Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Love's Labour Lost


Ovidius Naso was the man.

In late 1592, the plague coughed and wafted it way across London, killing thousands and closing the theaters.  Shakespeare used this unplanned break from play writing to work on his lyric poetry, specifically “Venus and Adonis” and some early sonnets.  The experience clearly liberated his approach to dialogue and it runs havoc throughout his next play, “Love’s Labour Lost.”

It is an eruption of language and ideas. The language varies from prose to proverbs,  couplets, sonnets and songs, and more puns and word play than most critics can tolerate. The story is about language as a disguise, presented with the precise choreography of a dance recital. He explores the depth of meaning of words and how they are used; the reality of love vs the romance of falling in love; and the differences between how men and women think. He even sneaks in a sly plug (and joke) for “The Taming of the Shrew ,” ( “... praise we may afford to any lady that subdues a lord.”)

To see how far Shakespeare has come in terms of language and lyricism, consider these two similar speeches:

“Marry, by these special marks: first, you have
 learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms,
 like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a
 robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had
 the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had
 lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had
 buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes
 diet; to watch like one that fears robbing; to
 speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were
 wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you
 walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you
 fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you
 looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you
 are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look
 on you, I can hardly think you my master.”

--Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II Scene 1


“No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at
the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour
it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and
sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you
swallowed love with singing love, sometime through
the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling
love; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of
your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly
doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in
your pocket like a man after the old painting; and
keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.
These are complements, these are humours; these
betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without
these; and make them men of note—do you note
me?—that most are affected to these.”

--Love’s Labour Lost, Act III scene 1

Both passages describe men in love.  But the speech from “Two Gentlemen,” while funny, merely lists a series of observations.  One can easily imagine the actor milking laughs from the audience with exaggerated poses and preening.  The second passage, though prose, contains a good deal of interior rhymes and alliteration. Moth’s speech paints a single, complete portrait. 


So great is the explosion of language and ideas that it leaves little room for plot. In Navarre, the King and his posse seek eternal life through fame, while their hormones argue for keeping the species alive. The idea of monastic isolation as a means of achievement are still with us, whether it’s boys night out, a football teams training away from home, or the male dominated corporate retreat.  But all stand directly opposed to human nature and are therefor doomed to failure. 

Most of the action in the play takes place in the woods, in the natural world, away from the courts and many differing voices contribute to the rise and fall of action.  The difference in tone and quality of language creates a musical fabric, and the movement of the players, pairing off and separating, complete the delicate dance.

So what is it about certain men that makes unrequited love so attractive?  Mostly, it’s the absence of commitment, the actual doing of things.  Initially, they talk about scholarly pursuits, but never get past making plans.  In love matters, they take the same tack.  They flirt, they fail.  They write charming but artificial sonnets designed to impress themselves.  They hide behind gifts and masks.  The take games way too seriously.  Not much has changed in 400 years.

The women see such games for what they are, a well intended illusion not to be mistaken for matters of genuine concern.  For all the verbal pyrotechnics, when Marcade announces that the Princess’s father is dead, it shouldn’t come as a surprise.  Death lurks in the shadows of this play from the very beginning. The King of Navarre and his posse plot to cheat death through fame.  The King of France is acknowledged sick and bedridden.  Katherine’s sister reportedly dies from melancholy. It was always there, so they never saw it coming.

The beautiful songs of Spring and Winter bring the play to an end on the sober realization that neither love nor life is a game, and both too fleeting to be treated lightly.


Learning Points
While many of the characters are based on stock figures from Commedia dell'Arte, Shakespeare takes great care (and delight) in giving most of them particular manners of speech.  And each pattern offers clues on how not to write.

The King of Nevarre loves language, but is limited by the formality and diplomatic vagueness required by his office.  Likewise, hiding behind a voice of assumed authority only builds electrified barriers between ideas and the people who need to hear them. Writing in templates and shop talk dances around the specifics needed to make a point.   

Birowne is quick-witted and agile of mind, but only in the shallowest way possible.   He goes for the easy joke instead of making a valid point. Even his self depreciation is backlit by vanity. Richard III turned others’ words equally well, but did so with a purpose.  Birowne’s wit is aimed primarily at entertaining himself first, making himself look good second, and if others aren’t impressed what’s the matter with them third.

Armando uses language the way Justin Bieber drives a Ferrari, reveling in and careening through a cacophony he can’t control.  The point of developing a large vocabulary is to have the precise word at hand when you need it.  But you can’t build a solid foundation by laying capstones next to bricks, or have statues supporting turrets.  That would be writing in baroquen syntax.


Holofernes is a technical writer so precise, he’s incomprehensible.  Obsessed with rules and word roots, he represents the temptation to get so lost in accurate and proper word choice that he has nothing original to say.  He is the enemy of the kind of innovation that keeps a language alive.

Parallels: Shakespeare intricately weaves together the relationships among characters in “Love’s Labour Lost.”  The King and the Princess and their respective courts pair off nicely, but it’s the parallels among secondary characters that provide Shakespeare with enough room to explore his themes and ideas from a variety of directions. Armando and Holofernes each love language too well, but in opposite directions. Moth and Nathaniel the Curate are both subservient to their masters, but in very different ways.  And Boyet, the aging flirt, is very much the man Berowne is doomed to become if he doesn’t learn his lesson.

Character Development, in absentia:  The audience forms an image of Armando long before he reaches the stage. First, they hear the King, Berowne and the others talk about him. Then they get a taste of his written style.  By the time he arrives, expectations are high and Armando in person exceeds those expectations.

Be Kind to Pendants and Braggarts Day:  Even when he pokes fun at a character, Shakespeare usually does so with  a padded stick.  It’s easy to treat characters such as Holofernes and Armando with ridicule. A generation before Shakespeare, it was traditional.  But by allowing them a sense of dignity at the end of the play, he gives them a reprieve of humanity which the other male characters never fully achieve. 

Linkage

What Makes Fiction Good? It's Mostly Voice
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/06/what-makes-fiction-good-its-mostly-the-voice/276742/

There's No Such Thing as Good Writing
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/06/theres-no-such-thing-as-good-writing-craig-novas-radical-revising-process/276754/

 Movie Alert: Much Ado About Nothing
http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/movies/2013/06/joss_whedon_s_much_ado_about_nothing_reviewed.html

Next: King John