From TLS: The weight of the pasts

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 27.328  Friday, 30 September 2016


From:        Hardy M. Cook <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

Date:         Friday, September 30, 2016

Subject:    From TLS: The weight of the pasts


The weight of the pasts



Harry Berger Jr


Skills of offense in Shakespeare’s Henriad

232pp. Fordham University Press. £59 (US $85).


Isabel Karremann


220pp. Cambridge University Press. £64.99 (US $99.99).






“Harrying” is a verb with violent associations: the OED gives to plunder, violate, harass and despoil as synonyms. Harry is the name Harry Berger Jr prefers for Harry of Lancaster Jr, the central figure in Shakespeare’s “Henriad”: a different critic would have made hay with this onomastic echo, but Berger lets the opportunity pass. Both Berger’s own method, and his view of Harry, are milder and more co-operative than this titular verb suggests.


Berger’s overarching method is to uncover the “linguistic mischief” by which the language Shakespeare gives his characters “always says more than they mean to say”. This develops a psychoanalytically inflected New Criticism that is at its most brilliant in moments of close analysis. Working with Richard II’s soliloquy from prison which begins “I have been studying”, Berger points out the strange artfulness of the present perfect tense, as if Richard is explicitly bringing us up to date with his activities since we last saw him. Developing the particular performative address of the soliloquy, Berger nevertheless suggests that its enabling stage direction, “Enter Richard alone”, is actually a description of the play as a whole. He worries away at Richard’s imagery, noticing with wonderful lucidity the self-destructiveness of the phrase “still-breeding thoughts”, where “still” connotes both movement and stasis, cancelling and emphasizing the futility of “breeding” with ideas of stillbirth. The verbal confusion, Berger suggests, epitomizes a wider “Bad Seed Fantasy” that poisons the history plays’ father/son relationships and makes children objects of fear and mistrust.

Reprinting Berger’s essays from the past three decades is a very valuable project (although the publishers never acknowledge that it is a collection largely of previously printed material). Berger’s chapters revisit, refine and enrich the topics and arguments on which he has long been so influential. Readers of Imaginary Audition (1989) will recognize his distinction between “wide-eyed playgoers and slit-eyed armchair readers”; and the Prince’s dog, the perils of speech-prefixivity and the rhizome and hydra all reappear in the current volume. Berger develops here with great clarity his Girardian argument that Richard II seduces Bolingbroke into the role of usurper, noting the echo by which the hapless French in Henry V also desire their invasion and defeat. He understands the plays from Richard II to Henry V as a whole, not, as the “Henriad” might suggest, as an extended dramatic Bildungsroman, still less an early modern box set, but rather as a “process of continuous revision” to be read backwards and forwards across the plays.


This non-linear structure derives from and supports Berger’s express conviction that Shakespeare’s plays do not, as commonly asserted, find their true meaning on stage. Rather, he suggests here, they are “underdetermined by their theatrical purpose”. The structure of these particular history plays can only be accessed in print, when all four can be simultaneously present. Some of that readerly interrelatedness is left implicit by the rather episodic structure of the chapters in Harrying: for example, extensive interrogation of horses, real and metaphorical, in the Henry IV plays is not taken up in the more obvious context of the Dauphin’s sonnet to his “prince of palfreys”. But Berger’s method is suggestive rather than exhaustive: perhaps his greatest skill is to make us feel we have discovered things for ourselves.


[ . . . ]


The argument of Isabel Karremann’s book The Drama of Memory in Shakespeare’s History Plays seems harder won: the difference between these two books is as much generational as it is thematic or methodological. Karremann’s important contribution to the growing field of literary memory studies is to take forgetting seriously, as itself a significant part of mnemonic practice rather than its catastrophic or unintended opposite. Her understanding of forgetting as purposive rather than accidental, as an active process rather than the mere absence of remembering, identifies “the constitutive force of oblivion” in early modern culture. As John Willis put it in 1618, with obvious implications for the history plays, the term for recalling those things we have remembered in order “to discharge our memories of them” is “deposition”. Falstaff’s play-acted “Depose me?” thus reverberates with the inevitability of being forgotten. Karremann suggests that both the Wars of the Roses and the Reformation were violent acts understood by Elizabethan culture through different memorial forms, including repeated forgetting.


