Other stories are banned just because they reveal a side of individuals that’s not particularly pretty. Cursing… yep, we do that. Violence, petty crimes, infidelity, other sexual peccadillos… yep, we do those, too. The best of human beings is no saint (exceptions exist, but not many in the grander scheme of things), and good literature will acknowledge that. I love a quote from the author’s note from his latest novel, Full Dark, No Stars: “The writer must acknowledge that even a serial killer can help an old lady across the street” (paraphrased). The opposite is true as well: even the best character does “bad” things (or at least not so admirable things). As a reader and a deeply flawed human being, I prefer to appreciate these characters’ reality rather than wish they showed an inhuman human being.

The last category of Banned Books fall under the umbrella of those banned for not being part of an individual or group’s political or religious agenda. Harry Potter banned because witchcraft is immoral? Never mind that it also shows loyalty and courage, and a strength of character that has made it a classic. Come on.

So, read a banned book this month. Think about it. Think about why the author has written what is on the page you’re reading. Think about why those particular words were chosen, because I guarantee you that there was a reason. In the end, you may decide that the author was wrong, and that’s fine–there are many books that personally I find to be a waste of time and the paper on which they’re printed. But I count myself lucky that I am able to make that decision for myself.

On another note, I’d like to extend a personal invitation for anyone reading to try their hand at reviewing for Courting the Classics. Our pool of reviewers has shrunk, so if you like this feature and would like to see it continue, we need YOU. If you’re interested, please contact me at whynot425@gmail.com, or tweet me at @Classicista.

We at Fictionista Workshop want to send out our sympathy and best wishes to all those hit by natural disasters this summer.

Oddly, it is Godfrey’s heart that brings Silas his greatest joy. Godfrey’s most rash decision was to marry a woman he didn’t love and have a child by her. He has striven to keep this from his father, and is endlessly being blackmailed by his younger brother. The wife is unloved now, for Godfrey’s heart has found another. She also has the misfortune of being an opium addict. A few months following the theft of the gold, the woman is bringing her toddler to town to force Godfrey to acknowledge them, pauses to drink a little opium, and collapses in the snow where she freezes to death. The toddler, with hair the color of spun gold, sees an open door and walks through it to the warmth of the hearth beyond. The door is being held open by none other than Silas who is suffering from one of his fits.

When Silas comes out of his trance he sees gold, and finds happiness. Godfrey tells no one that she is his child, and is elated because now that he is a widower he is free to marry the girl he really wants. Dunstan has disappeared. Silas raises the toddler, whom he names Eppie, as his own daughter, grateful for the occasional gifts from Godfrey who acts out of a sense of responsibility. For the first time, Silas finds the happiness that has eluded him all these years, by becoming a father.

As for the threat of the third loss, I invite you to read the book. The language is a little difficult for modern readers since it was written at a time when authors were paid by the word. Entire chapters are devoted to conversations that do nothing to drive the story forward. Still, the importance of community, family, tolerance and taking responsibility shine through. At the end you agree that nobody could be as happy as they are, for they have that singular gift that brings true joy: family.

Light is shed on the matter later, when Bendrix discovers that he is the reason for Sarah’s about-face: although neither he nor Sarah were exactly keepers of the faith, Sarah made a promise to God one day when a bomb fell on Bendrix’s house. He had gone downstairs just before the blast, and when, after the dust had settled, Sarah came downstairs and saw him lying unconscious, she assumed he was dead. She made a promise to God that, if he would bring Bendrix back to life, she would straighten up and return to her husband, though she would always truly love Bendrix.

When Bendrix learns that Sarah left him because of her love for him, he resolves to get her back, but it is too late. Moved by Sarah’s faith, which was so strong as to sever their relationship, Bendrix must finally admit that he, too, believes in God, although he is still angry at him.

Greene, a devout Catholic, takes an unusual look at faith in this work as not a matter of choice, but of compulsion. Both Sarah and Bendrix are drawn toward one another and to God by some seemingly-external force – whether in the bedroom or the confessional, the characters seem to have little control over their actions, or even what they believe. As a girl from the Bible Belt, this was a whole new way to look at one’s experience with God– sure, you might be mysteriously drawn down the aisle to get saved, but, as a general rule, we Protestants believe that it’s all downhill from there. Hey, at least we’re able to admit that remaining abstinent until marriage isn’t something anybody actually WANTS to do. Greene paints an entirely different picture: God is a real, undeniable force, and he is not always merciful. In a cruel twist at the book’s end, with Sarah out of their lives, Bendrix and Sarah’s husband are united by their misery.

