Dark Renaissance: The Dangerous Times and Fatal Genius of Shakespeare's Greatest Rival (book)

There needs to be a word for someone who knows a lot about the works of Shakespeare, but comes far short of a Shakespearean. Last week, Ian McKellen appeared on Stephen Colbert and delivered “The Strangers’ Case” speech from Sir Thomas More (c.1591-1593). That man, McKellen, is a Shakespearean. He lives and breathes the work, all the work, even work like Sir Thomas More, which isn’t actually Shakespeare.

I have, on occasion, referred to myself as a Shakespearean, but only as short-hand. I do know much more about Shakespeare than your average person, and probably more than you. I can deliver a few speeches by heart, and deliver them well, I think. But that only goes so far. I am Shakespeare-passing, Shakespeare-fluent, Bardophilic.

I am not a Bardolotist. I do not worship him. I am also not a Shakespeare fantasist, one who receives or creates bold theories about Shakespeare the man, and warmly keeps and shares them as a kind of truth. We know nothing about Shakespeare’s personality, or his personal decision-making processes, apart from that which is apparent: He lived, he married, he fathered, he acted, he wrote plays, he was financially successful in business, he died. That’s it.

Like a lot of the cursorily Shakespearean, I do not know early enough about his contemporaries. I just read Dark Renaissance: The Dangerous Times and Fatal Genius of Shakespeare's Greatest Rival, Stephen Greenblatt’s recent biography of Christopher Marlowe, which I was disappointed, though not surprised, to find that it includes not much more definitive information about its subject that one of the countless Shakespeare biographies.

I have stopped reading Shakespeare biographies altogether – no one knows anything about him and never will.

No, as in those other books, including Greenblatt’s own, the author finds a man (usually a man) who was in the same place and at the same time as Marlowe, and tells us an awful lot about them. He then infers many purely fictional things Marlowe may have done or experienced as a result of these theoretical associations.

Even worse. I did learn one thing for certain: That one portrait which is generally said to be of Christopher Marlowe? That isn’t even him. It was discovered at Cambridge in the 1950s and nearly discarded. It is unsigned and features no name, only the date and age of the sitter. This means it could be a portrait of any number of people, including Marlowe. But it is far more likely not to be him. However, I have seen this painting so many times, having been told that it is Marlowe, and so it has become him. But it’s not.

Marlowe has a fanciful reputation as the “bad boy” to Shakespeare’s married-with-children vibe. Born With Teeth by playwright Liz Duffy Adams (Dog Act) is a great recent addition to the SDU (Shakespeare Dramatic Universe™) depicting the writing relationship between the established Marlowe and the inexperienced Will (note: they were both born in 1564) collaborating on the plays that would become Henry VI parts one and two. Duffy plays upon the mythology of Marlowe – queer, brash, and probably a spy for the Queen. The great thing about Adams's play is how it suggests that our dearth of knowledge about Shakespeare may have been intentional; in brief, during a period of authoritarianism, the best way not to get murdered is never to share your thoughts.

Was Marlowe even queer, though? Greenblatt focuses his attention on three of Marlowe’s most familiar works; Tamburlaine, The Jew of Malta, Edward II, and Doctor Faustus, describing how each was terribly transgressive for its time. I have only ever seen Edward II (longer title: The Troublesome Reign and Lamentable Death of Edward the Second, King of England, with the Tragical Fall of Proud Mortimer) in a solo adaptation that I will describe to you over drinks some day. This play is held up as evidence of Marlowe’s sexual identity,

anonymous sitter, unknown artist
"ad 1585, of his own age 21"
Found: Corpus Christi College, Cambridge
(Seriously. It's not him.)

The play centers on the (married) monarch’s intimate, possible romantic relationship with Piers Gaveston, to the neglect of his royal responsibilities. However, depicting a homosexual relationship does not necessarily make for a gay-positive play. While the time, attention and gifts Edward lavishes upon Gaveston enrages members of the monarch’s inner circle, would they not have been as troubled had Gaveston been a woman? The king is portrayed as a lovesick fool, unworthy and incapable of maintaining the crown, in much the same way his descendant Edward VIII would be some six hundred years later, over a woman who was considered unacceptable as a King's consort.

It is true, centering a queer relationship must have been a sensation. But the play Edward II is as homophobic as The Taming of the Shrew is misogynist or The Merchant of Venice is antisemitic. And just as Katherina is gaslit and abused into docility, and as Shylock receives a forced conversion into Christianity, Edward is assassinated in a grotesque parody of sodomy. Not merely conquered, but humiliated.

