King Lear, together with Hamlet, represents the zenith of Shakespeare's artistic achievement. As a result, the play appears to be beyond reproach or even analysis. The greatest artists establish their own benchmarks; they can only be evaluated in comparison to themselves. And since Shakespeare is a colossus among colossi, his masterpieces are doubly incalculable. Even Harold Bloom, who has an opinion on everything, contends that these two plays "baffle commentary"—though that doesn't prevent him from attempting. I myself have great difficulty even doing that. Hamlet is among my favorite literary works, one that I have read and watched numerous times, yet I struggle to think of a single thing to say about it.
Silence is perhaps the wisest and most appropriate course in such circumstances. But I will take a small risk and attempt to digest the indigestible, and write a little something about Lear.
This play begins with Lear dividing his kingdom among his daughters. From the very start, we are both drawn to and repelled by Lear. He is foolish, vain, egotistical, irritable, rash, and imperious. He is clearly unfit to govern a household, let alone a kingdom. The blatant flattery of Regan and Goneril, and the equally obvious sincerity of Cordelia, elicit the exact opposite response in Lear than they should. Such a poor judge of character, combined with such a short temper and a dogmatic dedication to his own impulses—as demonstrated by his disinheriting of Cordelia and his banishment of Kent—cannot be loved or respected.
However, Lear demands the viewer's love. He cannot simply be dismissed as a bumbling old man. He is a bumbling old man, to be sure, but he is also极具魅力. Every word he utters is charged with passion. He is histrionic, even hysterical; yet his wounded pride, his kingly dignity, is utterly convincing. He is every bit a king. Only a lifetime of power and command could produce a man so completely unable to control his impulses, and so royally disdainful of everything that opposes his will. Perhaps the most endearing quality of Lear is his directness. Those whom he loves, he loves without restraint; and unrestrained is his pain and disillusionment when his love is not reciprocated. There is nothing dispassionate about Lear; he completely lacks the ability to be calculating and shrewd. And this is both a weakness and a mark of nobility; it makes him vulnerable, but it also makes him loveable.
His foil in this is Edmund. Edmund is pure calculation. He feels nothing for anyone—not for his brother, nor his father, nor his two lovers. It is his complete lack of sentiment that enables him to shrewdly manipulate others, much like Iago does. Gloucester, Edgar, Goneril, and Regan all assume that Edmund would not betray them, since he seems to be bound to them by emotional ties, and they are all deceived. This description makes Edmund sound psychotic; and yet, for many, he is the most likable character in the play. It is such a relief when he appears on stage. His cool cynicism and dry wit provide a necessary respite from the ceaseless torrents and lashing anger of Lear. Indeed, I couldn't help but think that Edmund, so stealthy, so cunning, so self-controlled, would make a far better king than Lear ever did.
Aside from passion and placidity, another theme in this play is sanity and madness, wisdom and folly. The Fool, despite his name, is perhaps the wisest character in the play, constantly rebuking Lear for his mistakes. Although dressed like a jester, he lives like a sage, simply and apart from the intrigues of power. He bestows his love on the worthiest characters, Lear and Cordelia, and is the most loyal of friends and servants. Edgar, disguised as a madman, is hailed by Lear as a philosopher; and Edgar himself, upon witnessing Lear's descent into madness, notes that Lear's ravings have a strange kind of sense: "O matter and impertinency mixed! Reason in madness!" Meanwhile, all of Edmund's sober plans ultimately come to nothing. Is Shakespeare suggesting that true wisdom and reason cannot be expressed in ordinary language, but must take the form of poetic ravings or lewd jokes?
Few scenes in literature, if any, are as tragic as when Lear walks out with Cordelia's corpse in his arms. There is no glimmer of hope in this tragedy. He loses everything—and then dies. Audiences in previous eras thought that this was too harsh, and the play was often performed with a happy ending. We moderns have regained a taste for the bleak. Yet the play is still heartbreaking. Gloucester in particular arouses my sympathy. Fooled into betraying his loyal son, and betrayed in turn by his disloyal son, blinded for showing kindness to Lear, cast out as a broken man intent on ending his own life—it's agonizing to watch. Lear's story is even darker, for at least Gloucester dies of a happy shock. With Lear, we witness a noble and kingly soul, who loves and is loved by many, who is reduced to a babbling fool, who is stripped of everything he owned, even his senses, and who finally dies of heartbreak.
Well, there's my humble attempt at a review. At least now I can say that I've tried.

I love him, even more than Hamlet!