As a person without much self control, this work really spoke to me. Of course, my personal lack of discipline has usually led to things like waking up on my own front porch with no memory of how I got there, rather than hating God, but being unable to deny him. That kind of divine punishment is what I would like to consider as a worst-case scenario reserved for adulterers, which means I’m safe, because I’m not married. But, whether we are religiously-bent, slaves to love, or, in my case, should really just stay away from tequila, we all have moments when we do things that we never intended to do. This is what makes The End of the Affair so compelling and accessible: it speaks to the parts of us which we are prone to fear and deny. Greene taps into those irrepressible emotions such as love, lust and jealousy, and reminds us that actions that result from them are often as far beyond our control as the emotions themselves. While trying to decide whether or not to read the book, its religious theme almost made me put it down. But, trust me: that would be a mistake. They never taught you about this kind of faith in Sunday School.

The Lucy we first meet is the quintessential young Englishwoman: pretty, unformed in opinion, and dutifully obedient to her family. She voices opinions which she knows she “should” have, while her honest thoughts seem to startle her. One of those thoughts is a quiet assurance that the Emersons are respectable men, though they may not hew to social rules. George Emerson is her opposite in some ways, as he has no fear of speaking out (politely, of course), questioning what lies behind those rules, and acting with assurance and honesty. The young people have an immediate spark, which flusters Lucy, horrifies Charlotte, and makes George quietly happy. A witnessed murder, a stolen kiss (in one of the swoonier passages of the story), and Lucy is rushed off to Rome.

We next encounter Lucy back home in Surrey as she is accepting a proposal of marriage to Cecil Vyze, a rich, idle, pompous young man. Through conversation and exposition, we learn that this pair met in Rome and travelled Italy in the same circles. Cecil has proposed twice before, and Lucy is under heavy motherly pressure to agree to marry. Our Lucy now is a bit wiser, a bit more jaded, and ready to acquiesce. Through a series of machinations and intercessions from several characters, the Emersons end up moving to Lucy’s town. What’s a girl to do? Follow her heart or her society?

In A Room with a View, Forster created a very cutting, very funny view of the society of Edwardian England. The rich (represented by Cecil and his mother) are ridiculous, the middle-classes (represented by the Honeychurches and their contemporaries) are stuffy and class-bound, and the working class (represented by the Emersons) hold the light of honesty. Allowed to feel what he feels and to think what he thinks, George is a man’s man, determined to love Lucy for who she is. There is a vigor and a masculinity that Cecil, with all his money, airs, and education, can’t hope to match. When George tells Lucy that he wants her to have her own thoughts when he holds her in his arms, we swoon. He and his father are in favor of treating women equally with men, for heaven’s sake! Though Cecil isn’t a bad man, he clearly has no interest in or concept of Lucy as a person, an individual. When we see into his thoughts of her, they are always of molding her or shaping her when they are not of her “Leonardoesque” perfection, thus placing her on a pedestal that no woman could possibly stay atop for long. Lucy battles her heart with her head, backed up by her mother and her society.

Though I won’t give away the ending, I will say this: while this is on the top a ‘love story’, what I see equally as strongly is an ode to familial love. Lucy is very close to her mother and brother, and their wishes and opinions are on her mind when she does anything. Cecil gives the same consideration to his mother’s opinion of Lucy, discussing with her whether Lucy can be brought into their society. George… *sigh* George is a model of devotion to old Mr. Emerson, taking him on a European tour, acting with tenderness and care to his father’s wishes, even moving him to the country (at the personal cost of a long train trip weekly). He speaks of his father with affection at all times. At the bottom, This story is about what we owe our families (and society) and what we owe ourselves. Forster is very funny, but also very clear-eyed, and he wants us to realize that the ‘view’ (which is used throughout the book to represent something to which the moneyed are entitled, and which we can read as what we do for society) of the outside world isn’t nearly as important as what we see (and show) within ourselves. I love this book, and hope I’ve made you want to read it as well!