The strength of this combination of cognitive theory, theatre history and formalist criticism is in its reading of individual plays. Beginning with the undervalued 2 Henry VI, Karremann draws out its debate between literacy and orality, in which the alliance between Henry and Margaret is figured as “cancelling . . . blotting . . . razing . . . defacing . . . Undoing all, as if all had never been”. She reads Richard II’s own unkinging as an act of oblivion, suggesting a specifically post-Reformation evacuation of signs, practices and rituals. In 1 Henry IV Hal’s self-forgetfulness is seen to be strategic, whereas Falstaff’s corporeal reminders of medieval carnival suggest how the theatre can repurpose the past by investing it with new, commodified meanings. Karremann is interesting on the ways the Oldcastle/Falstaff controversy enacts signs of erasure and oblivion, but Falstaff’s own distinct cultural unforgettability might have been worth further exploration. And perhaps something about what our own literary histories have chosen to forget in the construction of the history play as a solely Shakespearean serial might offer a useful corollary. While Isabel Karremann’s elegant study allows for the audience’s “intertheatrical memories”, like many Shakespeareans she, too, leaves the influence of adjacent plays such as Woodstock, Sir John Oldcastle or Edward III forgotten.


The layered obligations of “lest we forget” are affectionately depicted in Antic Disposition’s Henry V: a simultaneous commemoration of Agincourt, the First World War and the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death. These parallels are achieved through a framing story set in a field hospital, where invalided French and English combatants begin a scratch production where rolled bandages stand in for the Dauphin’s tennis balls and the corrugated crown is made from a canteen tin can. While sometimes the conceit creaks a little – updated productions of Henry V have frequently struggled with the fact that Britain’s twentieth-century wars were in, but not actually against, France – it also generates the production’s most electrifying interpolation. As Henry holds his service pistol to the guilty Bardolph’s forehead, his prisoner begins to shake uncontrollably. The traumatized soldier breaks down, the Shakespearean performance is quickly suspended, and even back in character as the phlegmatic Gower, James Murfitt retains an edge of savage vulnerability for the rest of the evening.


[ . . . ]


All three works have a clear memorial aspect: of a distinguished critical career; of the arts of oblivion; of the Shakespeare anniversary in a wider commemorative context. But they also imply that the weight of multiple pasts can be burdensome. Shakespeare’s history plays repeatedly invoke the long shadows cast across the present by legendary figures such as Edward the Black Prince and that “ever-living man of memory, Henry the Fifth”: in the retrospective light of the Shakespeare quatercentenary maybe they have now themselves become that overbearing cultural presence they so memorably dramatize.




From TLS: Just by being himself

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 27.327  Friday, 30 September 2016


From:        Hardy M. Cook <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

Date:         Friday, September 30, 2016

Subject:    From TLS: Just by being himself


Just by being himself



Edited by Daniel Hahn and Margarita Valencia


Twelve stories after Cervantes and Shakespeare 

240pp. & Other Stories. Paperback, £10.

978 1 908276 78 0



“Imitatio”, that umbrella term for absorbing the great works of the past, has always been part of the apprenticeship to the craft, passed on in conversations between established makars and the coming generations. Shakespeare himself was among the convinced “snappers-up of unconsidered trifles” who transmuted things “rich and strange” into his own . Much effort has been well spent identifying his reading. As a schoolboy he used the same Latin primer as the pedant in Love’s Labour’s Lost. We know which Bible he read; among the ancients, Ovid seems to have been his favourite, and the Metamorphoses his most imitated Latin collection; his reading of Virgil, Seneca and others surfaces in his writing, as well as Thomas North’s Plutarch. He read Chaucer and Spenser and a variety of late medieval histories and stories. He knew Montaigne’s essay “Of Cannibals” as translated by Florio: he stole phrases he liked from both Florio and North.


His death, on April 23, 1616, came unexpectedly, as his will testifies, and he seems to have left piles of papers. But some time afterwards a family cash-flow problem meant that the bailiffs came into his house and impounded a great many bundled-up documents – the last of Shakespeare’s own manuscripts. As it happens, a similar fate befell the manuscripts of Miguel de Cervantes, Shakespeare’s Spanish contemporary. Cervantes died on April 22, 1616, tortured by thirst, suffering perhaps from diabetes. He was buried the next day.


