User Profile

This is my favourite play and the one that taught me I could like plays. A sample of the text:

JACK.
You really love me, Gwendolen?

GWENDOLEN.
Passionately!

JACK.
Darling! You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.

GWENDOLEN.
My own Ernest!

JACK.
But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my name wasn’t Ernest?

GWENDOLEN.
But your name is Ernest.

JACK.
Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me then?

GWENDOLEN.
[Glibly.] Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.

JACK.
Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don’t much care about the name of Ernest . . . I don’t think the name suits me at all.

GWENDOLEN.
It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations.

JACK.
Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.

GWENDOLEN.
Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations . . . I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John. She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment’s solitude. The only really safe name is Ernest.

A sample of the text:

I let the anger and sorrow in. I learn to treat these dark emotions as honoured guests. I never invite them to stay, but as they pass through, I give them the best room in my house. These difficult friends are my barometer and my guide when all around me acts of violence and hate become normalised and mundane. After their stay, the intense company of these guests carves out a space in me, and I can feel the wind whirl in the opening, my strange new shape. Yet invariably, if I trust and wait, without force, without pressure, I feel a subtle shift begin. In the space where I feel the fullness of my most confronting emotions, love and joy begin to pour in. I become exhilarated by the sheer wonder of being alive, of the curious nature of each of our journeys, by the joy of being a human among so much wild beauty in this incredible and troubled world.

My favourite Shakespeare play because revenge is one of my favourite tropes. Here is a good performance of it: www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjG_Huf7tZw or search for Julius Caesar - John Gielgud - Charlton Heston - Shakespeare - 1970 - Remastered - 4K by Shakespeare Network on Youtube.

A sample of the text:

ANTONY.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,
For Brutus is an honourable man,
So are they all, all honourable men,
Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And sure he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me.
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

A sample of the text:

HAMLET.
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.

A sample of the text:
 

The woman was screaming at something further ahead. I followed her terrified gaze and saw a huge pit bull charging toward her from the other side of the road. The woman had two dogs of her own, small white poodles, and they were yelping and tangling their leashes around her ankles. She fumbled, trying to pick them up and move, but they were pulling against their collars, choking themselves with their necks at sharp angles, trying to escape. She was only metres from me, just on the footpath, but as the pit bull grew larger and closer to their tangled panic, I froze.

The pit bull darted across the road in front of me and I saw its huge jaw open, heard a loud bark emerge through its giant teeth, and I thought I should hit it with my car. Put your foot down! I screamed at myself, but I was frozen.

The pit bull passed in front of my car, leaping powerfully up onto the footpath. As it closed in on the fluffy poodles and their choking diamante collars, the pit bull screeched to a halt and bowed its head, and its stubby tail began wagging furiously. The woman was reeling, yanking the leashes away from this huge thing that was now nuzzling her pristine poodles. The pit bull was so excited it let out another bark and rolled onto its back and wiggled toward the poodles again. 

Another woman rushed onto the scene, apologising profusely, and in one motion she leaned down and swept the pit bull into her arms, cradling it like a baby with its belly up, and as its tail kept wagging it licked her face. ‘Sorry! He’s still—’ the pit bull’s owner was interrupted by a huge lick to her face ‘—a puppy!’ 

I drove on for a few minutes before the adrenalin subsided, then I pulled over and started crying. My face burned with the shame. After all those years I had just frozen, again. And I cried out again, thinking that if I hadn’t frozen I would have hit and killed that puppy because of its breed. Because someone else was afraid of it and because I had heard stories about ‘those kinds of dogs’.

A sample of the text:

‘The Trojan whore: is that what they’re calling you now?’ Hecabe asked, her mouth twisting in disdain. 

‘I would think so,’ Helen replied. ‘They’ve never been a very imaginative group of people, my husband’s soldiers. And Agamemnon’s men are certainly no better. So let’s say the answer to your question is yes.’ 

‘I thought Menelaus would be clamouring for your return,’ Hecabe said. ‘It seems impossible that he could want to spend another night apart from you. After all these years.’ 

‘I’m sure he will be able to wait until tomorrow. All he has ever wanted is to have Helen as his wife. He had her, he lost her, and now he has her again. My presence is scarcely required at all, so long as it cannot be said that I am with someone else.’ 

‘You expect sympathy for having a boorish husband?’ Hecabe snapped. ‘You?’ 

‘I, who destroy everything I touch, polluting and ruining with my very existence?’ Helen said, eyebrows arched in annoyance. ‘No, I expect no sympathy and nor do I want it. I was simply answering your question about Menelaus’ indifference.’

‘None of the Greeks seem to want you back,’ Hecabe said. 

‘Why would they?’ Helen replied. ‘They blame me for the war just like you do.’ 

‘Of course they blame you.’ Andromache spoke so quietly that Cassandra could barely hear her over the sound of the waves. ‘Everyone blames you, and Paris.’ 

‘At least you don’t make me the sole culprit,’ Helen said. Hector had loathed Paris, but he and Andromache had always been kind to their unexpected sister-in-law. Andromache shook her head. 