You often hear the phrase, “At least (he, she,I) is/am reading something,” and while that’s true to a point, it’s not enough. Yes, illiteracy has passed him/her/you by, but you could be missing something that makes your interior life richer or your day easier. Classic stories didn’t get to be classics by accident: they often speak to the soul in a way that modern pulp fiction does not. Don’t get me wrong: my bookshelves aren’t covered with leatherbound tomes. I love a good story of any era (Janet Evanovich and Stephen King sit right beside Jane Austen and Shakespeare. And J.R. Ward *fans self*). The point isn’t to be a litsnob, or to look down on anyone. the point is to be a well-rounded reader, and to help each other along. “Something” is a start, but the reading road is longer and better than that. Happy travels!

Mama’s turn, now.

Rachel did a pretty good job of summarizing the story, so I’ll go straight to analysis. Romeo and Juliet is clearly a tragedy, perhaps Shakespeare’s most accessible tragedy and certainly one of his most popular plays. I remember first reading this is in junior high and being wrecked; so sad for both main characters and furious at the adults that put them in the position of even having to consider dying for their great love. I identified completely with Juliet, especially after seeing Zeffirelli’s film of the play (Romeo was hot).

Now? Well… things change between fourteen and forty three.

I still consider this a tragedy, but not Shakespeare’s best (You’d have to go to King Lear for that), and not for the same reasons. Romeo and Juliet today makes me sad for different reasons: first and most important is their youth. They are so damned young. Juliet was fourteen, and Romeo was likely around eighteen to twenty. That feeling of ‘all or nothing love’ is in full swing at that time–in fact, most emotions are ‘all or nothing’ for people at that stage of life. Shakespeare’s genius here is so much in his dialogue. He got that girl, that woman-child. Her flustered pleasure at Romeo’s wordplay when they meet at the ball, her girlish dreaminess as she thinks about Romeo on her balcony, her coy refusal to recognize the lark’s call the morning Romeo must leave for his banishment, her pain and shock at finding his body… put any of that in modern terms, and I can hear my daughter’s voice. Even in the language of Shakespeare’s time, all these speeches are very clear in meaning and emotion, and very effective. All show a person just maturing, but still given to flights of fancy and the unruly emotions of a child. I’d like to be able to say, “Well, but this is all just so extreme”… but that would be a lie. Children kill themselves (or try to) over a ‘love’ to this day.

Romeo and Juliet is also sad for me as a parent. I never saw this aspect as a youth, but Juliet’s parents aren’t the monsters I’d like them to have been. They, like all parents, want what will be best for their child, and at that time that meant an early marriage to a rich man. Lord Capulet went above and beyond in searching for a suitor for his daughter, but that did not mean that he would never have given a thought to Romeo or his daughter’s wishes had he been given a chance. Romeo and Juliet assume their coupling would lead to further bloodshed and family strife, but take this into consideration: when alerted by Tybalt to Romeo’s presence at the ball, Lord Capulet has nothing but praise for his great rival’s son (act i, scene iv). When Tybalt continues to threaten, he is sharply rebuked by his Lord and told to let Romeo alone. The bloodshed and strife that the young lovers feared only became inevitable when they tried to keep secrets (aided by the nurse, who is one of my favorite characters, and the priest, who I don’t much like at all).

Finally, I feel a bit of nostalgic sorrow because I’ve seen the passing of time. Teens can be passionate without perception, and Romeo and Juliet fit squarely in that mold. The friar who eventually marries them (and, to my mind, is the one most at fault here) is correct when he chides Romeo for so easily abandoning his prior obsession, Rosaline, and says, “Young men’s love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.” (act ii, scene iii) Because really… love? Romeo and Juliet had met only the night before, and knew nothing of who the other person really was. Nothing. Give them a month (and without the ‘assistance’ of do-gooder priests and potion wielding apothacaries, not to mention absentminded friends), and they might have discovered they had nothing in common, or Romeo might have moved on to yet another girl, or… regardless. They would have been alive, anyway. And that is the lesson of age, I guess. Romeo and Juliet thought no one could outshine their current love, they’d never be able to love again, and that the pain of their loss couldn’t be overcome. Age teaches us better.

And that’s why Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy.

The play follows an assortment of lovers as they are tangled into confusion and magic during the course of a night. Fairies of the woods, particularly the character Puck, are causing the mishaps amongst the mortal characters, Lysander, Hermia, Helena, and Demetrius and the ‘actor’ Nick Bottom. With a magic flower, the fairy Puck causes an upset amongst the couples when they awake from their rest. Lysander is also victim to this and falls under the illusion that he loves Helena, rather than Hermia. Titania, the queen of the fairies, is put under the influence of this magic. She wakes to find she is in love with Nick Bottom who has been turned into a man with a head of an ass. As the play progresses and the characters are taken away from this influence, all is set right and the happy couples are blessed to have a happily ever after. Yet again, it’s another illusion, because the only characters capable of obtaining an ‘ever after’ are the fairy queen and king since they are immortal. Even the most happy of marriages will end in death and will see their darker moments in life.

