#the globe

hellyescharlesedwards:

BHE (big himbo energy) // Much Ado About Nothing(2011)

liquidlyrium:

akinmytua2:

liquidlyrium:

liquidlyrium:

joan-daardvark:

I have never noticed how Aziraphale’s instinctive reaction to being called Crowley’s friend is to smile at him:

This is the moment right before Aziraphale remembers that they’re not supposed to be seen together and starts explaining that they have never met before. So, even in Shakespearean times he already considered Crowley to be his friend. Which makes the bandstand scene and the “We’re not friends” even more ridiculous. This angel is so good at lying to himself.

Also, as I’ve already said somewhere, Crowley then proceeds with the famous Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety. By saying this, he’s playing on Aziraphale’s ridiculous excuses about having never met before and not knowing each other. Basically Crowley is emphasizing the fact that, firstly, they are friends indeed and, secondly, that each of their meeting is like discovering each other anew. 

In other words, he says Yes, Aziraphale, one could really say that we’ve never met before because your infinite variety makes each of our meetings feel like the first one. 

Also I just realized the other day… This sentence that Will plagiarizes ends up in Antony and Cleopatra. Like I knew that before, because @drawlight pointed it out, but I suddenly made the connection “Oh, so Anthony wasn’t a random choice for a first name then, huh.” Like wow. Naming yourself after the titular character in a play that didn’t exist yet but you contributed to on one of your dates. How sentimental!!! (Especially when you consider the terms on which they parted… Happier memories… I wonder if the name is a sort of apology/olive branch. ‘let’s start over/dial it back, remember the good times?’)

God I just can’t stop thinking about this now!! Crowley, waking up after his extended nap. Getting back in the saddle, maybe still spending a few years apart from Aziraphale depending on when you think exactly he woke up. Suddenly he’s busy and he needs a name…. And maybe enough time has finally passed that he regrets the argument they had. He knows why they can’t come to terms, and he won’t ask for it again, but he misses his angel. So what better way to signal to him, “If you hear about me, please, I’m ready to talk. I’m ready to make up. Please, I’m going to build up a reputation until you can’t ignore me. I want to meet you again and discover how you changed in my absence” than to pick the name Anthony???

“Remember when I said that about you? When I talked about meetings and knowing? I’m ready for that again.”

Except. He went by some version of Tony with Da Vinci didn’t he?

…… That I think is true (I think it was Antonio maybe??? Idk if that’s a book reference or something they added for one of the special editions), but consider… Anthony and Cleopatra did exist. And their romance was defined, as much as one can glean any truth about such mythologized figures, as an arrangement becoming something more. Something real. Being on their own side against a great power that ultimately vanquished them.

And I also don’t think that necessarily precludes Crowley advertising himself as Anthony as a means of communicating all these feelings to Aziraphale. (In any case, Aziraphale doesn’t seem to know about the moniker prior to 1941….)

Select additional comments:

@ambular-d​comment: So does that mean when Aziraphale said ‘Anthony??…I’ll get used to it’ at the church, he was implying 'Wait, you’re seriously casting me as Cleopatra?? … all right, well, if that’s really how you feel about it then who am I to contradict’

@a-ginger-in-black​reply: The Roman dude’s name was Antony, not Anthony, though in British English they’re pronounced the same.

In the novel, there’s mention of the Mona Lisa cartoon being dedicated to Antonio, so he was using the name by 1503 at the latest.

@joan-daardvark​ reply: This makes me wonder why this alias didn’t come up until 1941. Not to Aziraphale, in any case.

joan-daardvarkreply: Upon further consideration and discussion with @forbiddenmadrigals… What if he’d already taken this alias in Rome? He could have witnessed Antony and Cleopatra’s romance and heard Antony say these same words to her in real life. So he didn’t come up with Age does not wither, but rather repeated it. He thought that this description suited the angel well and then uttered it at a convenient time (at the Globe). All that was left was to nudge Shakespeare to write a play about the events which Crowley had actually seen himself.