As everyone knows, Don Quixote drove himself mad binge-reading old romances. His creator’s criticism of Don Quixote’s reading is a result of Cervantes having known it, loved it, imitated it in a pastoral romance of his own (Galatea), and repudiated all of it once he had grown up. At the heart of his rejection lies a quandary about good reading habits, and arguments about what that might mean – not just recognizing that there are no giants and that wandering knights have long since had their day, but that fantasy adventures are not healthy when absorbed in too great quantities. One might observe that only a lover of the mind’s journeys into make-believe could have written of knights and ladies with such a detailed account of those seductive adventures as he recounts in Part I of Don Quixote. In Part II things change, and the low-born Sancho Panza becomes the dominant figure, as Cervantes deals with what opportunistic imitation had done to his book. His eight plays and eight interludes did not earn him fame as a dramatist which was, perhaps, his heart’s desire. A last prose fiction, The Works of Persiles and Sigismunda (back to lovers journeying at sea, like the Greek Romances or Heliodorus) as well as The Exemplary Novels (on the model of Boccaccio’s Decameron), were published posthumously. Among these, “The Glass Graduate” stands out for its study of a psychosis which remains a reference for those interested in mental illness.


To both men, scholars and critics have attributed a variety of experiences for which no evidence survives: Cervantes at university, Shakespeare walking to Coventry just in time to see the Catholic Mystery Plays. There is no evidence that Shakespeare mysteriously toured the Continent, but there is evidence of Cervantes trying to work his way back up the social scale by going to Italy in the household of a Cardinal, then as a soldier fighting (mostly) the Turks in the course of which it is probable that he was captured by pirates and enslaved for five years, having attempted escape four times before he was ransomed home. Cervantes revisited these experiences several times across a number of his fictions (unlike Shakespeare, whose successes included silence about his own opinions or adventures). With new analyses of Cardenio (apparently played by the King’s Men in 1613, but not attributed to Shakespeare and Fletcher until 1653), it seems less likely that it was Shakespeare who collaborated on the play of that name, which uses an inset story from Cervantes’s Don Quixote. The graves of both men have recently enjoyed the attention of modern archaeological examination. Shakespeare’s grave may have been desecrated by the theft of his head; Cervantes’s remains amount to not much more than a few bone fragments. Last June the fragments which may or may not be his were reburied with military honours. Now the two men often associated with the beginnings of modern literature receive another kind of honour, a late commemoration, a festschrift of a dozen short stories inspired by their work. The editors, in conjunction with the publishers & Other Stories and the Hay Festival, have commissioned six hispanophones to write with Shakespeare as their model and six anglophones with Cervantes. Evidence for thoughtful reading of their sources is plentiful, and both authors and translators maintain a high standard. Four stories stand out.


Ben Okri’s “Don Quixote and the Ambiguity of Reading” sets the tone with a reminiscence from an ordinary man who was in the printing house in Barcelona when the Don visited. At the time, the narrator tells us, the printers mistook the old man for a drunk, and the narrator found himself the butt of this very aggressive visitor, whose complex words and ideas he could hardly understand. As serious and moving as this story becomes, Okri knows that Cervantes’s brand of pre-postmodernism included references to himself, and so we find mention of “the tragedies of Sophocles, the last ironic paragraph of Things Fall Apart, and a fragment of [the modernist poet Christopher] Okigbo”, who died fighting for Biafran Independence. Okri’s Don quotes Luo proverbs and Swahili song; he tilts at oil rigs and battles corruption. His Sancho Panza attributes to someone called Ben Okri the adventures that are now being printed, which ultimately derive from Cide Hamete Benengeli, who himself found them in an Arabic manuscript. The story contains some fine turns of phrase, and some questions about how thought is sometimes changed forever by an exceptional imagination: “Let it be said, while I have breath, that he made us be more imaginative, just by being himself”.


[ . . . ]


UNESCO marked the coincidence of the two great authors’ deaths and burials by naming April 23 World Book Day (except in the UK and Ireland, who hold it in March), ignoring the irony that Cervantes died under the Gregorian calendar and Shakespeare under the Julian – within one day of each other, yet ten days apart.




