Play Length

 

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 23.0467  Thursday, 22 November 2012

 

[1] From:        Justin Alexander <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 20, 2012 9:57:24 PM EST

     Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length 

 

[2] From:        William Proctor Williams <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 21, 2012 9:53:46 AM EST

     Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length 

 

[3] From:        Steve Roth <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 21, 2012 11:04:41 AM EST

     Subject:     Re: Play Length 

 

[4] From:        David Frydrychowski <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 21, 2012 12:02:48 PM EST

     Subject:     Re: Play Length 

 

[5] From:        Scott Shepherd <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 21, 2012 1:02:35 PM EST

     Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length

 

[6] From:        Bob Grumman <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 21, 2012 4:45:17 PM EST

     Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length 

 

 

[1]-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 20, 2012 9:57:24 PM EST

Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length

 

Mr. Urkowitz wrote:

 

>As for the “two hours” mentioned in various places. I finally did a 

>count in one of Alfred Hart’s essays. He lists about a dozen over 

>a fifty-plus year period, almost all in prologues and epilogues.  

 

Couple of random anecdotes:

 

First, a couple of years ago I did a staged reading of a completely uncut version of Romeo & Juliet. (The actors held scripts in their hands, but all the action—including the swordfights and dances and so forth—was physically performed out.) Total run-time? Two and a half hours. If I had to choose between “two hours traffic” or “three hours traffic” to describe that show, I’d go with the former.

 

(And if we were to assume that Shakespeare’s actors could speak their lines just 10% faster—due to greater familiarity with the text and an audience better acquainted with the idioms of the age—then it becomes a slam dunk at two and a quarter hours.)

 

So I tend to agree with Mr. Urkowitz that the lurching, pause-ridden, stately-paced, and over-produced modern productions of these plays tend to give us a rather false impression of just how “interminable” they would have been with actual Elizabethan production practices.

 

Second, I recently appeared in a restaging of a play that had originally been written for the Minnesota Fringe Festival and had later been expanded for a stand-alone production. At the beginning of this play there was a bit of fourth-wall-breaking irony in which the characters referred to their deaths arriving in “about an hour” (because the Fringe Festival production would have taken place in a one hour time slot). The line went unrevised even though the new play had a running time closer to two hours.

 

One of the reasons it survived was because the playwright simply hadn’t given it a second thought in the process of revising his play. In similar circumstance, one could easily imagine Shakespeare writing, “two hours traffic” on the first page of his script and then not bothering to revise it when the actual script turned out to be a bit longer than that. Or one could imagine that Shakespeare wrote a bunch of extra material, edited it down for production, but then included the cut bits in the published version. (Possibly by default if he handed over the original draft to the printers while the theater kept their cut production script.)

 

My point? I don’t really have one beyond the idea that it is relatively easy to read anything you like into a particular fragment of text if you’re willing to start hypothesizing about stuff that doesn’t appear on the page.

 

Mr. Saliani wrote:

 

>Steve dismisses Alfred Hart’s listing of a dozen mentions of “two 

>hours” as “fictive apology” but I fear that such an opinion would 

>have elicited the following from any self-respecting Amazon: 

 

If someone asked me, “How long is a feature film?” My answer would probably be, “Two hours.”

 

It does not, however, follow that the 216-minute version of Lawrence of Arabia or the 150-minute version of Spielberg’s Lincoln was never shown in public theaters.

 

>a four to five hour all-talk (21 lines per minute) marathon with a

> melancholy Dane

 

I’m not following your math. Even with an upper estimate of 4,100 lines, a Hamlet read at 21 lines per minute would be 195 minutes. That’s less than three and a half hours, not 4-5 hours.

 

When we did a staged reading of Hamlet it clocked in at 230 minutes. It played briskly, was excellently paced, and kept the audience engaged from one end to the other. I doubt it would have worked in that format for the average school tour group. But, of course, Shakespeare wasn’t writing for 21st century pre-teens, either.