Although the translation was very difficult and the font was terrible, the play was extraordinarily remarkable. If I were to recommend only one work by Shakespeare from now on, it would definitely be this book

King Lear is a play that at first glance appears almost nihilistic due to its unrelenting tragedy. However, upon closer inspection, a thread of redemption can be seen woven throughout. This play is multi-layered, with historical, moral, tragic, and theological aspects.

The historical foundation of the play is based on the story of King Leir, a legendary king of the Britons. Shakespeare's version differs from the original in that Lear's story has a more tragic ending. Some critics believe there may have been a political agenda behind Shakespeare's choice, as King James at the time bore similarities to King Lear.

From a moral perspective, the play examines the sins of King Lear, his daughters, and Edmund, and shows how the consequences of these sins lead to the destruction of almost all the characters. It seems to illustrate the biblical truth that sin leads to death.

The Christian themes of redemption are also present, with Cordelia as a potential Christ-like figure. She is honest, loyal, self-sacrificing, and free from sin. Lear finds forgiveness and redemption in her, and even in her death, there are hints of her redemptive role. The play also explores the Christian paradox theme, which is central to the faith.

Overall, King Lear is a complex and multi-faceted work of art that offers many layers of interpretation. It challenges us to see beyond the surface and understand the deeper truths that it conveys. Whether we view it as a historical, moral, tragic, or theological play, it has much to offer and continues to be relevant today.

As we are young, how we wish that we would never see all this and never experience all this in our lives.

ما که جوانیم، کاش هرگز نه این‌همه ببینیم نه این‌همه عمر کنیم.

Youth is a precious time filled with dreams and hopes. We long for a world that is beautiful and free from all the hardships and troubles. However, reality often shows us a different picture. We encounter difficulties, face challenges, and sometimes feel disappointed. But perhaps it is through these experiences that we grow and learn. Maybe one day, when we look back on our youth, we will realize that those tough times have also made us stronger and more resilient. So, even though we may wish to avoid some of the things we see and experience, we should also embrace them as opportunities for growth and self-discovery.

I have a very high regard for William Shakespeare.

Although this is the first of his books that I have completed, I have had the opportunity to see on television the plays presented at The Globe, the restored theater on the site where the original stood, on the banks of the Thames. And I have also been able to watch the series The Hollow Crown, which with great talent was able to assemble a series of Shakespeare's plays about the kings who preceded Henry VII (the grandfather of his patron, Elizabeth I). In addition, I had already taken a liking to the first chapter of Hamlet and Macbeth, which I suspended due to an intensity that overwhelmed me.

The reading of this work, except for a few moments, was arduous and painful: the explosive and changing plot and the writing full of double negatives in the same paragraph sometimes made it difficult for me to understand what was happening.

I think there are several factors that contributed to this experience:

1. I believe that the theater is written to be seen and heard. Many plays manage to maintain quite a bit of quality in their written version, while others are not so lucky.

2. The translation and the dilemma regarding the modernization of the language. In the declamation of Shakespearean actors, their interpretive talent is able to overcome the problem of the old language and perfectly accompany the play; in the written form, this musicality is lost, and even more so when the translator does not have sufficient poetic talent; in this edition, it is clear that an attempt has been made to combine the archaic and modern language; I think with little success.

3. In relation to other works that I have been able to see or glimpse, I have some doubts whether this has been one of his more fortunate works: characters overwhelmed by their emotions, silent and unconditional heroes, bad conspirators. I did not think they had the psychological depth that Shakespeare has been able to give to his characters. And with an ending that I did not find very convincing.

It makes me a bit uncomfortable to make a judgment about the work of a great Master, and it is possible that I may be wrong in many aspects.

I hope to have better luck in my next reading of his work.

This was something that I read as an A-level set text in English Literature at the age of seventeen or so.

It's only many years later that it is slowly dawning on me just how shocking a play it is.

Not simply because of the ultra violence on and off stage (and for well over a hundred years theatre goers saw a version with a happy ending in which Cordelia wasn't hanged by the neck until dead).

But also because of the device of concurrent monologues with actors on stage not engaged in dialogue and the pre-Christian setting in the context of James I as supreme governor of a still virtually brand new Church of England.

Recently in hospital King Lear was much on my mind.

Not on account of daughters depriving me of my knights, but Lear's conviction towards the end, actually probably that of the doctor, that if only he could sleep his mind would be restored and all would be well haunted me too.

In fact, I found after the two nights in which I managed a good six hours, I did find my left arm mysteriously much improved.

Not that going on from this I would universally endorse old Bill Shakespeare's medical advice, but this time it worked well for me!

