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, I am 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 Ralegh 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.