The Play's the Thing

Apologies for the absence. My internet connection at Stratford has been sporadic at best so I've been checking my email and not much else. We've been here over a week, and I've been feeling rather trapped in the tiny village, although all the Tudor buildings are beautiful.

Since we've been here, we've seen three productions by the Royal Shakespeare Company, Merchant of Venice, Taming of the Shrew, and Midsummer Night's Dream. On Thursday, we're seeing Hamlet, which is this year's 'hit' since it stars David Tennant (the current Dr. Who) and Patrick Stewart (Jean-Luc Picard from Star Trek).

I'll post my opinions about the plays later, as well as a recap of my day biking through the Midlands!

"I am hired to kill myself."

I've been remiss about posting the plays that we saw this past week, other than King Lear.

We also saw a version of Timon of Athens, also put on by the Globe Theatre. It's a rarely-staged play, partially because most Shakespeare scholars now think that it was unfinished. There are a few plot strings that don't follow through and, compared to his other plays, this one isn't as complex. The director, Lucy Bailey, took some big risks with her staging of the play. It utilized Renaissance costuming, but a giant net was hung above the stage and actors dressed as various carrion-eaters would swoop down on Timon at differing points during the performance. (Follow this link to see some stills from the performance.) Obviously Shakespeare didn't put vultures in the script, but it was an interesting symbolic gesture. Heck, Timon was Marx's favorite play because of the cautionary tale regarding money.

The third play we saw was at the National Threatre, which always puts on a good show. When I was here last year, I went and saw St. Joan at the same theatre. We went to a staging of The Revenger's Tragedy, which is probably by Thomas Middleton. It's in the genre of Jacobean Revenge plays, which basically means that everyone is going to try and kill each other through bizarrely-complex subplots and intrigue. I don't think that the students enjoyed reading the play, but they couldn't help but be excited about the National's amazing staging, complete with a revolving stage, two DJs spinning electronica, and some amazing performances as well. The convoluted plot that was so boring to read turned into a fast-paced and entertaining play. So far, it's been the highlight of my trip.

We'll be seeing four plays in Stratford, all performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company: Merchant of Venice, Midsummer Night's Dream, Taming of the Shrew, and Hamlet. I was hoping to see one of the history plays or perhaps one of the comedies that isn't staged as much, but I'm very much looking forward to the rest of the plays all the same.

I've been bad about posting this week, apologies. Just as the students (and the teachers!) got comfortable with our routine in London, we're hopping on a coach to Stratford-upon-Avon tomorrow, where we'll spend the rest of our time. I'm looking forward to the slower pace of an English village, but this is a tourist trap, so I get to play my favorite game: "what country is the tourist from?" I usually base this on clothing, so one has to play before one hears the tourist speak. I've gotten a little better at this after last summer. It's just like birdwatching! Here it is, in all its stereotypical glory:

1. Americans: Inevitably, the men will be wearing some kind of khaki shorts, white socks, and Nikes or another athletic shoe. Baseball caps are common, as are logo shirts, especially with colleges, towns, and other writing on them. Americans couples, especially of the older variety, are also more often to 'match.' For example, I saw a woman and man today outside my hotel both wearing clothes that advertised the same college.

2. Germans: The men inevitably wear socks with their sandals or puma-like shoes with non-white socks. Pants will be tighter and shorts will be shorter than the standard American variety and then man usually carries a backpack. Usually one person in the group has cool glasses (oddly shaped, interesting colors, etc.) and one of the men will inevitably have a closely-shaved head. The women look like they should be my second-cousins.

3. Italians: I don't know why, but I associate the Italians with loudly-colored backpacks as well as jeans that are anything but blue (red, black, etc.). They'll also have interesting glasses. I've also noticed that the men have sweaters artfully wrapped around their shoulders. The women usually have some kind of wonderful purse in hand.

4. French: Inevitably I'll like something that one of the women is wearing. I've noticed that the men are (by in large) more petite than I expect. If one person has a backpack, it's artfully swung on one shoulder. I'm not really good at spotting French tourists, really. I'll have to take notes next time I spot one in the field.

Now that I've offended everyone, I should probably close this post. Seriously though, part of the fun of being in a big city during the summer months is to people watch. The only tourists I have any enmity towards are the school groups who descend upon London in droves during the summer. Oh wait...

Out Vile Jelly!

The class its first play this weekend: a Sunday matinée of King Lear at London's Globe Theatre. It was a pretty straight reading of the play -- Renaissance costumes, typical staging (accept for the Gloucester scene), and good performances by almost everyone.

The students got to be 'groundlings' for most of the play, which meant that they stood in the pit and watched the show. If they were lucky, they were in the front row and could lean on the stage. Most of them liked the experience, so they tell me, but Lear was too much for a few of them, especially the scene where Gloucester's eyes are ripped out. It was pretty bloody, and the combination of the crowds, blood, and heat made a few students faint!

Here's the scene, as interpreted in Peter Brook's 1971 film version:

On Teaching and Breakfast

Well, it's official, I start teaching today. I haven't taught in two years, having had various research assistantships, so I'm a little nervous. We're starting with King Lear, which is a play I know, so at least I'm familiar with the material, even if I am unfamiliar with the ways of 20 year-olds. 75 of them have descended on the hotel like hungry, jean-wearing locusts, and the hotel does not know what to do with them.