Another thing excites me though. The details below confuse me more than actually clarify anything but I think they’re worth mentioning anyway:

Original sin, serpents… May I go completely nuts and suggest that Crowley could, in fact, be Cleopatra? This doesn’t explain why he chose Antony as an alias but still it’s a fun thought. Or maybe he was present at her court? Who knows but it’s curious nevertheless.

Also, knowing my obsession with solar/lunar symbolism (Aziraphale = Sun, Crowley = Moon), I found this so very endearing:

Helios meaning sun and Selene meaning moon, ofc.

@liquidlyrium​reply: Yes! I saw that in my frantic wiki reading as well!!! This is all extremely good!!!! (Also if we’re being honest Crowley is not the soldier of the two)

I mean let’s also consider that we know that they view each other far better than they see themselves yes? At the trials, Crowley plays Aziraphale as brave and strong under pressure… Yes he is Cleopatra clearly, but maybe he took that name because of what he sees in Antony (Aziraphale) in the hopes that he’d take on some of those qualities 0:

But he never let on until 1941 I’m still dying at all these Implications

joan-daardvarkreply: …in the hopes that he’d take on some of those qualities

You mean, like, as if they were able to… become each other?? *le gasp*

liquidlyriumreply: but also counterpoint: Crowley adopted the name so that his initials would be AC so that way he could always see them next to each other. Esp when he thought it would never happen because SIDES and all

joan-daardvarkreply(): Knowing his propensity to symbolism, I don’t see why not. We’re talking about a person bringing stone lecterns to his house in memory of his forbidden love, he could absolutely do that.

I am also convinced he sees it as something stylish.

hamletplinko:

was in london a week ago and i saw a globe theatre production company of macbeth doing their vocal warmups and they were standing on stage and rhythmically shouting FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! at the top of their lungs in perfect unison for thirty seconds. so thats whats going on in the globe theatre these days. just thought yall should know

In this post we’ll be looking at John Webster's The Duchess of Malfi and the White Devil.

This is just the second post on our blog and already I’m breaking the rules somewhat. To remind you, the idea of this blog was to look at works of speculative fiction that have fallen from the general reader’s view. These are books that may well be beloved of the scholar and classicist, but for the general reader of speculative fiction they may as well be from Mars (OK, that’s a terrible analogy, it would’ve been better to say that they may as well be from earth).

So, why the John Webster then? Well, the answer I’ve come to is that there is a strong element of myth and horror in both The Duchess [of Malfi]and The White Devil, with their dark subject matters. I admit though, this is not enough to warrant inclusion. So how about the fact that they’re not actively promoted in modern culture. Again, a massive lie, both are currently being performed in London, the White Devil by the RSC no less.

So, I ask myself again, why did I pick the book? Well, the honest answer…all my speculative books were packed ready for WorldCon, and this was the only one that look remotely speculative left on the shelf [and I’ll admit, I know very little about either play]. However, I’ll justify myself by treating this as an examination of something I read recently noting that there was an element of lycanthropy in The Duchess. Coupling this with the disturbing undertones of his works we have a sort of proto-horror without the supernatural element. For the sake of brevity we’ll focus primarily on The Duchess, though The White Devil does have a couple of ghosts in it, which I’m pretty sure plant it firmly in the speculative camp.

John Webster, as many no doubt know, was a 17th century playlist remembered for his dark and macabre Jacobean dramas. The plays he’s best remembered for are the two aforementioned, with The Duchess being first performed privately around 1612-1613. He is credited as having provided some of the groundwork for the Gothic movement in literature of late 18th / early 19th century. Though it would be a stretch to describe his work as Gothic, it certainly slithers along with the same unsettling backdrop. Webster is one of only a handful of playwrights who have had their works under almost constant performance since first publication

The Duchess was first performed publicly by The King’s Men, the company of actors to which Shakespeare belonged and who first performed his plays. The date of performance seems tricky to tie down but the consensus seems to be between 1614 and 1621. The first edition of the book was published in 1623. 