[Read in Spanish] -- [Reseña en español más abajo]

It's an interesting play, but in my opinion quite confusing. There are just too many events happening and an overwhelming number of characters. I firmly believe this play isn't renowned for no reason. I'm certain that there's something profound that I'm failing to grasp. I plan to reread it at a later time, hoping that in this way, I'll be able to understand it better.

I rate it with 3 stars instead of 2 because I found it interesting that Cordelia doesn't feel the need to explain or fake her love to her father through overly exaggerated scenes. In my humble view, it's not necessary to express love to someone by making a grand show. That's simply not to my taste.

On the other hand, it's difficult for me to comprehend the way Lear chose to distribute more land to his daughters. It's like saying, "Show me how much you love me, and then I'll give it to you." It's as if I don't tell my girlfriend that I love her every 2 hours, she'll break up with me. It just doesn't make much sense to me.

And, as in all the tragedies by the great Shakespeare, there's a significant amount of death and, of course, tragedy. I hope I can gain a better understanding and appreciation of it in the near future.

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Es una obra interesante, pero a mi parecer bastante confusa. Pasan demasiadas cosas y hay demasiados personajes. Estoy seguro de que esta obra no es famosa solo "porque sí". Estoy seguro de que me estoy perdiendo algo más profundo. Quiero releerlo en un momento más adelante, y quizás así pueda entenderlo y absorberlo mejor.

Le doy 3 estrellas (y no 2) porque encontré interesante el hecho de que Cordelia no necesita declarar o falsificar su amor al padre con escenas ultra exageradas, ya que, obviamente, no se necesita hacer un espectáculo con palabras y gestos bonitos para demostrar amor a alguien. Al menos, eso no me gusta en absoluto.

Por otro lado, me cuesta entender la forma en que Lear eligió para dar más tierras a sus hijas. Es como decir "muéstrame cuánto me amas para que pueda asegurarte la herencia". Es como si no le diga a mi novia que la amo cada 2 horas, ella terminará conmigo... no tiene mucho sentido.

Y, como en todas las tragedias del gran Shakespeare, hay mucha muerte y, obviamente, tragedia.

Espero entenderla y absorberla un poco más y mejor en un futuro cercano.

This is the very place where Shakespeare casts off his inhibitions. He leads us right up to the verge of the abyss and then unceremoniously kicks us over that edge. King Lear is by far the most ruinous of the Shakespeare tragedies. As the curtain descends, this play leaves the reader completely broken.

The play possesses a sort of primeval force that I struggle to put into words. The plot is fairly characteristic of Shakespeare, perhaps a touch more intricate than usual, blending elements drawn from legend and historical records. At the beginning, Lear is a narcissistic, domineering tyrant. His two elder daughters, Regan and Goneril, are a pair of immoral cougars, both of whom have a lust for Edmund, an equally amoral hyena. Their virtuous sister Cordelia behaves with such unwavering and seemingly senseless stubbornness that it almost appears as if she is not fully rational. Over in the Gloucester household, Edmund (the bastard hyena) is scheming against both his brother Edgar and his father. Lear's court is filled with obsequious sycophants. Only two people have the courage to speak truth to power, and one of them is dressed as a Fool. There is a menacing storm gathering on the heath.

Buckle up - it's going to be a rough ride.

The characters in “King Lear” pay a heavy price for their flaws. Gloucester is blinded so that he can see, but is denied any lasting happiness; after reconciling with Edgar, he passes away. Lear will be driven mad before he finally learns to empathize with the poor and the meek. We watch him return from the brink of madness only to discover that it is not sufficient. Before the curtain falls, Shakespeare presents us with what is arguably the most savage scene in his entire body of work.

Enter Lear with Cordelia (dead) in his arms –

Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone!
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so
That heavens vault should crack. She’s gone forever.

Even if, like me, you find Cordelia to be a saccharine, two-dimensional character*, this scene is heart-wrenching. Two pages later, after learning that his fool has hanged himself, Lear dies, his heart broken. Edgar, Kent, and Albany – literally the only characters still standing – are left to bury the dead and move on as best they can.

Why do I find this to be the most moving of Shakespeare's plays? (I've witnessed seven different stage productions**, and two on TV, and it only becomes more powerful with repeated viewings.) I can't really pinpoint it - it's a combination of various elements. The characters are idiosyncratic, fully developed, and their behavior is highly relatable, so the play is convincing at the level of the individual protagonists. But the fable-like nature of the opening scene also imparts a kind of universal quality to its message, and the themes explored within the play – abuse of power, family relationships, the responsibilities of parents and children, the breakdown of the natural order and its consequences, the human capacity for extreme cruelty – are just as relevant today as they were in Shakespeare's time. The skillfully constructed parallel plotting of the Lear and Gloucester arcs enhances the power of the story, and the breakdown in natural human behavior is further emphasized by the raw fury of the elements during the storm scenes, where Nature mirrors Lear's rage.

