Shakraspeare In Love
Some days you open the paper and just know you’re in for a treat. We can’t blame him for the headline, but everything else in Plath’s talent overshadowed by death lives up to that stellar billing. From the opening paragraph, in which we learn that “it’s blatantly obvious the word ‘ablution’ doesn’t come off the top of your head when writing a poem” – as opposed to the word ‘douche’, presumably – to the conclusion, in which we learn that our hero doesn’t know what the word ‘juvenilia’ means, this is pure patchouli-scented gold. I hope that if this column is also being used to make up an overdue term paper he does very, very well out of it.
It all builds up to this line, which has had myself and the office-mate convulsed with laughter for the last twenty minutes:
Suicide is clearly an idea that Plath gained a mastery over…
Yes, she certainly did. As opposed to Eugene O’Neill, who never quite got the hang of it.
Taken as a whole, it’s sacrilege. Or, perhaps, Shakralege. But that’s why we love it. Please, Brad Schmidt, if you’re reading this, make him do T.S. Eliot next.
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