It was really intriguing reading such a well known piece of prose and realizing how little I actually knew about it, in its entirety. Reading “The Form of Solemnization of Matrimony,” provided so much more context to the “vows” that are traditionally recited at weddings. After reading it, I saw the recitation much less  vow’like, as I did previously, and more as contractual and instructional in nature. I was really surprised how much circumstantiation and justification that the prose provides, and how logistical/pragmatic the tone of the piece was despite its intention to be read aloud. More specifically, one element of “The Form of Solemnization of Matrimony” that I latched onto was the giving of the hands, despite the formality and pragmatism of the recitation. The giving of hands between a man and a woman seems like an intimate, emotional gesture but also stands as an example of  the two physically becoming one. This is an idea that I think is worthy of delving deeper in to, and makes me question if the text stands as supportive of unification of two under marriage, or supportive of two individuals agreeing upon a new state of identity.

In Robert Herrick’s poem, The Vine, the author recounts an erotic dream about his lover, Lucia. In the dream, his “mortal part” is “metamorphosed to a vine” that surrounds his lover. The vine reference is presumably phallic, and I was somewhat surprised by Herrick’s blatant sexual aggression. The repetition of the word “enthralled” to describe the vine’s effect on Lucia highlights this aggression, and she is described as a prisoner who “could not freely stir.” Although Herrick’s early tone is highly sexualized and almost disturbingly aggressive, his humor towards the end is a reminder that the poem is merely recounting a dream. His ability to poke fun at himself and his dream lightens the overall tone of the poem.

Hi Anais!

I really enjoyed reading your interpretation of Herrick’s poem. I read the poem as less focused on respecting Julia and more of creating an image of her from the male imagination. Particularly I noticed the metaphors of the cherry and the strawberry in cream. Both of these images suggest consumption. Thus, I read the poem with Julia, and her breasts in particular,  being an object for male enjoyment. I think that it is interesting to think about what I brought into my reading of the poem. I am certain that I read it expecting a certain amount of misogyny and I wonder if I would have had an interpretation closer to yours if I hadn’t begun with that bias.

Thanks!

Kacie

I rewatched She’s The Man recently (in my opinion—still p good, but doesn’t hold up THAT well?), and I noticed that when Viola cross-dresses, she takes up Sebastian’s name, as opposed to taking on the new name of Cesario. The plot of She’s The Man actually demands that she takes on Sebastian’s name (because she wants to take his place at boarding school so she can play men’s soccer), but it struck me as a difference that actually significantly changes how we think about Viola’s new identity when she presents as a man. In Twelfth Night, the change to Cesario is the invention of a completely new male identity. In She’s The Man, she’s not inventing a new male identity so much as performing the identity of her brother. In this way, She’s The Man seems to sort of sanitize or un-trouble the gender complications of  Twelfth Night (which makes sense because it’s mainstream Hollywood). But I think this also speaks to the lack of resolution in the final act of Twelfth Night, because Olivia’s marriage to Sebastian does not actually resolve the fact that she has been in love with Cesario. Cesario and Sebastian are twins, but they are not perfect substitutions for one another. They have two different names, but still two different identities.

One distinction I would make between comedy and the sonnets is the embodiment of performativity. As we (sorta) talked about in class, the sonnets are performances in that they can be thought of as dramatic monologues. But the performativity is more diffused—it exists either solely on the page, or in the aural experience of someone reading the poem out loud. An interesting thing happens there where the reader inherently and I think unintentionally takes up that performance—but that seems different to me than actually taking on a role for a play. For the comedies, the performance is an embodied performance. It is deliberately written to exist beyond the page. That doesn’t mean we should discount the performativity that exists only on the page—because there definitely are plays that are never performed, and perhaps never intended to be performed—but in the case of Shakespeare, I would choose to privilege the performance over the page.

Emma’s post raises the question of how Sir Toby and Maria’s coupling makes sense when other couplings necessitate an equal social status. I wonder how much of that has to do with Sir Toby’s gender, that perhaps marrying below one’s status as a woman is more problematic due to her limited agency in society. Especially for Olivia, who as a result of her father and brother’s death must fulfill both her role as a daughter and as the sole ruler of her family’s fortunes, marrying below her status would be especially problematic. Furthermore, because Sir Toby has relatively little power in the family’s fortunes, especially after Olivia marries, his actions could possibly be under far less scrutiny and therefore his marriage to Maria is less controversial.

Hi Natalie and Rachel,

I also think that Antonio is a particularly interesting character. As we spoke about in class, his function in the play is not immediately apparent. I really like the reading of class in making Antonio’s declarations of love less threatening. I also think that its worth noting that Antonio is one of the most straightforward characters and thus does not engage in the  multiple layered language of the upper class characters. His declarations can be taken at face value, and do not attempt to create Greenblatt’s “friction.” In this way, I wonder if was easier to take Antonio’s declarations as homosocial bonding as opposed to homosexual because his dialogue (at least as I see it) never functions as the foreplay that others’ dialogue sometimes does.

The moments we get to know Viola best occur when her double and single gender identities cause friction. She fumbles when speaking about love to Orsino, her object of desire, and states: “I am all the daughters of my father’s house, / And all the brothers too” (2.4.120-1). In attempting to cover up her previous statement, concerning her knowledge about female love, she thus invokes her doubled identity. Several scenes later, Viola invokes her identity again, to rebut Olivia’s love; Viola states: “I am not what I am” (3.1.138). Viola implies here that she is not a man, but a woman, and encompasses a single gender. The moments where Viola must speak for her identity reveal that it is shaped by both Duval’s notions of double and single gender identities, and thus illustrates Greenblatt’s argument that identity forms at the boundaries between categories.

Hey Emily,

I think your remark on authenticity and representation on the blog also connects to our discussion in class today about who gets to experience fulfilling love. Is authentic love that which is pursued, as Olivia pursues–though not the right lover? Is it encompassed in creative language, as Viola can express, rather than in the tired language that Orsino uses? Can it be simply happened upon, as Sebastian walks into the love plot and ends up with Olivia? Is there one kind of authentic love that can be derived from all of the intersecting love plots? Just as we  cannot quite know who everyone really is, we also cannot know the true nature of the love that drives the play.

Hi Natalie!

I was also struck by the use of borrowed language, but also how it often revealed itself as language slippage. More specifically the use of French and how miscommunication between two characters was represented throughout the play. I feel like the use of French is making a crack at the European aristocratic, and may be catering towards its audience member and their sense of humor. However I feel like this is more clearly communicated when watching the performance than when it sneaks its way into  moments in the written play. When two characters miscommunicate because of multiple definitions or different uses of the same word, it seems to o spark a long exchange between the two, and that they are unable to move on from it. It often leads to humour but I’m wondering what it’s saying now broadly about reading Shakespeare’s work and how we analyze it. Perhaps he is suggesting that even if you can’t reconcile that there is more than one way to read his writing style and word choice, appreciate that ambiguity.