The umptieth (and last!) appendix on „Hamlet“

 

I have done it! I have “cracked” “Hamlet”. Meaning that I have somehow “nailed” the question I was circling relentlessly, and answered it. And I could never have done it without Dover Wilson, which doesn’t just mean that I have now to write STLL ANOTHER appendix when I know at least ten things I would (or should!) rather do. It means that this appendix will have to be STILL LONGER because I have to explain what “happened” when I read Dover Wilson …

But am I really surprised? I mean, I know me … But that is exactly IT! I can’t believe how I ALWAYS underestimate how stubborn I am. And, although I am making up fanciful reasons for something like this all the time, THIS is probably the REAL reason why I like characters like Queen Margaret (who is a horrible person!), or Tolkien’s dwarves, or Scrat from “Ice Age” who was, for a time, my favourite fictional character! Because they just don’t know how to stop. But in truth you never know what the outcome will be, and I somehow don’t see myself as a person running up to a wall and getting her head bloody, but as a sensible person who knows when I am beaten. Well, obviously, I am not, and, once in a while, in a worthy cause, I become “like this”, and then I GET a result. But of course I never believe this in advance because this would be hubris, and hubris doesn’t get you anywhere. At least I think I have by now learned the importance of the RIGHT KIND of humbleness.

Now about Dover Wilson. I MUST make this really short, but it’s difficult because reading his book has unearthed a lot of “ancient history”. Most of it began at uni when I heard a lecture held by the professor I already mentioned in my blog. He was a great fan of the American philosopher of science Karl Popper who laid down a few very simple rules of scientific thinking which this lecture obviously implanted into my brain in a permanent fashion, much more permanent than I had thought. Because in the meantime a lot of things happened, and I had come to the somewhat disappointing conclusion that studying literature is not “rocket science”, but reading. At the same time I became increasingly frustrated with the kind of literary criticism I had to deal with at uni, to the point that I developed a kind of phobia of reading it without really being aware of this. But I already wrote my master thesis largely without using any other literature than the fictional texts I was dealing with, and it was approved. The reason for this, which I wasn’t fully aware of at the time, was that this kind of scholarly writing doesn’t just fall utterly short of the criteria of rocket science, but, as a rule, has very little to do with reading. To understand this it is important to mention that I studied then German literature, not English, and there is still a very different tradition, a bit like the two different theatre traditions, I think. Like in the German “Regie-Theater” (“director’s theatre”), on the field of literary criticism it is the scholar who is “taking over” the text, “bending it” to the rules that he/she thinks should apply to the text because of his/her feminist, post-modern, or whatever, convictions. And I just hated this kind of thing! I was “surrounded” by it though, and couldn’t get away from it if I wanted to “fit in”. At the same time I realized that reading all this stuff was just a waste of valuable time. When I am thinking how slow a reader I have become I cannot even imagine how I managed to read Kant’s “Kritik der reinen Vernunft”, but I did. And I read a lot of other stuff that was equally difficult to read, but there was just no time for REALLY reading feminist crap on top of that. So I think I developed a strategy of not really reading what I was supposed to read, though “faking it” to a certain degree, working instead on MY OWN METHOD of scholarly writing, I think mostly through writing my master thesis. Which is exactly what my professor said to me, by the way, when she had to justify giving me an “A” on my thesis although she probably saw completely through what I had and hadn’t done. (And then, I didn’t really understand her. I didn’t even like her, as I knew she didn’t like me, but, unlike myself, she was very open-minded.) And what I did then, I think, was already rather like what I am doing now, I just had a different label for it. I laboured at NOT obliterating my own attitude towards the text, at least by “smuggling” in a little bit of a personal point of view by being witty or even ironic when appropriate, at the same time going as far as I could observing the principles of “rocket science”. Because, in a way, to me it WAS “rocket science”, and still is, as I stubbornly refused, and refuse!, to take it less seriously than that.