From TLS: Will’s will

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 27.326  Friday, 30 September 2016


From:        Hardy M. Cook <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

Date:         Friday, September 30, 2016

Subject:    From TLS: Will’s will


[Editor’s Note:  The following and subsequent posting today all appeared in the April 20, 2016, TLS. I will provide excerpts here; and if anyone wishes the entire article and does not have access to TLS, please contact me at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. -Hardy]


Will’s will




Windsor Castle, until January 1, 2017



A life in writing 

Somerset House, until May 29



British Library, until September 6



In a bold and imaginative gesture, the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington DC is celebrating the quatercentenary of Shakespeare’s death by sending one of its eighty-two copies of the First Folio to each of the fifty states, where it is to be publicly displayed, open at “To be or not to be”, in a scrupulously prepared site. The scheme has elicited a loud chorus of approbation, with people exhilarated at the chance to see the famous book, some driving for hours to join the queue. The Sam Noble Museum in Norman, Oklahoma, expecting perhaps a couple of hundred people at its opening event, welcomed almost 1,100 when the day came, and over the course of the month almost 12,000 people visited the exhibition, nearly half of them under eighteen years old.


[ . . . ]


Despite Mr Folger’s cash and voracity, the United Kingdom has retained some impressive objects, many of them now visible in and around London. The keepers of the Royal Collection at Windsor have assembled and displayed some of their hoard in vitrines placed just beyond another site of imaginative play, Queen Mary’s Doll House. They shrewdly emphasize The Merry Wives of Windsor, taking advantage of their geographical connection to Shakespeare’s single English comedy. There are some stunners. Perhaps the single most beautiful piece is the cartographer John Norden’s “Description of the Honour of Windsor”, a vividly coloured manuscript on vellum created for Prince Henry in 1607: the town and castle as Shakespeare knew them are visible, with places (The Garter Inn and the Park) mentioned in the comedy. Among the books are Elizabeth I’s personal copy of the 1590 Faerie Queene – she being its dedicatee – and the 1616 Folio of Jonson’s Workes, the book that may have prompted Shakespeare’s fellows to prepare the 1623 collection. The royal copy of that volume is present, of course, next to Charles I’s copy of the Second Folio (1632), ultimately repurchased for the Crown by George III. Unexpected delights include a pencil drawing of Romeo and Juliet embracing, executed by Princess Victoria in 1835, and a photograph of another seventeen-year-old, this from 1965: Prince Charles as Macbeth in a school production (as mentioned earlier by Lois Potter).


By me William Shakespeare: A life in writing, at Somerset House, is limited to episodes in Shakespeare’s life for which documentary evidence survives. The major documents record legal proceedings: Shakespeare’s testimony in Stephen Belott’s dowry trial against Christopher Mountjoy, his Huguenot landlord in Silver Street; depositions following the performance of Richard II commissioned on behalf of the Essex faction; and Giles Allen’s complaint against the Burbages over ownership of The Theatre, which the company had disassembled and moved across the Thames. In the Defence of Poesy, Sir Philip Sidney impishly exalts poets by deriding historians “loaden with old mouse-eaten records”. Allen’s complaint is written in dense secretary hand on parchment with, along its bottom margin, a line of holes descending in size from large to small: in its rolled-up state, probably earlier rather than later in its four-century life, the document has been nibbled at by a rat.

The centrepiece is Shakespeare’s will. The document is itself unremarkable, most of its language being that of a scribe, as if Shakespeare had purchased the ready made form at a stationer’s. But never mind. It boasts three of the playwright’s six known signatures, one per page, and is personalized by interlinear amendments made in the last weeks of the testator’s life. (These reflect domestic drama: Shakespeare’s daughter Judith was to be married that spring to Thomas Quiney, but it came to light that he had fathered a child by another woman, and the terms of the will were changed to protect Judith.) Perhaps the attraction of the will is its common-ness: almost everybody makes one; it expresses personal desire and records emotional interchange; it seems to connect the reader to the mortally ill human being. And the viewer receives a small jolt of pleasure in looking at the prosaic will of the Will who had bandied so cleverly and bawdily with that polyvalent noun in Sonnet 135.