‘I do,’ Hecabe said. ‘I blame you. Paris is a . . .’ She paused. ‘Was an immoral fool. But you were a married woman. You should have refused him.’ 

‘Paris was a married man,’ Helen said. ‘Why does everyone always forget that?’

A sample of the text:

One Sunday, a month after I’d called her, my sister turned up to lecture Shiraha. 

She is generally a sweet, gentle person, but she was extremely tense as she demanded to come in. “I have to say something. It’s for your own good, Keiko,” she said. 

I told Shiraha he could wait outside, but he merely said, “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” apparently resolved to stay in the apartment. This was surprising, given how much he hated being raked over the coals. 

“My husband is looking after Yutaro. As well he should, from time to time,” she said as she came in the door. 

“I see. It’s a bit cramped in here, but make yourself at home.” 

It was the first time in ages I’d seen her without her son, and she looked as though she’d somehow mislaid something. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way over here. If you’d called me, I’d have gone to your apartment as usual.” 

“It’s okay. Today I wanted to take my time talking to you. I’m not disturbing you, am I?” She glanced around the room. “Oh, but what about the guy living with you? Is he out today? I hope I didn’t scare him off.” 

“What? No, he’s here.” 

“Oh! But where is he? I must say hello!” she said, jumping up. 

“Don’t worry about it. There’s really no need. Oh, but it’s about feeding time anyway.” I took some boiled potatoes and cabbage from the cooking pan and put them along with some rice into a washbasin I kept in the kitchen and took it to the bathroom. 

Shiraha was sitting on cushions he’d stuffed into the bathtub and fiddling with his smartphone. I held his feed out for him, and he took it. 

“The bathroom? Is he in the bath?” 

“Yes, it’s really cramped when we’re together in the room, so I’m keeping him in there.” My sister looked incredulous, so I explained further. “I mean, this apartment is really old, isn’t it? Shiraha says that taking a coin-pay shower is better than getting into such an old bath. He gives me small change to cover the cost of my shower and his feed. It’s a bit of a hassle, but it’s convenient having him here. Everyone’s really happy for me. They’re all congratulating me. They’ve all convinced themselves my new situation is great, and they’ve stopped poking their nose into my business. So he’s useful.” 

She looked down. Maybe this time she finally got it, now that I’d explained it carefully to her. 

“Oh, by the way, I bought some custard puddings that were past their sell date. Do you want one?” 

“I never imagined it was anything like this,” she said, her voice trembling. 

Surprised, I looked at her and saw she appeared to be crying. 

“What’s wrong? Oh, I’ll go get some tissues!” I said immediately, using Sugawara’s speech style. Then I stood up. 

“Will you ever be cured, Keiko ...?” She looked down, not even bothering to remonstrate with me. “I simply can’t take it anymore. How can we make you normal? How much longer must I put up with this?” 

“What? You’ve been putting up with me? If that’s the case, you needn’t have gone to all the trouble of coming to see me, surely?” I told her honestly. 

She stood up, tears pouring down her face. “Keiko, won’t you come to see a counselor with me? Please? Let’s get you help. It’s the only way.” 

“I went to see one when I was little, but it didn’t do any good, did it? And I don’t even know what it is I need to be cured of.” 

“Ever since you started working at the convenience store, you’ve gotten weirder and weirder. The way you talk, the way you yell out at home as if you were still in the store, and even your facial expressions are weird. I’m begging you. Please try to be normal!” She began crying even harder. 

“So, will I be cured if I leave the convenience store? Or am I better staying working there? And should I kick Shiraha out? Or am I better with him here? Look, I’ll do whatever you say. I don’t mind either way, so please just instruct me in specic terms.” 

“I don’t know anymore ...” 

She kept crying uncontrollably without responding to my request. Lost for something to do I took a custard pudding out of the refrigerator and ate it as I watched her sitting there sobbing. 

Just then there was the sound of the bathroom door opening. I turned in surprise and saw Shiraha standing there. 

“I’m so sorry. To tell you the truth, your sister and I just had a ght. I made a real embarrassing spectacle of myself, didn’t I? You must be really shocked.” 

I stared openmouthed at him. It wasn’t at all like him to be such a smooth talker. 

“The fact is that I’d connected with my ex-girlfriend on Facebook and we went out drinking together. Keiko was furious when she found out. She refused to let me sleep with her and shut me in the bathroom.” 

My sister stared at him for a while as if mulling over the meaning of what he was saying. Then she clutched hold of him and stood up, her face the picture of a believer who had just come across the priest in church. 

“So that’s what happened ... I see, so that’s it!” 

“And when I heard you were on your way up to the apartment, I thought I’d better keep out of the way. I didn’t want to be lectured to.” 

“Yes ... absolutely! When I heard from my sister that you’re just loafing around without a job, I was worried that she was being duped by some weirdo ... but now I hear you’re unfaithful too! That’s really inexcusable!” 

She looked as happy as happy can be as she started laying into him. 

So that was it: now that she thinks he’s “one of us” she can lecture him. She’s far happier thinking her sister is normal, even if she has a lot of problems, than she is having an abnormal sister for whom everything is fine. For her, normality—however messy—is far more comprehensible.