 

Justin Alexander

American Shakespeare Repertory

 

[2]-------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 21, 2012 9:53:46 AM EST

Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length

 

We all seem to have wandered from the point, as we usually do.  We now say things such as, “just a minute” when we do not really mean 60 seconds but something much closer (at least for me) to 300 seconds.  Also heard today is “I’ll be there in just a minute” which usually means 300 seconds or sometimes a good deal more.  I submit that Alfred Hart’s listing of a dozen mentions of “two hours” describes no more than the Early Modern English equivalent where “two hours” did not mean 120 minutes but maybe 150, or 180, or maybe even 210 minutes.  The movie Lincoln is 150 minutes long and Remains of the Day is 134 minutes long and Gnomeo and Juliet is 84 minutes long but we all still think of a movie taking about a couple of hours out of our lives.  Hart’s mentions are no more than that, and we must be careful of having “some craven scruple / Of thinking too precisely on the event.”

 

[3]-------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 21, 2012 11:04:41 AM EST

Subject:     Re: Play Length

 

Thanks to Don Saliani for cutting (back) to the quick:

 

“Shakespeare wanted his works to be read and not just seen.”

 

Steve Urkowitz has addressed many evidentiary issues here, but he hasn’t addressed this. I’m not clear what his thoughts are on the subject; I would like to hear them.

 

I don’t know if Shakespeare wanted that (though the evidence Don and I and others point to strongly suggests it), but I do know that he knew that his works were being purchased and read, and that they were being purchased, read, discussed, quoted, and commonplaced by his most lucrative, highest-status, best-educated, and most perspicacious customers (and riffed off of by his cohort/competitor playwrights).

 

Which means (to me) that despite any potshot holes one might shoot in Erne’s necessarily incomplete evidence (and Saliani’s, and mine, and many others’), his conclusions ring resoundingly true. 

 

Shakespeare wasn’t just writing ephemeral Hollywood scripts that (he knew) nobody would ever read. 

 

He was also composing literature. And he knew it.

 

As I said in the opening line of my review of Erne’s book, “One of the greater ironies of Shakespeare scholarship over the last century is the ongoing effort by Shakespeare scholars—most of whom spend dozens of hours a week enjoining, cajoling, and browbeating their students into addressing Shakespeare’s plays as literature—to deny that those plays are literature.”

 

What thinks Urkowitz? Are his arguments here and in his recent paper intended to contribute to that effort?

 

I’d also like to ask: is Steve suggesting, does he think, that Shakespeare’s plays were always played uncut? Sometimes? Often? Occasionally? Did these proportions vary by venue and audience? That was the other crux of my previous post that he hasn’t addressed.

 

Steve

http://princehamlet.com

 

[4]-------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 21, 2012 12:02:48 PM EST

Subject:     Re: Play Length

 

One assumption of the discussion has been that every member of the audience attempted to hear the play from the beginning to the end.  Is there evidence for this?  Stanislavsky famously criticized operagoers who arrived late and spent the whole time talking, only drawing near to the stage to hear the soprano’s aria in the final scene.  Perhaps the history plays with recognizable characters allowed such non-linear audience experiences.  Not to mention the habit of minor characters (e.g. Lenox) to reiterate the plot of the play to that point.

 

Admittedly, it’s a thin chance, but if you accept the idea that the proprietors of the outdoor venues had a vested interest in long plays that kept the theatre noisy through the afternoon, and the idea that the indoor venues, especially Court, favored audiences who experienced the play in a more formal and linear manner (e.g. play-within-a-play in Hamlet, MND & Shrew Induction, for all of which the audience seems to show up on time), there’s an argument for the shorter form being the more ‘literary,’ and the uncut being a bit Barnum.

 

Again, quite possibly incorrect.  But I’d be interested in knowing the evidence to the contrary.  Many thanks.

