Lessons From Shakespeare
Macbeth! That great Shakespeare play was playing next to my hotel in New York City. Patrick Stewart was starring. As soon as I saw the posters, I knew I must see it. In town for a gig, my weekend was completely open. I had plenty of disposable time. I could say yes to this sudden opportunity.
Moments after I got the ticket, I rushed back to my room and Googled the text of the play, skimming it in ten minutes. Just enough to get a sense of the plot and some of the key lines. I also read the synopsis on Wikipedia and one of the reviews of this particular production. This is necessary with Shakespeare. I love Shakespeare, but I don’t much understand his language. A little preparation gives me a better chance to take in the action.
Reading Shakespeare is difficult for me. It’s difficult for anyone who doesn’t study it deeply. But to watch it performed is a different experience entirely. Powerful, engaging. It’s the difference between reading about a rose and delighting in its scent.
So I headed to the theater at the appointed time, not sure of the protocol (Is it like a movie? Do I just walk in? Am I supposed to wear nice clothes?). A mass of people surrounded the doors. I couldn’t tell if there was a line or if it was just a mob. I sidled through the crowd until I had a foothold inside the lobby, next to the merchandise counter. There I saw a friendly-faced girl behind the counter, wearing a “Something wicked this way comes” tee-shirt.
“This is my first time at the theatre in New York. I’m not sure how it works. Are we waiting for the doors to open?” I asked.
“Oh yeah.” She smiled. “It will be just a couple of minutes.”
They opened the doors and we funnelled to our seats. As I sit waiting for the play to start, I realized something, everyone here loves Shakespeare! A woman behind me was chatting with her husband about the finer points of Shakespearean dialogue. I wanted to turn around and say, “Excuse me, I’m going to join your conversation, because I need to learn more about this from someone passionate and educated like you.” Instead I sat still, not wanting to interrupt her with my awkward enthusiasm. Maybe during intermission I could corner her.
The play began, and the very first speech set the pattern for the whole performance. Complicated archaic phrases came at the me in globs and tumbles. It was like one of those booths where they blow dollar bills all over you and you try to grab as many as you can.
“Doubtful it stood; as two spent swimmers, that do cling together and choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald– worthy to be a rebel, for to that the multiplying villanies of nature do swarm upon him–from the western isles of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; and fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, show’d like a rebel’s whore: but all’s too weak: for brave Macbeth–well he deserves that name– disdaining fortune, with his brandish’d steel, which smoked with bloody execution, like valour’s minion carved out his passage till he faced the slave…”
What was that about swimmers? Gallowglasses? I think I got the gist: Macbeth did good.
My preparation helped, because all I needed to do was fit the words to the plot I already knew. Plus there are lots of cues in the props and movements of the actors: a bloody knife, held by someone covered in blood, suggests a recent murder. Stuff like that.
So there I was, in the dark, watching Lady Macbeth urge her husband to kill the King of Scotland, when it dawned on me: being in that audience trying to puzzle through Shakespeare felt just like learning computers, philosophy, history, or most things. It’s the same kind of experience. Bracing, confusing, and fun!
Consider that. I was struggling to understand the action. This struggle was not easy. Yet instead of feeling frustrated, I felt gleeful. Rarely have I been so aware of my own ignorance and yet so comfortable with it. Maybe it was the fact that I knew most people around me were also struggling with it. Maybe it was my sense of the actors passion for their work– they wanted me to get it, they were enunciating and using their whole bodies to help me understand. The theater transformed into an ideal classroom, I felt the audience pulling and the actors pushing and all of us puzzling it out together.
I felt good, not about ignorance itself, but at the glorious opportunity ignorance was giving me. My ignorance stood like a block of marble before me and it was yielding to my chisel. By the time I emerged from the theater, back into daylight, I would have sculpted, in some small way, a new mind.
So, this is the mystery of learning, for me. I’m not excited about learning techniques, although I do talk a little about them in my book. What matters more to me is the feeling of learning. What is it like to learn something important? How do I bottle that glorious feeling and release it again on command? What feelings prevent me from learning, and how do I overcome them?
One major theme here is that complexity can be intimidating, but it can also be motivating. We need to find those conditions that make it motivating. I’m working on that. Scribbling in my notebook, in the dark theater, while the sound and fury on the stage signifies everything.
Oooh. So now I can share this and it feels like the right place to.
My friend Laura is a season ticket holder to the Lyric Opera in Chicago. She’s brought me to the opera a couple of times.
The first time she invited me, I was intimidated and had lots of questions. Questions like what to wear, what to expect and all that type of stuff. She grew up listening and attending the opera so she was able to answer those questions. She pointed out the best way to prepare was to go to our town library and at least borrow the soundtrack ahead of time.
Late summer each year my town library prepares a section for the Lyric Opera of Chicago. They get the soundtracks, the books, and paraphernalia from past performances for each of the shows that are coming that season. It’s interesting to peruse what they put together.
What I learned to do was to get the soundtracks and listen. I’ve learned that listening to more than one version can be helpful. I try to tune my ears to see if there is a version that I enjoy more. I get familiar with the music.
