Shakespeare Is Not That Cool Because I Said So

When I was in college, I took an entire course on Shakespeare, and obviously, being an English major, studied Shakespeare in most all of my classes. The man is clearly put on a pedestal by everyone who encounters his works. I put him on a pedestal myself at one point in time. I remember a certain girl in my Education classes (ahem. Lauren.) who hated Shakespeare. I never understood why—until now.

You see, when I "learned" about Shakespeare, I merely regurgitated information absorbed by a narrative fact-based class. I read the assigned plays, and I disgorged the information onto college-ruled lines of nonsense, but I never perceived (There's that word again. I love that word.) Shakespeare until I had the opportunity to teach it. It wasn't until night after night of Macbeth lines and sonnets and comedies and too many Nicholas Sparks conversations about books compared to movies (relevance will surface later) that I realized Shakespeare is shit.

Shakespeare functions in the same fashion as Microsoft Excel and Quicken. Simply download a template, fill in the cells, and you've got a play (if you can't see the Nicholas Sparks relevance by now. Wake up.) Shakespeare started early; his supposed first play (Henry VI) was milked for three parts. The template worked, why change it? The first Twilight book was a hit, why stop there? Shakespeare then went on to create plays from tweaked templates (If you need evidence for this, read a comedy or two. Don't expect a good laugh. His tragedies are much funnier than his comedies).

Nicholas Sparks is today's Shakespeare. Don't get me wrong, Shakespeare is way more talented in a language sense, but they both are/were after the same thing: money. Unlike Shakespeare, Nicholas Sparks doesn't even attempt to elaborately tweak his templates. He uses the same damn story every time only with a different setting and a different death victim—whatever makes the ladies cry.

Who can blame either of them? Money is, after all, essential. I can't say I wouldn't do it too, but I wouldn't expect anyone to put the "pussy on the pedestal" so-to-speak (sorry to those who are offended by the term "pussy." I don't get offended by much. No point.) I wouldn't expect to be worshiped in the world of literature for my cookie cutter chocolate chip, white chocolate macadamia nut, and peanut butter preacher cookie literature. Not at all. Give me the money, and I'm gone too. So why is it that every child in the world is expected to study Shakespeare and not Chuck Palahniuk? Coriolanus and not Pygmy? Don't say language because I can spit out a list of meritorious poets, novelists, essayists, and even pamphleteers with such notable language as well.

This brings me to my next point, which is that I like Shakespeare ("Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes"). I like him for that constant smirk hidden underneath of his pounds, shillings, and pence smile. I like him because he reminds me of Whitman (NOT in terms of beautiful poetry). Whitman hid his smirk on every notable coffee table in American, and I appreciate both of these fuckers for what they really are—an avarice-driven Schmuck and a superior, brilliant, god-like fag.