[ . . . ]


Shakespeare in Ten Acts at the British Library, however, is dazzling, a show of shows guaranteed to disarm even the most jaded visitor. From the gorgeous poster (Vivien Leigh as Titania, 1937) to the clever exit screen (a computer-generated speculation on future Shakespearean incarnations), the exhibition is imaginatively conceived, vast in range, inclusive of both the serious and the absurd, and formidable in the depth of illustrative materials. The “Prologue” offers rarities that would alone justify a visit: the sheet from Sir Thomas More with the lines of verse thought to be in Shakespeare’s handwriting, the Baines note indicting Christopher Marlowe, the rare “plot” (stage manager’s outline) of a lost play, the 1598 quarto of Love’s Labour’s Lost, the first printed play to bear Shakespeare’s name, and of course a First Folio. In the exhibit proper, each “Act” is devoted to a play and pertinent topic that combine to demonstrate the playwright’s cultural reach. Room 6, for instance, documents the London performances of the African American actor Ira Aldridge as Othello in 1825, but goes far beyond that historical moment to consider colour-blind casting, to interview the actor Hugh Quarshie on racism in the play, and even to posit a professional rivalry between Laurence Olivier and Paul Robeson.


Familiar items abound, but every room offers surprises. A journal fragment from the captain of the Red Dragon describes a 1607 shipboard performance of Hamlet off the coast of Sierra Leone. Inigo Jones’s sketch of a masquer’s costume accompanies a manuscript of The Masque of Queens in Jonson’s own meticulous handwriting. The human skull that Victor Hugo gave Sarah Bernhardt to use as her Yorick sits near one of the two surviving copies of Hamlet Q1. The eighteenth-century origins of Bardolatry are traced in souvenirs from Garrick’s Jubilee and in the script of William Henry Ireland’s Vortigern (1796), his forgery of a “newly discovered” Shakespeare play; this theme is brought up to date with recent pieces of tat, a Starbucks mug and a fantastically kitschy teapot.


Proper notice is given to adaptation and translation, especially of King Lear: we move from Nahum Tate’s affirmative version (1681), the only text staged for the next 150 years, to Ted Hughes’s simplified rewrite of King Lear as a screenplay for Peter Brook’s film (withdrawn by the poet), to Jane Smiley’s novelization set in the American Midwest, A Thousand Acres. Visually, oil paintings help to variegate the texture of the show: the Dulwich College Burbage, Robert Henry Morland’s “Garrick as Richard III”, George Henry Harlow’s “Siddons as Lady Macbeth”, and Thomas Lawrence’s “Kemble as Hamlet”. One can listen to Robert Johnson’s settings of two songs prepared for Jacobean performances of The Tempest; watch John Gielgud deliver “Our revels now are ended” from Peter Greenaway’s film Prospero’s Books; and enjoy a clip of Placido Domingo as Neptune in the Metropolitan Opera’s 2012 pastiche, The Enchanted Island. A candidate for Best-in-Show might be Peter Sellers’s televised delivery, in the style of Olivier’s Richard III, of the lyrics to “A Hard Day’s Night”.


The curators seem to have heard that the play’s the thing – lavish space is given to performance. Especially welcome is the focus on Brook’s RSC Dream (1970). Having surveyed some relics of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century performance tradition, culminating in a clip from Max Reinhardt’s Hollywood extravaganza (1935), we turn a corner and step onto Sally Jacobs’s famous white box of a set. Brook’s Titania, Sarah Kestelman, recalls the discomfort of lying motionless on that great red feather suspended above the stage, but the star turn in this Act is the extremely rare film footage of a couple of scenes. Another winner is a filmed episode from the Globe Twelfth Night, with Mark Rylance’s Olivia and Stephen Fry’s Malvolio. Celebrated clips and stills include Beerbohm Tree’s King John (1899), Mary Pickford’s Katherine Minola, Orson Welles as Falstaff, Kenneth Branagh the night before Agincourt, Ian McKellen with fag as Richard of Gloucester. The show ends with the Wooster Group’s recent riff on Hamlet, in which actors recreate in precise detail the 1964 Broadway production directed by Gielgud and starring Richard Burton, performing live while the videotape of the original plays behind them. Not to everyone’s taste, to be sure, but a cap for the theme of appropriation and metamorphosis.