 

David Frydrychowski

 

[5]-------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 21, 2012 1:02:35 PM EST

Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length

 

It would be nice if these arguments about the unendurability of long performances were presented with stronger evidence than “to me it seems rather obvious, self evident and redundantly intuitive.” We who live in an age where numberless well-packaged entertainments are so conveniently available, and for whom a performance of Shakespeare (or in fact any theater performance) is an archaic and somewhat academic proposition; we whose attention spans have been systematically shortened by Hollywood, television, the music industry, Twitter and YouTube—our intuitions may not be the ones to trust when it comes to the endurance of the Elizabethan playhouse audience. In fact it’s telling that we’re talking about their endurance rather than their enthusiasm.

 

Nowadays the announcement of a new production of Romeo and Juliet is as likely to arouse our skepticism as our excitement, but what if it were the latest offering from the famous top practitioners of the number one sexy social entertainment of your time, accompanied by the word-of-mouth buzz that must have surrounded the first few performances of that play? Instead of projecting backward the obligatory spirit with which we drag ourselves to the theater these days, shouldn’t we be using for contemporary comparison the enthusiasm of people who stand through a 4-hour rock concert and go home wishing it had lasted longer, or who stand in line for hours to see the new Harry Potter movie on its opening weekend, knowing perfectly well that next week there will be no line to wait in?

 

For that matter, the reconstructed Shakespeare’s Globe regularly sells out the groundling area at £5 a pop. Those performances are generally 3 hours, sometimes more. And these might be justifiably ranked among the nerdiest most anachronistic offerings in a dazzling variety of seductive entertainments available in modern London.

 

[6]-------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 21, 2012 4:45:17 PM EST

Subject:     Re: SHAKSPER: Play Length

 

I had to jump into the discussion of PLAY LENGTH with one small thought: that none of Shakespeare’s plays is all sermon-level discourse.  It seems to me he weaves his materials, giving both groundlings and people like Gabriel Harvey what they like—in between each other without lasting so long as to lose one group or the other, or with one inside the other so those without deeper concerns hear something at their level and the Harveys hear that and something more to their taste.

 

Would how he does this, if he does, make a good scholarly paper or book?  Has it, already, as I suspect?

 

My own not-very-reflected-on view is that Shakespeare’s plays were often cut, but sometimes, especially privately, were presented whole.  I suspect Shakespeare wrote for an ideal audience that would appreciate all he had to say for hours, knowing his actors, with him supervising, would edit versions that would work best with their normal audiences.

 

Fun topic, with interesting input from all involved! 

NEH Teacher Workshop Summer 2013

 

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 23.0466  Thursday, 22 November 2012

 

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

Date:         November 21, 2012 12:49:23 PM EST

Subject:     NEH Teacher Workshop Summer 2013

 

The National Endowment for the Humanities “Landmarks in American History and Culture” Workshop The Most Southern Place on Earth:  Music, History, and Culture of the Mississippi Delta will be offered June 16-22 and July 7-13, 2013, by the  Delta Center for Culture and Learning at Delta State University in Cleveland, MS.  Come explore the blues, civil rights, the great migration, and the river at their source.  Participants receive a stipend of $1200 towards their expenses and can also receive five graduate credit hours at virtually no cost.  www.blueshighway.org

  

Lee Aylward

Delta Center for Culture and Learning

MS Delta National Heritage Area

Delta State University

P.O. Box 3152

Cleveland, MS 38733

Phone:  662-846-4310  office

             662-721-7591  mobile

             662-846-4701  fax

Shakespeare’s Common Players

 

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 23.0465  Thursday, 22 November 2012

 

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

Date:         Thursday, November 22, 2012

Subject:     Shakespeare’s Common Players

 

[Editor’s Note: The following review appeared in today’s Washington Post. –Hardy]

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/shakespeares-common-prayers-the-book-of-common-prayer-and-the-elizabethan-age-by-daniel-swift/2012/11/21/3b341ffc-2fa7-11e2-a30e-5ca76eeec857_story.html

 

Shakespeare’s Common Prayers

By Michael Dirda

 

While this is a brilliant book, it’s not quite the one its subtitle leads the reader to expect. “The Book of Common Prayer and the Elizabethan Age” seems to suggest a history of the making and reception of the English Prayer Book, starting with its creation by Thomas Cranmer in 1549, and going up to, say, its temporary suppression in the mid-17th century by Oliver Cromwell’s parliamentarians. In fact, Daniel Swift — who teaches at Skidmore College — has produced a subtle and illuminating study of how Shakespeare’s plays reflect and reconfigure the Prayer Book’s language and theological tensions.

