbed out of the water and was now sitting on the sand with his head buried in his arms.
“So how bad were your losses in the battle?” Orion asked the fairy lord.
“Marginal,” said Kilan. “I heard that yours were unfortunately heavy. I am sorry. And I am sorry for the two princesses—Colonel Mikash told me.”
Orion nodded. “It is unfortunate, this business.” He repeated to Kilan the previous events of the summer and Morhanat's betrayal. “From what I have seen of the camp today, our people have lost heart.”
“I have seen it as well,” said Kilan. “It was foolish of Dmitri and Allhin to agree to this plan, taking on the entire goblin army alone. Do you know if the Prince intends to resume the campaign?”
“I doubt it,” said Orion. “Without Allhin leading the elves we are unsure of their support. And even now with a formal alliance between the Opposition and the fairies, it would still be reckless to continue. No, we must wait for another time. The Enchanter's Council is sending a fleet, but I haven't heard from them for a while. I don't know when--”
“Ambassador Orion!” came another voice down the hallway. This time, a bird entered, a large bird with gold-red plumage and carrying a large pouch. Tucked beneath his wing were two letters.
“Yaroslav,” said Orion. “How did you find me here?”
“Lady Gladya said you were up here,” said the firebird. “I come with tidings from the Enchanter's Council fleet. They have just adjourned their assembly in Juneau. They will be here in another three or four weeks.”
“Are you sure?” Orion asked.
“I was asked to give these to you,” said Yaroslav. He handed the two letters in his wing to Orion.
“Thank you,” said Orion.
The firebird bobbed his head and left.
“Shall I leave you to read, then?” asked Lord Kilan as Orion ripped open the envelopes of his letters.
“No, no, stay,” said Orion. “There might be news worth hearing. Ah, here's one from my personal correspondent! My daughter Mintaka,” Orion explained to Kilan.
“She is with the fleet?” asked Kilan.
“Yes, she is with the fleet. She's the one I asked to bring the Crown Stone here.”
“Indeed.” 

In another scene from that same chapter, we have a glimpse into the captivity of the princesses Alexia and Caroline in Ravun Castle, along with a few important interactions with the major villains.

“Dinner is served, milords,” said the goblin lady bearing the wine. She placed the flagon on the table, bowed, and left. Caroline placed her trays in front of Armalut and Televokov while Alexia gave her single tray to Pintath, who watched both her and the meat greedily. Pintath, being short, leaned his face onto the pig leg and dug in with his bare teeth, while Armault lifted the leg to his mouth and dug in with equal ferocity, making ravenous sounds as he ate. Televokov, however, had a napkin on his lap, and he carved the meat off of his leg with a knife and fork. Caroline opened the wine flagon and poured the contents into the goblets. Armalut downed all of his wine with one gulp and demanded more. Caroline poured for him again, and he drank it all again.
“More!” he shouted.
Caroline hesistated: the flagon in her hands was almost empty.
“Now, Armalut, really,” said Televokov. “You've drunk nearly all of the wine, now. Pintath and I are still on our first glass. Certainly you could save some for us?”
“I want more wine!” roared Armalut. “Send the wench down to the cellars for more.”
“Stop yelling at the table, Armalut,” said Pintath coldly.
“Princess Caroline, pour the rest of the wine for our friend Armalut,” said Televokov, smiling at her.”
Caroline glared at the fairy, but poured the wine into Armalut's goblet as he bid her.
“If it's all gone, I suggest you inform the kitchens that more wine is needed,” said Televokov.
Caroline bowed slightly but did not break eye contact. “Yes, my lord.” She returned to the kitchens.
Televokov watched her leave, and then shifted his gaze to Alexia. Alexia looked at the floor.
“Princess Alexia, why do you not look at me?”
“I don't want to,” she said.
“Look at me,” said Televokov. “I promise, I won't curse you the way I did when I forced you to watch your father's execution. It is easier to look of your own free will.”
“I will not,” said Alexia.
“Princess?”
Alexia glanced up at him, but made sure he saw the hate and fear in her eyes.
“That's better,” said Televokov, sighing.

This is why I am so excited to be so close to finishing this book, because the ending is where everything ties together! I wonder if this is how Brittany Stevens feels, finally being so close to Revunia?

When Eylon asked Brittany how her sword practice had gone in his absence, she reported with embarrassment that she had neglected it. However, Eylon only gave her a light reprimand and returned to his room to unpack.
“What's he in such a good mood for?” Brittany asked Minta.
“Oh, he's just glad that he ran into the other elf leaders and Peace Force commanders at the conference,” Minta said, shrugging. “He's good friends with a lot of them. They'll be arriving in Revunia a couple of days after us with the preliminary force.”
“What do you mean, a couple of days after?” asked Brittany.
“Captain Eric was asked to take the Blue Swan to Revunia first to rendezvous with the Oppositon,” said Minta. “He was picked out because the goblins will be less likely to give him trouble than Avery. Eylon and I have been asked to stay with Eric so we can start discussing things with the Opposition leaders.”
“You're kidding!” said Brittany. “When are we leaving?”
“We leave on July 6th.”
“That's in just over a week—Oh, Minta! We're going to Revunia!” She and Minta embraced. Brittany was so eager to be reaching the fabled country at last, but at the same time she knew that going back meant a lot to Minta.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Sonnet to Eros: A Rescued Sonnet

Okay, I'll be upfront about it: this is for a class. This sonnet, Sonnet to Eros,  was a pretty sorry set of lines to begin with. Sharing it with my professor and classmates only made it seem worse, at first, but revising it into IAMBIC pentameter and making other changes has been worth it. So, here is a rescued sonnet, To Eros:

Oh, Eros, sweet caretaker of the heart,
Hide me under your pinions from my fears,
Away send all them who would draw forth tears.
Oh youth, so proud with sword upheld to smart,
Come not for me wanton, to tear apart,
Pursue my foes with fire from 'neath thy crown,
With your blade smite--let your bow remain down:
My frail desires are not for your own gain.
Let me find love again, let not good fate
Abandon me, leave me not to this haunt.
Guardian at heart, shield my heart's poor health.
Hold love at bay, let it not come too late,
My heart do not weigh down or keep in want,
Oh Eros; but do not pursue myself. 

And here is the link to me reading it on YouTube:
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZ0eoCZHOKA&feature=youtu.be
Please note it's very quiet!