[ . . . ]




Music from Shakespeare’s Time with Collectio Musicorum

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 27.325  Friday, 30 September 2016


From:        Gene Murrow - GEMS <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

Date:         September 29, 2016 at 12:57:27 PM EDT

Subject:    Music from Shakespeare’s Time with Collectio Musicorum


Jeff Dailey has had a distinguished career as a musicologist and performer, with a keen interest in music of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.  This concert of music from Shakespeare’s time by his group Collectio Musicorum includes works that were featured in Shakespeare’s plays as well as music by Shakespeare’s friend, Thomas Morley, among others.


Gotham Early Music Scene, Inc. (GEMS), the service and advocacy organization for early music in New York City, is forwarding the following information to Shaksper on behalf of Collectio Musicorum.  We thank you for your attention!   


Gene Murrow, Executive Director



Thursday, September 29, 2016


CONTACT:                                                                                                  -OR-


Dr. Jeff S.Dailey                                                         

Gene Murrow or Naomi Morse

Collectio Musicorum                                                   

Gotham Early Music Scene, Inc.        


(212) 866 – 0468

This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.                                                   

This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. 



Collectio Musicorum




Date: Friday, October 21, 2016

Time: 8 pm


Location:        Christ and St. Stephen’s Church

120 West 69th Street  

New York, NY 10023


Cross Street:  Between Broadway and Columbus Avenue


Subway/Bus: #1 train to 66th Street station 

#2/3 trains to 72nd Street station

B/C trains to 72nd Street station

M5, M7, M104, M11, M20, M10, M66, or M72 buses 


Tickets:           Admission is free

Details online at 




Elizabeth Bates, soprano; Patrick Fennig; countertenor, Christopher Thompson, tenor; Jeff Dailey, recorder; Christopher Morrongiello, lute; and Patricia Neely, viol




Collection Musicorum, a New York-based early music ensemble, presents a concert of music from 16th and 17th century England, commemorating the 400th anniversary of the death of William Shakespeare.  The program will feature music from Shakespeare’s plays, as well as works from the plays of Shakespeare’s contemporaries Ben Jonson and Christopher Marlowe.  In addition, the program will include Elizabethan ballads and chamber music by Shakespeare’s friend Thomas Morley and will feature rarely heard music by Nicholas Lanier, who became Master of the King’s Music after Shakespeare’s death.


About the ensemble:


Collectio Musicorum (“Collection of Music”) is an ensemble devoted to giving the best possible performances of music from the earliest of times.  While realizing it is not possible to replicate medieval performances with complete accuracy, the ensemble strives to achieve a reasonable reproduction of the sounds and performance practice of the Middle Ages by examining all available evidence—codicological, organological, linguistic, iconographic, etc.   This musicological approach is combined with the highest possible level of musicianship to present historically informed concerts that are both scholarly and entertaining.  Collectio also strives to resurrect music that, although written about, is rarely, if ever, performed.   


Music Director Jeff Dailey studied musicology and theatre history at NYU, where he received his PhD in 2002.  He is an active instrumentalist, musicologist, conductor, and stage director.  His publications include studies of medieval and Renaissance music and theatre, Eugene O’Neill, Beowulf, Donizetti, and Gilbert and Sullivan.  He has been president of the Greater New York Chapter of the American Musicological Society since 2008.


For further information or to set up an interview:


Call 718-745-4794 or Email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.  







Media services provided by: Gotham Early Music Scene, Inc. 340 Riverside Drive # 1-A, New York, NY  10025



Podcast on Shakespeare and Posthumanist Theory

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 27.324  Friday, 30 September 2016


From:        Neema Parvini <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

Date:         September 30, 2016 at 6:29:37 AM EDT

Subject:    Podcast on Shakespeare and Posthumanist Theory



Neema interviews Karen Raber (University of Mississippi) about her forthcoming book Shakespeare and Posthumanist Theory, part of the Arden Shakespeare and Theory series. Topics include: the difference between "The Posthuman" and posthumanism, and animals in Shakespeare. 

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