Since breakfast is inclusive here, I've been going down every morning and eating cereal and toast since it's relatively quiet. The host, an unassuming Spanish guy about my age, has been friendly and helpful (and I enjoy hearing his Madrid accent quite a lot). Today I went down to breakfast and around half of our charges were circling the buffet like buzzards. The host looked much more harried today, "I'm sorry Ms. Walker," he said. "It's so busy." I told him that I was one of the teachers and his eyes widened in shock at the thought of trying to keep them in line. I caught snippets of conversation: "We were out clubbing." "Oh, I feel asleep at 3am." "I'm trying to practice my accent." "Beer!" All of which did nothing to help the feeling of impending doom that washed over me.

I'm really looking forward to teaching, despite what it may sound like. Once they see the plays, everyone in the class will know the material, something that can't be said for any other class I've taught. Usually only about a third of the class has done their reading, and even they usually skimmed the boring bits or texted on their phones whilst scanning the lines. After everyone sees Lear tomorrow, the entire class will know the play (that is, if we can keep them awake during the performance!).

An Embarrassment of Riches

For the past two days I've walked to the mile to the British Library from my hotel, enjoying the hustle and bustle of London mornings. I watch the locals scurry around the slow-moving tourists and I listen to the buses screech at each stop. I've been incredibly productive here, which is a wonderful feeling since I've been quite the opposite since I moved to Seattle. I'm comfortable in the British Library, which is saying a lot right now. I get there before it opens (9:30am), down a quick espresso, and stand in line to have my bag searched. My manuscripts are waiting for me in the Reading Room and I open my computer and get to work.

Last summer was an embarrassment of riches; there were so many manuscripts to look at I didn't know where to turn. I was so wonderfully overwhelmed that the logical part of my brain turned off and I just basked in how lucky I was. Honestly, I think it was the right move -- part of last summer was about filling life-long dreams for me. Now I'm back with more of a logical eye and I'm transcribing, taking notes, and quickly moving through the tasks that I need to accomplish. It feels good.

I've been seeing lots of friends from the Library, which is lovely to say the least; The Boot, my favorite pub, welcomed me with open arms -- to say nothing of the pint of Guinness and my dinner of a traditional Irish Bacon and Cabbage. I also gotten to catch up with Dr. Virago over Bangladeshi food last night, which was super yummy.

I woke up an hour earlier than usual so I could talk with K. a little longer. I should probably head off for my last full day of research before tonight's orientation with the kiddies.

Our House, In the Middle of Our Street

It is supremely strange for me to be in London again. I’m actually staying at a rather posh hotel right now – okay, maybe not posh, but it has high ceilings, feather pillows, and I have my very own bathroom! I arrived here last night around 6pm, had a pint of Boddington’s at the hotel pub, and went to bed by 9pm. Judging by how tired I am right now, I’ll probably go to bed early tonight as well so I have a little energy when the kids descend in a few days.

This morning I walked to the B.L. since it was only a mile away from the hotel, and it was so nice to be greeted by familiar streets. I’ve been a fish out of water in Seattle. Every time I go in the car or walk around I require extensive directions; it just doesn’t feel like home yet. London felt like home this morning, something I haven’t experienced since I moved away from Los Angeles (even though I never really felt at ease with L.A.). I walked along the hustle and bustle of morning traffic and dodged around cars and tourists just like old times. I went to “my” Waitrose and picked up a few British supplies I’d been missing since I’ve been stateside. People are drawn to certain cities, and the more I visit London the more I realize that I just have a kinship to it. Yes, it’s partly because I spent a very wonderful summer here, but I felt the same way when I first visited back in college. I love the cobblestones, the people, the foggy weather.

Walking into the British Library from the public entrance was strange. Even eerier was finding a locker for my bag and going to the manuscript reading room and turning in a reader’s ticket for the manuscript I needed to consult. “90 minutes,” the staff-person smiled. 90 minutes? I could just go down one flight of stairs, grab the manuscript myself in half that time. Sigh, I was a good girl and waited for my manuscript to be delivered.

J., the closest friend I made last year and an employee of the B.L. found me as I was waiting and whisked me off for a morning tea. My lunch card still worked, so I bought us drinks and we started giggling and laughing like old times. Funny thing though, nobody recognizes me! My hair was in a pixie cut last summer, not to mention it was dyed a very light blonde; right now I have my usual dark-blonde hair and I’m wearing it much longer. It’s not until I smile that people seem to realize who I am. I’m trying not to assume it’s because I’m fat or ugly. Soon, many of my colleagues from last year joined us for morning tea and I felt completely in my skin again for the first time since I left Los Angeles.

Lunch was much the same. I ate at the B.L. canteen because it’s really cheap ($4 for lunch, which is much less than the typical $12 or so at a cafe). Mmmm cabbage and Lancashire Hotpot.

Tomorrow I’m meeting my boss to discuss working at the B.L. this winter. It’s something I’ve been keeping to myself because I’m frightened that if I get excited, it won’t work out. I’d be working on the same project as I did before, and since I know the drill, I’m a good candidate for the job. K. has started calling the B.L. my mistress; he knows, though, that he will always have my heart, even if manuscripts do occupy a large portion of my brain. I know many people don’t understand our peripatetic relationship—it’s all very John Donne, trust me.