And these rules are basically two which are very simple. They are based on the assumption that every potentially true statement can be refuted by evidence, (whereas no statement which doesn’t just establish a single fact can ever be proved true.) Accordingly, to “produce” knowledge in any field of experience, you have to take care to make statements which can be proved wrong. I believe that, even though it has in fact nothing to do with how rocket scientists actually work, this is the basic rule through which we establish truth in an everyday context. And I even believe that every sensible person uses this rule, usually without being aware of it. It is a bit like the second important rule on relevant reading which everybody uses, except critics!, and which has to do with what we accept as “evidence”, as the object we agree or disagree about. Which is THE TEXT we are reading. I just stumbled over an instance of it which I liked, watching the specials to “The Battle of the Five Armies”, when Richard Armitage said in his interview that he would really have liked to hear what Tolkien scholars had to say on “dragon sickness”. Given how seriously he took Tolkien’s novel as his main point of reference for the character, this is AT LEAST an ambiguous statement – if not an expression of frustration disguised in irony? – of which I fully approved.

So, it has become much too long again, I know, but this is where Dover Wilson comes in. Because he was the first literary critic I read who is taking both of my indispensable criteria for literary criticism as seriously as I do myself. First of all, he is a tremendous reader – much better and more thorough than I could ever be. And THE TEXT is his true aim as well as his limit, which is, in my opinion, the only way to write a scholarly treatise about a work of fiction which might be worth reading because it is USEFUL. In this case not only for other scholars but for the average reader who wants to get a more comprehensive picture of what actually “happens in Hamlet”, as well as probably for somebody who wants to perform this character or is thinking about how to produce the play. And, which became especially important for me, he presents his arguments in a way that makes it possible to contradict them. I don’t believe that this can be quite true, but it was the first time I read something like this that I didn’t feel like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, following the “Holzwege” (= tracks made by the people harvesting wood which end somewhere in the middle of nowhere), frustrated and alone.

Given my bad experience, I am probably quite critical as a “scholar”, always preparing to “pick a fight”. But I went through more than three quarters of the book, obediently following Dover Wilson’s argument, until I became uneasy. I went on with a feeling I wanted to contradict him but didn’t know why exactly and then stopped, frustrated, because I knew I wouldn’t figure it out. It was something I had established about Hamlet quite early on, and which I still believed in, and still didn’t know what it was, exactly. But it had something to do with the necessity of these characters to become people “of flesh and blood” which you would “believe in” when you see them on a stage. Which is probably my main objective reading these plays still, and most of the fun of it. And sometimes, as soon as I see the play, and, in fact, quite often, this happens “automatically”. Even if I see totally different, or contradictory, versions of these characters. My favourite example probably being Claudius whom I have seen played by such eminent actors as Chiaran Hinds, Derek Jacobi, and Patrick Steward (twice!, with a time gap of about thirty years), all of them completely different and equally convincing. Whereas in other cases it doesn’t happen “like that” or at all, as with Richard II – until I saw Derek Jacobi play him, or Macbeth where it hasn’t happened yet, or, of course, Hamlet. Because even though Benedict Cumberbatch “felt” right I couldn’t really figure out why.

Maybe I needed the interval to “catch up” with the book in my head because when I opened it again I realized that there was no need to contradict Dover Wilson because he does that himself. Quite in the beginning of his treatise he writes that Hamlet isn’t – as Goethe says – a “WEAK” character, but that the “sheer weight of the load” is too much for him. Then, following Hamlet through most of his ordeal, he is taking this back step by step, finally stating explicitly that “Shakespeare never lets us forget that he is a failure, or that he has failed through WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER”. And it is really important, in this case, that this contradiction isn’t “stated” at any point in the treatise but is developing “naturally” as Dover Wilson is describing the character on the way through his tragedy. Because then it isn’t a plain contradiction but a reading process which leaves us with this contradictory conclusion, in the end. Which becomes still complicated by the equally sound observation that Shakespeare needed to re-establish Hamlet’s “character” towards the end of the play, so as to have the audience on his side when it comes to the tragic “showdown”. Then we have to understand that “decision and determination do not make ‘character’, though the world thinks so(!!!). There is also nobility and generosity, honour and integrity of soul, and in this sphere Hamlet shines ‘like a star I’th’darkest night’ against the base iniquity of his opponents.” So, if you just “skip” the reading process in between, this leaves us with a fairly strong contradiction as to the CHARACTER of Hamlet, made even stronger by the fact that it isn’t a contradiction which occurred through “weakness” of reading, or argument, but as the outcome of the “strongest” and soundest, and most comprehensive reading process I have witnessed so far.