Shakespeare continues his play with the concept of illusions and dreams through the moonlight. The moon lends light during the night of this play while in the modern world it can also change the outlook of the land. It’s something I’ve always loved (proof of which is that ‘moon’ was one of my first words). In general, night-time can be confusing. People forget this because as a society we are used to street lamps and other forms of artificial light that allow us to see with little issue during the night. But do not forget, during Shakespeare’s time period there wasn’t light pollution. When the sun set, it was dark, and the world took on a completely different look. Often it was believed that darkness held dangers of the spiritual, physical, and mental sort. Add eerie moonlight to the mix and the world is filled with curiosity and magic. One can fall victim to illusion and this is made obvious with the mischief created during A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Shakespeare seemed to associate the supernatural with the night. Not only does Midsummer have such scenes at night, but so do some of his other plays such as Macbeth, The Tempest, and Hamlet. Whether it is a ghost appearing or a magical rite, things always happen at night. The faeries aren’t necessarily evil in Midsummer and they do try to right wrongs, however, their attachment to the night is even more prominent because they appear as the sun sets. As soon as the sun rises their magic seems to quiet. “Now, until the break of day, / Through this house each fairy stray.” (V.i.401-402) They fade back into the woods and magical illusion while the sun brightens the world and chases away shadow.

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumb’red here
While these visions did appear.
(V.i.423-426)

What I enjoy about Shakespeare is that you can interpret his plays in so many ways. There can be symbolism in the simplest of things but then again, maybe there isn’t; maybe it is all just our own illusions that we are creating. We cannot bring Shakespeare forward to ask him, “Did you intend to have your play interpreted in this way?” so we’re allowed to dream and analyze over what he has left us. This play might be filled with magic and faeries but I feel it reflects life’s moments of darkness, light, confusion, and reality. Maybe that’s why I enjoy it the most. It’s a hidden message amongst the ferns and woods of a heated near-summer night.

Erica Hopper is a prolific reader, reviewer, tutor, and freelance editor. She maintains a fantastic book review site, Soon Remembered Tales, that houses hundreds of thoughtful critiques of everything from Children’s literature to Shakespeare.

What happens next seems like a normal Shakespearean comedic romp, and on the surface it is. We have crossed lovers, reunited loved ones, foppish idiots, and tyrants getting their just desserts. In reality, though, it is so much more. This play is a perfection of many of Shakespeare’s earlier beloved characters. We see jealousy that would make Othello seem tame, intelligent fools better than Sir Falstaff or Poor Tom in King Lear, strong women who make the Merry Wives of Windsor or Katherine in The Taming of the Shrew appear demure, and a rush of young lovers into the wilderness that is found in many of Shakespeare’s plays. But the best is yet to come.

This is simply the most beautiful romance you will ever encounter, and I’m not talking about the young lovers. No, this romance is adult, mature and indicative of a couple that has had to go through years and years of anger, hurt and sorrow. Only they come out on the other side more in love, more committed, and more sure of the other than they ever could have been otherwise. Those we thought lost are reunited, physically and spiritually, through a power of redemption and forgiveness unlike any I have ever experienced before or since. When Leontes touches the statue of his dead wife and exclaims “She’s warm,” your heart will break. What begins with betrayal and jealousy becomes love and reconciliation so strong that it leaves me sobbing cathartically every time I watch it.

Do yourself a favor, go find somewhere it is being performed. Beg your local theater company to put it on if you must. Then gather everyone you care about and go see it. I plan on grabbing my girlfriends and driving hundreds of miles to the Utah Shakespeare Festival this fall just to see this one performance. Trust me, it’s worth it.

A secondary story is also in play, regarding the marriage of Bianca. While both original suitors are still in the running, their number is joined by Lucentio, another son of a rich man. Through a series of Sharkespearian ‘deceptions by costume’, Lucentio is presented as a tutor for Bianca, his man as Lucentio himself, and one of Petruchio’s men as another tutor. Thus, Lucentio is able to woo Bianca, while his man bargains with Baptista for her hand. Eventually, the jig is up when Lucentio’s father appears and masks must be put aside. The ‘play within a play’ ends as it began: at the home of Baptista. The three newly married men (Hortensio, one of the original suitors, has also wed) compare wives and their likelihood for future felicity.