 

The result is a distinctly scholarly work, but one written with impressive stylishness. Perhaps it’s not by accident that Swift’s biographical note also describes him as a literary journalist. If you have any interest at all in Shakespeare, especially “Macbeth,” or in the beautiful Anglican liturgy, you’re in for a dazzling, if sometimes demanding, intellectual adventure.

 

First off, Swift reminds us that “The Book of Common Prayer” was never a static work. Though first published as a compendium of the Anglican rituals of morning prayer, baptism, marriage, Communion and the burial of the dead, it constantly underwent alteration. It was “the devotional centerpiece of an age that was passionately religious, and its fluidity is the sign of its cultural centrality.” In 1603, for instance, the Hampton Court Conference, held under the aegis of the new King James, reconsidered remnants of Catholic ritual still embedded in the text. The more austere Puritans objected to anything hinting at a sacrament other than baptism and Communion. As Swift writes, the Prayer Book embraces “a history of passionately contested revision and of manic sensitivity to a verb or a turn of phrase.”

 

It is also, as everyone should know, a treasury of memorable prose-poetry, especially in its earlier iterations. “Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live. . . . Almighty and most merciful Father, we have erred and strayed from thy ways, like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.”

 

However, the Prayer Book is also a kind of theatrical work, detailing the interactions of minister, congregation and God during moments of high drama. In fact, as Swift says, “The prayer book struggled, throughout this period, with its twin and rival, the commercial theater. Plays were the other great common work of the age, both written collaboratively and performed before crowds. It was against the theater that the Book of Common Prayer sought to define itself.”

 

From here, Swift argues that Renaissance drama was “troublingly liturgical,” even though playwrights were prohibited from reproducing precisely the language of the Prayer Book, lest there be any hint of mockery. But a genius like Shakespeare might still imbue his works with repeated words or situations that would call to mind their sacerdotal origins. Swift dissects, for example, the use of the word “walk” in “Macbeth,” rich with multiple scriptural echoes of walking in the ways of the Lord.

 

In the course of his analyses, Swift passes along many of those odd bits and anecdotes that make cultural history so much fun to read. A bishop named Edmund Bonner referred to married sex as “carnal multiplication.” One-
quarter of the men of Queen Elizabeth’s time were named William. Providentialism, we are reminded, leads logically to a refusal to mourn the dead, who are presumably blessedly happy in God’s bosom.

 

Swift also stresses — nothing new here — that Shakespeare’s plays are obsessed with marriage, though not just the comedies. “Romeo and Juliet” concerns “a civilly disobedient couple who perform a liturgically correct marriage.” Among many other things, “Hamlet” is “a meditation upon marital propriety.” In the so-called problem plays — such as “All’s Well That Ends Well” and “Measure for Measure” — Shakespeare focuses on various obstructions to the usual smooth narrative of consent, vow and consummation in the marriage ceremony. “Othello” depicts “what it might take to divide a married couple; it tests the weak points in the structure asserted by the rite.”

 

In his reading of the gruesome “Titus Andronicus,” Swift points to a breakdown in liturgical propriety: The characters “know not quite what to do in the occasions of grief and mourning.” When the ghost in “Hamlet” intones “Remember me,” Swift illuminates the phrase’s significance by probing churchly injunctions concerning remembrance of the dead. He notes, too, as others have before him, the echoes of Communion, the Lord’s Supper, that ring throughout the play: Polonius, says Hamlet after having accidentally killed him, is “at supper,” but “not where he eats but where he is eaten.”