But, if we look closely, what Dover Wilson does in the beginning, although he then gradually takes it back, is taking a “leap of faith”, stating without presenting any evidence that Hamlet isn’t “meant” to be a weak character. And it is even exactly what I did, and what I felt about this character, but it can of course only come from having thought about him and anticipated him a great deal more than both of us were probably aware of. Unlike me, who didn’t know at all where my conviction came from, Dover Wilson indirectly presents a good reason by implying that, without this assumption, the tragedy wouldn’t really “work”. And this might have been my reason as well - and Shakespeare’s own reason, if Dover Wilson is right. In any case I found that I couldn’t START reading with nothing, or with this contradiction in mind, and had to make a decision about Hamlet beforehand and remove the FULL contradiction of Hamlet being both a hero and a weak character for even BEING TEMPTED to read “him”. And from this there would automatically develop a process of FINDING CORROBORATION for what I had decided about him. And this is I think what “happens in Hamlet” when somebody seriously undertakes to “tackle” this play and this character. And what Shakespeare wanted to make happen, even for himself!, finding, at the same time, the most interesting, convincing, and entertaining version of a story that had already been told. He was certainly intrigued by the “mystery” and was looking for it, looking for the most interesting and comprehensive version of it, probably finding “on the way” something he didn’t intend to find. And I think it was what made me look as well, and not give up, even when I found it way too difficult for me. Still finding it too difficult, although I am now almost “through” with it. And, of this whole process, the solution is always the “flattest” and least exciting part, and the way I got there almost all the fun. As probably quite often, I am jealous of the actor who can leave this part to the audience.

And I am almost tempted to do this. But this wouldn’t be very considerate regarding my potential readership. And I think that Dover Wilson has “cracked” it anyway, although he stopped – reasonably! - a few paces earlier on the path on which (I think) I terminated my personal reading-process. In fact I don’t really know that because I am still not through with his book – which is dangerous, I know … But, in any case, the most important thing of what he does is what he doesn’t do: trying to REMOVE the contradiction. In this way the play is kept “afloat”, and we never lose interest in what he is telling about Hamlet’s story. And he observes that, at one point, Hamlet gets “stuck” because he somehow cannot do what he knows he is supposed to do: kill Claudius. And that this is the point where he is failing, and that Shakespeare doesn’t really give a reason why he doesn’t make any serious attempts to do it. And, what was more difficult for me to deal with, is that Hamlet obviously sees it like this himself. He perceives himself as a potential failure and is struggling with the fact that he isn’t man enough to do his duty. And this Shakespeare makes so obvious that there is no way of “dodging” it: He sees himself as somebody who is weak.

If this wasn’t so I could just have gone on with what I obviously WANTED to do: pretend that he doesn’t find an occasion, and that the task is too difficult – because he obviously has no help and no support in the court, and is abandoned by everybody. But this is not at all what Hamlet “is about”, and it isn’t even a useful suggestion for reading “him”, because weakening the contradiction is not the way to make Hamlet emerge as a person “of flesh and blood”. It is, on the contrary, by strengthening it and figuring out exactly how it works – and, again, I could never have done this without Dover Wilson. Because he brings it out very clearly that Hamlet’s weakness of character doesn’t present itself as a problem BEFORE he has established Claudius’ guilt and the reliability of the ghost by “taking” Claudius “out”, presenting him with his own story in the “Gonzago” play. After that Hamlet has a reason to struggle with himself about not being able to finish what he has started. But the only proof of this WE ACTUALLY SEE – the one occasion of killing Claudius – is when he finds him at prayer. After that “bad luck” interferes with his plans in a way that makes it in fact very difficult, if not impossible, to follow through with his design. And this scene might hold the explanation for how exactly the contradiction “is meant” to work. I think we already “had” it, the last time I was talking with Claudia about Hamlet and she said that Hamlet probably doesn’t really WANT to kill Claudius. And I believe this might in fact be the key because I could never shed the suspicion that the reason he gives in his monologue for not killing Claudius just then is not his REAL reason.