So let’s have a look at the particular edition of the book that we have in stock [Bodley Head, 1930]. Like I said before, the book looked somewhat speculative sat on the shelf. To be more precise it looks like a work of the developing genre of supernatural horror from the turn of the century, adorned with a typically decadent design more familiar to book buyers of the 1900-1910 era. The book is illustrated by Henry Keen, whom I assume provided the device on the upper board and spine which are repeated on the jacket and the illustrated endpapers. Little is known about Henry Weston Keen. He died in 1935 in Switzerland and was born in 1871. Christie’s sold a set of five signed lithographs in 1995 for £225. Now if we were to very liberally compare him to the bastard child of Goya and Dore, that £225 would be a supreme bargain. Alas, his work isn’t Goya or Dore, nor is it Clarke or Beardsley, though he does appear to borrow elements from all the aforementioned. That said, his work does have a slightly sinister resonance, particularly the vignettes. If one were to savagely remove the plates from the book and present them to a bookish type, one wouldn’t be surprised if they thought they were from a book of Gothic horror. The Cardinal’s Window plate is particularly Gothic with the looming tower to the left of the frame. 

The book carries facsimiles of recommendations by fellow dramatists William Rowley and Thomas Middleton, and a John Lane. This last name is proving difficult to research primarily because a much later John Lane was a publisher, ironically, a partner (with Elkin Mathews) in Bodley Head. The best guess we have is a poet of that name who the Dictionary of National Biography has as being active around 1620, apparently a friend of Milton’s father who published only two pieces - I assume that reputation far outweighed publication prowess in those days.

The facsimile title page notes that The Duchess was performed at Blackfriars privately and then publicly at The Globe. The White Divel was first published in 1612 [spelling is correct as per title page - I’d be interested to find out why it was spelt as Divel, it doesn’t appear to by etymologically linked]. The title of The Duchess per the title page is The Tragedy of the Dvtchesse Of Malfy, auction records show two copies, both from the 1930s, one listing reports that this was the first play to record the names of the characters with the actors - an interesting note. This copy sold for £12 with some leaves provided from a later copy. The second copy was seemingly complete and sold for £55 (£3,500 with inflation). Major British institutions hold copies including the BL, V&A, NLS and Leeds University (I may pop and see it). Anyway, that’s not the book I have.

So, finally, to the lycanthropy claim. Well, whether we’re talking about a physical transformation from man to wolf to man, a reported transformation, or a metaphorical transformation is not really the point. It seems that it’s likely a literary device with lycanthropy not only accentuating the beastliness of Ferdinand but also taking a swipe at Catholic prelacy, power in general and emotionally decay. But there’s certainly something deeper wherein Webster is suggesting that emotion can to some extent dictate the physcial. Either way, this is certainly a narrative element of speculative fiction, and so I feel justified in including it here!

Let’s have a look at a few lines, and you can judge for yourself:

“PESCARA: Pray thee, what’s his disease?

DOCTOR: A very pestilent disease, my lord, They call lycanthropia.

PESCARA: What’s that? I need a dictionary to’t.

DOCTOR: I’ll tell you. In those that are possess’d with’t there o'erflows Such melancholy humour, they imagine Themselves to be transformed into wolves; Steal forth to churchyards in the dead of night, And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since One met the Duke ‘bout midnight in a lane Behind St. Mark’s Church, with the leg of a man Upon his shoulder, and he howl’d fearfully; Said he was a wolf, only the difference Was, a wolf’s skin was hairy on the outside, His on the inside; bade them take their swords, Rip up his flesh, and try: straight, I was sent for, And having minister’d unto him, found his grace Very well recover’d.”

To summarise, while Webster’s plays might not be for the regular reader of speculative fiction, they certainly gel nicely with those readers of speculative fiction with a penchant for the weird and macabre, particularly those who enjoy the works of Hope Hodson, Machen, Blackwood etc.

Our copy is available here: Link

Paul Ready as Ophelia (inspired by michelle terry’s hamlet). I really want that man to sing and cry and yell on a stage and throw flowers at people

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