Why doesn’t anybody donate 300yr old previously unknown Shakespeare books to my local library? That’s apparently what happened in Missouri, where the Friends of the Library looked in their donation baskets and found:

• an 8 volume collection of Shakespeare’s work, published by the infamous Lewis Theobald, in 1773
• a volume of Shakespeare’s poetry published by John Bell in 1774

First of all I think a clarification is in order, since keen observers may spot the fact that Theobald died in 1744. So my above paraphrase of the article is a bit awkward – these would have been books that Theobald had edited in his own lifetime, circa the 1720’s, that were then reprinted by someone else. At least, that’s how I understand it.

Theobald, by the way, is “infamous” for the whole Double Falshood / Cardenio issue. We’ve mentioned him many times in the past.
Here’s something that I hope proves as exciting as it sounds to me – *both* sets of books contain pictures of Mr. Shakespeare. And two different pictures at that! Theobald’s contains “a portrait of the artist as a young man” (bonus points to the article’s author for that literary reference), and Bell’s contains a picture of a middle-aged Shakespeare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them (they are both included in the linked article).

What do we think? This sounds pretty neat to me.

So my publisher, Lulu.com, has been tweeting some great classic opening lines from novels. Whenever I spot this I always wonder if Shakespeare can play. We’ve talked about best opening lines in the past, but going head to head against the novel, I wonder if it’s still a fair fight.
Take the example that caught my eye and made me think of this:

They shoot the white girl first.

That’s from Toni Morrison’s Paradise, and dang if it’s not a pretty powerful opener. I’ve never even heard of that book, and yet in 6 words I’m here thinking “What the? Who are they shooting? Who’s doing the shooting? Why are they shooting?”
I remember some writing advice from Kurt Vonnegut, where he said something along the lines of “Throw away the first 20 pages of your story, you’ve said nothing.” I think this is the kind of line he was talking about. Don’t lead up to it, just drop the reader right into the middle of the action and leave them with a hundred questions about where they are and why things are happening.
With that in mind, is a Shakespearean opening line the same thing? You don’t have a reader, you have an audience. You don’t have a narrator, you have actors. Shakespeare was certainly good at taking time out of joint and sticking 2 hours traffic up on the stage, no doubt about it. The story of Lear’s a great example – we have no history at all of their family life, of what happened to the mother, of whether the king was a good king … and yet we don’t really need any of that, either, to still fully appreciate the story. But it’s not like in the opening scene you find yourself saying “Wait, what? Where’s the mother in all this?”
Which of Shakespeare’s openings is in the same camp? “Two households, both alike in dignity…” is a good line, but it’s more exposition than action. The same with “O for a muse of Fire!” The latter’s perhaps a little better, as you’re hopefully left wondering “Ok, who is this guy? What’s his deal?”
What about the more active openings? The witches have a good one. “When shall we three meet again?” What do you mean, again? We’ve missed your first meeting? Who are you and why are you meeting?
Then again, we’re talking about a meeting. In my initial example there’s a shooting. They’re pretty different on ye olde “heart pumping” scale.
See what I’m getting at? Shakespeare had a point, and the man crafted a killer story to make his point. We all get hooked the minute they begin talking, because we know how good the rest of the story is. But imagine sitting down with no knowledge of the story at all, and hearing a Shakespeare opening. Which one’s going to hook a modern audience best?

So there’s a story going around about Reverend Shakespeare, who claims to be the closest living relative to you know who. I was under the impression that there were no descendants of Shakespeare, and we discussed this back in 2007. So, what gives?
He claims to be descended from Shakespeare’s first cousin, John Let’s talk about that, first. To be Shakespeare’s cousin means that this John would have to have been the child of one of Shakespeare’s brothers or sisters, right? Technically if he’s telling us that the Shakespeare family name has continued all the way back, that would even rule out Shakespeare’s sister (Joan), who would have had her name changed.
I actually just found this genealogy page that goes into the details of how the ancestry lays out. I’m not yet sure I believe it.
What do you think? And, is this interesting? I’m torn. It’s not like you can lay any claim to his poetic genius – I don’t recall brother Gilbert or Edmond banging out any masterpieces in their day. But, still, if proven it’s be kind of cool to be a walking connection to history like that.

This is a little bit different, but the author wrote me a nice letter offering his piece Nights In the Past, about staying in places where Shakespeare stayed.
“What what what?” you say, “That’s ridiculous, there’s certainly no definitive record of such things.”
Well, true. And that’s why I think the article merits a little credit, because that’s exactly what it’s about. The opening line of the article, in fact, sets exactly that tone:

It is always important to place emphasis on the adjective “reputed” when referring to events where no written documentation remains – if, indeed, any documentation was ever made in the first place.

(Is anybody else seeing really bad extended-character-set mapping? I’ve got little question marks all over the screen on my Mac.)
Anyway, yes it’s an ad, no I’m not reimbursed one way or the other nor is it a sponsor or anything. I just thought that there is actual information in it, couched in the appropriate amount of context. He could easily have said “Shakespeare came up with the idea for Midsummer Night’s Dream here,” but he doesn’t, and for that respect for our favorite topic, I give the author credit.

Courtesy @PhilRickaby on Twitter we get Two Panel Shakespeare, where comic artist Eric Kim does “all 36 of Shakespeare’s productions” (not really sure what that’s all about) in two panel comic form. A very neat idea indeed. The project is a book to be purchased, not an online effort, so I’m not really sure how 72 doodles (2 each, ya see?) constitutes a book. The linked article includes an example from King Lear.
(For those in grumpy moods, you may want to pass on this one — the moral of Romeo and Juliet in Kim’s world is apparently “couples should communicate.” WTF?)