It is important that, at this point, I have left the firm ground of scholarly reading and have moved on into the realm of conjecture. Which is, of course, necessary, but the “scholarly” way of doing it – beautifully exemplified by Dover Wilson – is not to do it BEFORE it becomes necessary, being conscious of doing it, and always sticking to CONSISTENCY where the text is concerned. I don’t think that Hamlet wanting Claudius to go to hell is not the real reason because it is, in a contemporary view, a weak reason. I think that, for Hamlet, it is a sound reason, and that he is glad to have found it because he REALLY doesn’t want to do what he knows is expected of him, and what he expects of himself. Which would be, in this moment, the equivalent of what Laertes later suggests: killing his enemy in a church. Or even generally: to pursue the bloody path of revenge, which might restore his honour and “buy” him the kingship, but at what price? I think deep inside he knows what the price will be, if he joins the fray, as he opens his innermost self only to his confidant, Horatio, telling him indirectly what he really wants from his life. Which, at the point it has brought him to, is very little: peace of mind, and INDEPENDENCE of soul. But in fact it is something very big: the freedom to steer his fate himself, following that which is within him that “passes show”, and which he knows will always steer him the right way. Which is “where” Shakespeare wants him to appear in the end (as Dover Wilson states, emphasizing his “nobility” and “integrity of soul”). I think Hamlet knows that, as he knows about the state of his “inner self” in the beginning of the play, but cannot perceive it consciously because there are no other criteria for him to judge himself and his actions than those his own “time” provides. But his REAL struggle is always to get there, to somehow find a way of doing THE RIGHT THING. I think that by PLAYING THIS, Hamlet would make much more sense on a stage, but this would of course have to be put to the test. And I think it has partly been “tested”, as I said, the way Benedict Cumberbatch played him, because he believed in his character as a human being, NOT as a failure, and held fast to this all the way through, never “giving him away” but, at the same time, making the contradictions, the ridiculousness and strangeness, really strong.

So it appeared in fact as the birth of a NEW KIND of human being which must have been a difficult and bloody one at the time. And with good reason, because there is an “insubstantial” gain on one side, opposed to a very substantial loss. And the question from “Macbeth”: if one can be “a man” as well as a human being, is not obliterated in our own time though the context has changed. It is something I have observed from the beginning that, though having gained the crown in an unlawful and criminal way, Claudius fulfills the expectations of whoever elected him, holding the spikes of the “massy wheel” with a firm hand, steering his country through trouble in a responsible way. Whereas Hamlets “gamble”, in the end, apart from multiple killings, leads to the loss of everything. I think we always tend to take Shakespeare’s historical and political statements less seriously than the “human issues” in his plays, and I always felt that “we” are partly wrong doing this. And now I know why. Of course the historical situation of “Hamlet” is not to be taken seriously as a HISTORICAL statement about the REAL background of the story. (Even though it would be so much more convenient, Bohemia still doesn’t have a coast-line!) But I am sure that Shakespeare wanted to tell us SOMETHING by making it clear that, in the end, Norway gains what they always wanted to have, and what Claudius was able to preserve so far by successful diplomacy. Even though it is, as usual, not a statement but a suggestion to draw our own conclusions. Which might be for us to see that “humanity” and trying to live your own life, ALWAYS comes at a price. And this price might even be one way of measuring its worth. Which might in fact be the deepest truth contained in tragedy, and the secret why we are usually not just “crushed” by it but find in it something we WANTED to find. Even where “our” deepest need for “having heroes” might lie: in being able to take ourselves, and our brittle and ridiculous lives, seriously. Finding a way to BELIEVE IN US, and even, maybe, to IMPROVE ourselves in that way?