 

In the last part of “Shakespeare’s Common Prayers,” Swift parses the language and action of “Macbeth” with the kind of detail that recalls William Empson in “The Structure of Complex Words.” As he says, “Macbeth even more than Hamlet is the great drama of uncertain presence. Is it a dagger or not? A ghost or not?” For instance, he shows how that key phrase “man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery” finds echoes throughout this most ritualistic of plays, notably in the witches’ prophecy that no man of woman born can harm Macbeth.

 

Swift stresses that the tragedy is drenched in the imagery of baptism, and not only in the Macbeth couple’s obsession with washing the blood from their hands. Speaking of the famous knocking at the gate that follows King Duncan’s murder, Swift reminds us that during baptism the minister says, “Knock, and it shall be opened unto you” and “Open the gate unto us that knock; that these infants may enjoy the everlasting benediction of thy heavenly washing.” When Lady Macbeth wails, “Out, damned spot,” Swift directs us again to baptism, which speaks of cleansing every “spot or wrinkle,” and to a passage in the Communion for the Sick, which reads: “Whensoever his soul shall depart from the body, it may be without spot presented unto thee.”

 

Swift ends his book with “Macbeth” because, he maintains, Shakespeare’s later works retreat from the rich poetry and web of associations offered by the Prayer Book. Afterward, the playwright turns to “the drama and consequences of fading marriages, not their union, and to growing old.” In his last plays, he breaks with “elaborate formality,” and when he writes of grief, it will “slip from set expression.” Perhaps, but this seems more assertion than proof.

 

As I said at the beginning, Swift’s excellent book demands but also rewards close attention. At the very least, it deepens our appreciation of how some of the greatest works of Renaissance theater are suffused with imagery and patterns drawn from the era’s liturgical masterpiece, The Book of Common Prayer.

 

Dirda reviews books for The Washington Post every Thursday.

Shakespeare’s Common Prayers: The Book of Common Prayer in the Elizabethan Age By Daniel Swift Oxford Univ. 289 pp. $27.95

Play Length

 

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 23.0464  Monday, 20 November 2012

 

[1] From:        Dom Saliani <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 19, 2012 5:57:18 PM EST

     Subject:     RE: Play Length 

 

[2] From:        Michael Luskin <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>

     Date:         November 19, 2012 10:22:59 PM EST

     Subject:     On Play Length 

 

 

[1]-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 19, 2012 5:57:18 PM EST

Subject:     RE: Play Length

 

Thanks to Extrapolitzing Steve for his comments and compliment.

 

I have not been described as being “jaunty” for a long time, but I kinda like it.

 

Steve is worried that our jaunting “may crash splat into disagreeable data or into contrary opinions held with equal enthusiasm” and I appreciate his concern but I need to declare that I am a fierce supporter of T.S. Eliot’s licensing of such jaunting when he says that “About anyone so great as Shakespeare, it is probable that we can never be right; and if we can never be right, it is better that from time to time we should change our way of being wrong.”

 

Now there is a challenge for all of us.

 

Steve should also be assured that I do NOT wonder “if Shakespeare would actually write extended material that would have to be presented to intellectually incapable groundlings.”

 

Of course he would – but his shadows (who were fearful of offending groundlings who were challenged by anything more than “dumb shows and noise”) would have presented on stage – as stated in so many prologues and on title pages – far less than what was printed – especially in the cases of Romeo and Hamlet.

 

I applaud Steve for admiring the stamina and patience of Elizabethan audiences in the theatres and cathedrals and we are definitely in agreement that for audience members, a day at the theatre would have been four or so hours long. But this would have included pre- and post- entertainment (balladeers, jugglers, bergomask dancers, etc.) besides the featured drama. It does not boggle the imagination to accept that the pre- and post- diversions could take anywhere from a half hour to an hour and thus the feature play would, if my math is correct, be somewhere between two and three hours.

