Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

After a ridiculously busy few weeks, I've just completed my second essay. I've consulted six different editions of Hamlet (including three separate texts) and four of The Taming of the Shrew. Getting too close to Shakespearian textual studies is a sure way of making your head explode. My brief was to avoid getting bogged down in the arguments about authenticity and choose two plays, then comment on the way that multiple texts affects the staging decisions available to directors. In the process I was quite surprised to find out how often the plays we see on stage are a conflation of two or more texts, and nobody really knows how authentic they are. Shakespeare might well not have cared anyway, since it was part of his job to rewrite according to the demands of different productions.

I think the best possible preparation for all this stuff was reading "The Writer's Tale." That gave me such an insight into the reality of a writer's life in the fast-moving world of popular entertainment. Okay, it's telly rather than the theatre, but the demands of resources and deadlines don't really change all that much. Reading RTD has blown any ivory-tower concept of a literary Bard out of the window for me. I've learned how frequently adjustments have to be made, how often there's a gap between the writer's ideal and what makes it onto screen or stage.

In fact, I'm surprised how welll my fandom activity prepared me for this MA in general. I have learned to look very carefully at evidence when I'm writing my meta, to base an argument on what's there in the text rather than some biographical fantasy. I've developed a keen sense of exactly  how much you can say in 3,000 words. I've found out about factions and arguments and how their fierceness can seem to develop in inverse proportion to the importance of the subject matter to the world at large. And I've learnt about what David Baddiel describes as the "aftergasm" - that's the emotional response you get after encountering a piece of writing that you know is manipulating your emotions but does it so brilliantly you don't care. In fact, you revel in it. Doomsday, anyone?

( My last weekend in Stratford... )

In two days' time, I'll be on my way back to Stratford! I'm just recovering from a horrible chesty cold, and it's a relief to have that out of the way. Also, for those aware of the situation, my son seems better at last. Partly due to the change in the weather. The rest of us may hate rainy days, but crisp dry autumn weather does awful things to his dry skin. He's actually got himself into school on time every day for the last week or so, and for Tom that's pretty amazing.

Anyway, back to Stratford. I arrive at lunchtime on Thursday and go straight to the Shakespeare Institute weekly seminar, which is about Hamlet, for a general meet and greet. I've been doing my homework and finding out what all the research students are into - it's a small set-up and I might actually get to meet one or two, and there's no better way to hit things off than to ask an intelligent question about a postgrad's work. But mainly I hope to research the different ways modules are delivered and have an informed talk about ways forward.

The big question is whether to go for a part-time, DL type course, or to wait until John's semi-retired, the kids are a bit  more independent, and I can move to Stratford for a few days a week at least, and do it properly. I would much rather go for the total cultural immersion than try to run it in tandem with my family life here, but the down side of that is if you plan too far ahead life has a way of biting you in the ass and the mythical perfect moment to do these things might never come. A  mother can always come up  with plausible reasons why the family needs her.

Certainly, as far as my son goes I'd like to see him over his health problems and settled at a reasonable university before I leave for pastures new, even part-time. To some extent that's out of my control  but I don't think I could apply myself to such a major lifestyle challenge if worries about his future were still at the back of my mind.

Anyway, back to the coming trip. After Thursday my diary's clear - I won't come home because I'm going to the Cheltenham Literature Festival on the Sunday, where I'll be seeing RTD and John Barrowman. So I'll have two wonderful days at leisure in SoA and at the moment the only definite plan is to hang around the Courtyard Theatre until they get sick of me and let me buy a ticket to Love's Labour's Lost. Since my trip spans four performances I think I'd have to be very unlucky not to get in at all.

Woot! I'll let y'all know how things go.