I get the booklets and I read the opera in advance. The opera reads like a screenplay. I find the reading a bit difficult as I don’t find reading plays as easy to digest as say a novel. I prep because getting to go to a full scale performance at the Lyric is a huge treat.
I recall my first opera sitting in the box seats with a great view taking in the whole event. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman because it was something so foreign to me. I could tell other people in the box seats seem to know their way around. I was definitely the rookie.
One thing about feeling like a rookie though is how often I get to feel like a rookie. I’m learning stuff all the time so the learning cycle feels familiar and I’m more comfortable – not always – but frequently I am comfortable with feeling that I’m at the start of learning something. The older I get, the more I realize how little I know. And the more comfortable I am in being in that position.
My friend Laura said she watched me closely the first time she brought me because in her experience, people either really enjoy it or they discover it’s not for them. I was pretty engrossed.
The last time I went, I saw Carmen. I was ready. I knew what scene was coming up. I knew the storyline. Prepping in advance made the event more fun. I could relax and enjoy the music and mood without feeling lost. I didn’t have to read the subtitles to follow along.
I don’t prepare for other events like I do the opera. With a play, I might scan the story ahead but to take in the opera, based on what I’ve experienced, I feel like I need to be prepared. And actually I find the prep fun. It adds to the anticipation, it makes the event like a project and not just a couple of hours that pass quickly.
Chicago has its own Shakespeare Theatre. One of the great things about being close to a big city is how much there is to do. For a couple of years in a row, I’ve been meaning to head in and check out a Shakespeare performance. After reading your experience, I took a look at the Chicago Shakespeare theatre feeling a bit inspired. It seems there’s a performance of Macbeth this coming weekend. I tried to look at tickets for the Sunday show but I’m getting a 500 error when I try to load the page. It’s such a pain when software doesn’t work.
[James' Reply: Wow, what commonality. This reminds of the time, as a kid, when I was taken to see a filmed version of The Magic Flute, by Mozart. I fully expected to be bored, but actually found it engrossing. But whenever I see opera on TV it looks really boring.
I think I need to do that prep work you did in order to appreciate it.]
Comment by karen johnson — March 31, 2009 @ 6:29 pm
Nice post again, James. Enjoy reading this blog.
To me, the feeling of learning is similar to solving the jigsaw puzzle. The joy when we find the right piece that fits snugly to the one we already have. The ‘aha’ feeling of making the connection.
But when that connection doesn’t happen for a while, my mind gives up. That, I feel, is something that prevents me from learning some topics. One could argue that we can create the connection in our minds with almost everything in this world. But mind does see through apparently meaningless connections. So, it is not merely the connection, but the meannings I attach to those connections that help me learn. Still working on it.
[James' Reply: Yes, managing your motivation and energy is very important. I call that the "Sail Power Principle" in my book.
Can I ask you to try something? Try solving the problem in my latest post. When you feel like giving up (assuming that happens) post a comment about what you did to try to solve it. Then I'll comment it. I bet something good will come from what you do.]
Comment by Anoop — March 31, 2009 @ 11:10 pm
This really clicked for me why I absolutely loathe having certain instructors in my college classes. I want to learn, but some don’t teach – it’s like a bad play! Brilliant! I love Shakespeare, as well, and going to NY soon – hope to catch Patrick Stewart!
Comment by g33klady — April 3, 2009 @ 3:30 pm
Listening and observation (without necessarily understanding) is great preparation.
I remember one of my Swedish teachers once saying that the best thing to do if you couldn’t speak Swedish (or read it) was to just listen.
I think the idea here is to let the mind do its pattern and sound recognition learning without burdening it with meaning.
In the summer of 2007 I went to an open-air performance of Hamlet on Gotland (wonderful Swedish island in the Baltic). I did some prep by googling the storyline – I’d read the play many years ago but couldn’t remember many of the details.
So I went there as a rookie too in three senses. I hadn’t been to a performance in Swedish before, outdoor performances (what’s the protocol?) or archaic Swedish (translated and adapted from archaic English.)
Well, the performance started out badly (for me). The first 5 minutes of dialogue was given by two non-native Swedish actors, so now I had the extra complication of filtering through their accents. This is going to be a long night I remember thinking (Hamlet being the longest play.)
But, I sort of let myself go and not worry about all the details. I don’t understand every line of Shakespeare in English so why should I worry about every detail in Swedish? Then I could appreciate the performance and I got totally wrapped-up in it.
I do this when I’m reading books and journals – if I don’t need to understand every single phrase then I might not pore over it to interpret it unless I feel that phrase or paragraph is crucial for the whole.
The fact that I’ve read it has put it through my subconcious and I’ll let that part do it’s post-processing if/when it sees fit. This is the “oh I read something about that somewhere” moment that might trigger a re-assessment of the text.
BTW, I actually started looking at one of the puzzle posts and got trapped by this story! (hazards of google reader & emergent learning..)
[James' Reply: Thanks for sharing that story Simon. I've been to Sweden five times or so, and I still can't make any sense of Swedish beyond "Tack!"]
Comment by Simon Morley — March 19, 2010 @ 9:28 pm