 

I enjoyed reading many of Steve’s comments but I did take exception when he claimed that “Dom Salieri talks about cutting plays to ‘an endurable length.’”

 

Be assured that neither I nor any of my ancestors had anything to do with the murder of Amadeus.

 

Meanwhile back at the Extrapolitzing Ranch, to me it seems rather obvious, self evident and redundantly intuitive that a four hour tryst with Romeo’s Juliet or a four to five hour all-talk (21 lines per minute) marathon with a melancholy Dane would not have been many people’s cup of tea. Did they sip tea in those days?

 

Steve dismisses Alfred Hart’s listing of a dozen mentions of “two hours” as “fictive apology” but I fear that such an opinion would have elicited the following from any self-respecting Amazon: 

 

But all the story . . . told over,

And all their minds transfigured so together,

More witnesseth than fancy’s images

And grows to something of great constancy;

But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

 

In Steve’s “land of Extrapolis,” I suspect that many of its citizens would agree that the numerous notices that printed plays had been augmented and contained more than was performed serves as clear evidence that the author was interested in sharing more than just a play script.

 

Who could argue with the sentiment that Hamlet “read by candle light, yields many good sentences”?

 

And this harkens me back to my original point. Shakespeare wanted his works to be read and not just seen.

 

His augmented and improved quartos and Folio versions read extremely well – obviously because great care was taken to include in them much more than was performed during the “two hours traffic” upon the stage.

 

I’d like to end by suggesting that Hamlet (Q2 or F) reads more like a versified novel intended to be read, It is far from a faithful transcript of a stage play. The same applies to his R. and J., Lear and Antony and Cleopatra to name a few.

 

But there I go again – expressing the obvious.

 

Dom Saliani

 

[2]-------------------------------------------------------------

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

Date:         November 19, 2012 10:22:59 PM EST

Subject:     On Play Length

 

The question has become intertwined with the difficulty of understanding the language.  If the words and the gist are intelligible, it is much less difficult, much less tedious, to understand the play.  If not, one loses patience.  English changes over time.  Perhaps what is difficult language, even to the expert, would have been much closer to what the groundlings and everybody else spoke day to day.

 

I thought of this:  When my grandparents came to America in 1912, a scarlet fever epidemic broke out in steerage.  My grandmother went almost completely deaf.  Though she was a bright woman, spoke three languages, and read two more, she never learned English naturally.  She learned it from books and newspapers and dictionaries.  Her favorite authors were Trollope and Dickens, and she spoke like they wrote.  l remember her saying things, in an amazing accent, she never heard how English was supposed to be pronounced, like:  “If you were ever again to enter this abode with mud beflecked boots, it would be none other than I who would most severely chastise you.”  I think that is an accurate quote.  We were used to it, but my friends thought she was nuts.  She always thought that she was speaking perfectly good English that the person in the street would think quite natural and easy to understand.  

 

So it seems to me that if the groundlings heard what they thought was natural English, they would have been able to stand still and listen patiently for a longer period of time than if they thought that they were listening to arcane, “poetic” English.  It is one thing to listen to T. S. Eliot, another to listen to Walt Whitman.  

 

Michal B. Luskin

CFE: Shakespeare Quarterly

 

The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 23.0463  Monday, 20 November 2012

 

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

Date:         November 20, 2012 9:05:10 AM EST

Subject:     CFE: Shakespeare Quarterly

 

“Not Shakespeare”

 

Call for essays for a special issue of Shakespeare Quarterly

 

We are seeking essays on Elizabethan, Jacobean, and Caroline drama by theater-poets other than Shakespeare for a special issue of Shakespeare Quarterly entitled “Not Shakespeare,” edited by Lars Engle and David Schalkwyk, which will appear in summer 2014.  To be considered for this issue, all essays must be received by 1 September 2013.

 

Submission guidelines are available here, or contact This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

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