The Taming of the Shrew is a comedy, and as such some latitude must be given for outlandish events and slightly unbelievable occurrences; still, the “taming” of Katerina remains troubling in our current time. Withholding food and sleep, and acts of escalating dominance (culminating in Petruchio forcing her to embrace an old, unfamiliar man–Lucentio’s father, Vincentio–while calling him a “fresh-faced maid”) in the name of love seem abusive in the least. Still, it is wise to look deeper. Shakespeare was a master of social commentary, and used this platform to look straight on at the institution of marriage as a social and financial contract. Gone is the starry-eyed adulation of Romeo and Juliet; Petruchio is a practical man, who acknowledges that money is the basis of marriage in his time. Though Lucentio eventually ends up with Bianca, it is firmly stated by Baptista early in the play that he will wed his daughter to the man who can best care for her; her wishes are expressly not consulted. Even after the church ceremony is conducted in secret, the marriage is not considered valid until blessed by both her father and his (and after the older gentlemen finalise monetary transactions).

Katerina, too, is practical. Though she is clearly a shrew, between the lines we are led to see that quality as rising from her treatment and her place in society. She is sharp-tongued, but we’re led to wonder how she couldn’t be so, as she is roundly ignored by the men around her until she jabs out at them. Her sister is clearly the favored child. No one in her household is able to match her wit, but she is not praised for that; she is soundly ostracized. Consider her position: women had no status other than that coming from their father or husband. If her father shunned her, she had nothing. If he kept Bianca from wedding on her account, she became more of a laughingstock and a burden, but if Bianca married first, it meant that Katerina was a lost cause. She couldn’t win. Then came Petruchio. Smart, witty, and most of all unafraid of her, he not only offered her a way out of her dilemma, he insisted upon it. Even if she never learned to love him (which we are clearly meant to believe she does, though that is a part I find hard to believe), she could retain a place in society as a wife, the highest point which a woman could obtain.

Petruchio is another story. If he really is as self serving and selfish as he initially appears, this is a very dark comedy, and one has to wonder if his acts really do come from cruelty. This is an instance, like that with Katerina, in which the truth seems to lie between the lines. Though he originally pursues Katerina for greedy reasons, he seems to enjoy their sparring once they meet, and it seems to me that a young man of property would have had other likely pairings in Padua had he wished not to marry Katerina. Though his methods are extreme, in his asides and talks with other characters when she is not around, it seems that he genuinely likes her and wants her to see the happiness possible to her if she will just bend. Many feminists choose to see it as it appears, and as such find this play to be incredibly mysogynistic, especially when Katerina appears to give in fully. Though I see their point, I think Shakespeare can seldom be taken at face value. This play is full of jabs at society and the roles played by rich and poor, master and servant, men and women. As such, I don’t think it is a stretch to see Katerina’s ultimate capitulation as a practical act by a practical woman, undertaken with good humor and clear sight. Otherwise, why would the old man, after being so embraced by Katerina, address them as, “Fair sir, and my merry mistress…” (Act III, Scene V)? At this point, the newly married couple is having fun. He no more expects her to honestly agree with his every word than she actually acted sincerely in her embrace of Vincentio. Can I see that sea change in her and in him happening as quickly as it does? Nope. But the implication is there for those that wish to see it. Comedy, remember?

On the whole, I really enjoyed this play, though the ‘taming’ did trouble me a bit. Still, I think Shakespeare achieved his aim of entertaining, all the while passing oh his commentary about love, marriage, and social roles. The final scene is telling: The three new bridegrooms are comparing their brides and how happy their futures might be. Petruchio scoffs at his contemporaries, challenging each to call his bride and see who answers. Lucentio, who married for “love” (or beauty, more likely; he never bothered to learn anything about his wife), calls Bianca. She refuses to come. Hortensio, who married for money and out of boredom, call his wife. She refuses to come. Petruchio, who we are led to believe married Katerina for both her money and her wit (and there is more than a hint of sexual attraction between the two), call his bride. She comes immediately, brings the other wives, and launches into a soliloquy about proper attention to a husband. As an aside, I think this was done purely tongue in cheek, and is often played that way. The lesson: love is not essential to a happy marriage, and money won’t guarantee a man’s felicity in marriage. It is through practicality and a meeting of the minds that happiness is achieved.

A fair lesson for us all.