I mean. It was a different time. By today’s standards Marlowe isn’t so much controversial as he is in bad taste. The lesson of Doctor Faustus is entirely conventional. A mortal man sells his soul to the devil in exchange for twenty-four years of receiving pretty much anything he wants. In the case of Faustus, that means learning everything there is to know, and at first that includes standing on far flung mountain tops to view the heavens, and flying through the skies – riding a motherfucking dragon – to examine all the world.

In the end, however, when there is nothing left to know, he is reduced to visiting Rome to slap the Pope and debasing himself by seducing Helen of Troy, which just isn’t as special as you think it might be when you know she may not have been that into you otherwise. The last hour of his life, before he is literally dragged to Hell, Faustus laments and tries to pray and regrets and despairs. How much more devout can a play get? He FA, he FO. The play may have been offensive to the censors, but I can’t imagine a single audience member who didn’t take in this drama and then go straight from the playhouse to the church.

DID YOU KNOW ..? Once Sir Walter Raleigh introduced tobacco to Britain, the English did not first use the verb "smoke" to describe the act of lighting the leaf and inhaling the smoke produced. They called it drinking. They drank tobacco.

Barenaked Ladies (band)

There was this interesting phenomenon in the mid 90s when Gen X so-called “alternative” acts were making this deep dive into our collective unconscious. This was all part and parcel with our generation rising into adulthood and reclaiming (and declaiming) our maimed childhoods.

Weezer’s "Blue" album (1995) includes nods to KISS and Kitty Pryde. Smashing Pumpkins' “1979” is a yearning paean to adolescence. Ben Folds Five reminded me that they’ve got my old ID and I’m all dressed up like The Cure.

Then there was the Canadian quintet Barenaked Ladies. We were first told that their name originated when founders Steven Page and Ed Robertson wanted to create songs that make you feel the way you did the first time you saw a bare naked lady.

I can’t remember where I heard that explanation, but I heard it at the same time I was exposed (yes) to their first LP Gordon, and I got it. It reflected a yearning which is, supposedly, devoid of malice, if only because when you are an adolescent, you are too small and weak to act upon it, to do any harm, you just want. And you want badly.

The problem is, we don’t remain small forever. And like a Stephen King character who transforms from a bullied, spotty nerd into a strong, attractive stud (see: Arnie Cunningham or Harold Lauder) the protagonists of Barenaked Ladies' songs treasure amusingly geeky and nostalgic touchstones. Listen to "Enid," or "Grade 9."

But – as in a Stephen King novel – this arrested emotional development can be a defense for wretched, toxic behavior. Yes, I fell into Gordon as though it had been written for me. From the first strains of "Hello City," which I experienced as a young man trudging through the snow-packed sidewalks of Cleveland, producing and promoting underground theater in a remote storefront, I was lost in these emotions. They get me! They get us! Our crowd is making the music, and it’s really good!

I was also aware of the abuse that is inherent in the lyrics. “I put my hands around your neck / you wrap your arms around me.” It wasn’t subtle, but you know. Guys feel like that sometimes, it’s just a song, you know?

Their second album, Maybe You Should Drive, was released in August 1994, and if I thought their first album was written for me, this one was as though they were stalking me. By that time in my life I was playing an unwinnable game, balancing my relationship with the woman who would soon be my ex-wife with the woman who would become my life partner and the mother of my children.

I love you … intermittently.

A is for asshole, I’m sorry.

She’s my alternative girlfriend.

Jane doesn't think a man could ever be faithful,
Jane isn't giving me a chance to be shameful.

I mean.

For a guy who is not much of a live music guy, I have seen this act more than most. At the Odeon in 1994, Jacobs Pavilion in 1995, at the Lakewood Civic Auditorium in 1996. The second single from their third album, I Was Born on a Pirate Ship (say it while holding your tongue) and released during the Night Kitchen years, was “The Old Apartment.” It’s an aggressive song about a man reminiscing about an abusive relationship – he is the abuser. The music video is incongruous, depicting a young couple trashing an apartment together. But the song is about a violent, abusive man missing his lost love and regretting his behavior. He doesn’t sound changed.

Why is this important? Why has this stuck with me? Because it's not merely cognitive dissonance, this melding of sweet melancholy, loopy humor, and aggressive tendencies. It's not honest, it's gaslighting, making excuses for poor behavior. I'm not a bad guy, look how silly I am, I'm not a bad guy, I said I'm not a bad guy didn't you hear me?? It's Incel Rock.  

"One Week" was fun, I remember it being used for the opening of 10 Things I Hate About You. But that was in 1998. By then I was thirty, and past this second childhood, it was time to get serious, to become a man. Ideally, a good man. That is for others to decide.