Ultimately, there is no escaping the unyielding bleakness of the play's message. In Gloucester's words – “as flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport”. The nihilism of “King Lear” has always unsettled audiences, and it was common during the 18th and 19th centuries to stage an altered version in which Cordelia was allowed to live, suggesting a more optimistic view of human nature. But, considering what the events of the last century have shown about mankind's brutal capacity for self-destruction, one has to believe that Shakespeare got it right the first time. As always.

*: the character that Cordelia most reminds me of is the slave-girl, Liu, in Puccini’s “Turandot”. Neither is developed in great depth, but each serves an important function in the way that their death brings about a crucial change in one of the other protagonists.

**: including one particularly memorable performance in Mönchen-Gladbach, Germany, where Regan and Goneril were dressed up like biker chicks and roared onto the stage riding what appeared to be Harleys.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!

You sulfurous and thought-executing fires...

Singe my white head!

The king, with Fool, on a Blasted Heath.

(King Lear's Madness)

Divine conviction would be an awful thing for a "white head", an "old fool" like me on my Blasted Heath, if it hadn't already fried my bones to the marrow!

And I don't mince my words. I call 'em as I saw 'em.

My review will follow in two stages:

First, my shocked-to-extreme-discomfort reading of Shakespeare's (for me) sibylistically-couched, convicting Lear at age 19, in 1969;

And second, the serving out of my own idiotically bipolar life sentence, from 1969 to 2023 (but not much beyond that, the Lord willing)!

Ready for it?

Then here goes...

***

"There's no fool like an old fool," had muttered my paternal grandmother Gladys, years before my Dad had driven us all up Vancouver Island, northwards, to see the awesome Douglas Fir tree preserve in 1980. The old fool was my Uncle Arthur, who had married a younger widow. We were to have lunch with Arthur and Alice. They would join us in our sightseeing. Granny, you had been right to worry, though the object of your angst shoulda been me. My uncle was in good hands. But, Gladys, thank heaven the benison of an early hiatus generously preserved you from my own extreme embarrassment and fall from grace. You see, by 1980, Granny, I was a psych ward vet. And I had read Lear, artlessly reclining in a red and blue plastic chaise longue, one gratuitously gorgeous summer day 11 months earlier. You had already gone to your reward. It was a prescient play that had stuck in my craw. For good reason. For soon after I was to fall into Lear’s Snake Pit.

***

That was a graceful way of putting my own majorly and ungraciously hellish fall from paradise, Granny. Now, Move over, Lucifer. Cold enough for you down here?

***

"If to be warmed, then I must freeze, and quake

In frigid purgatorial fires,

Of which the flame is Roses, and the smoke Briars."

The icy and freezing moods of the doctors, following my frigid hypodermic welcome on the fifth floor of the Royally Awful Hospital in my home town demanded I show them a little human warmth. Or so I thought. So I did. But then they all just cranked up the A/C! You see, they REALLY wanted me to follow "After Strange Gods" as T.S. Eliot said. Namely Baal or Mammon. And I, as forthrightly as I could muster, refused. ALL HELL then broke loose. Until I prayed. Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner... And, poof! I got married to my dream soulmate. The stagehands removed the old mise-en-scene, with - eureka! - a changeover to our modern pleasant split-level home in suburbia. The sudden Grace of Purgatory! Yet all was still not as it appeared. And what had happened to me? Well... Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less travelled by - And THAT had made All the Difference. Yes, a new road - upon which I now had to carefully learn Subtle Moral Discernment. And thus my current Purgatorial Adventures commenced - amid “an alien people clutching their own gods.” And I am glad of a NEW life - Far from the Madding Crowd: And Free from the Blasted Heath!

I am very happy that I am starting the book exhibition, and everything started from Veronica's room.

It is truly an exciting moment for me. The anticipation of sharing wonderful books with everyone fills me with joy.

Veronica's room holds a special significance as it is the starting point of this literary journey.

I can't wait to see the expressions on people's faces when they explore the various books on display.

This exhibition is not just about books; it is about creating a space where people can come together, share their love for reading, and discover new worlds within the pages.

I believe it will be a memorable event that will leave a lasting impression on all who attend.

This particular Shakespeare “reread” was an interesting experience. I found myself sitting in my dressing gown, completely engrossed as I watched Anthony Hopkins deliver his lines with great gusto for 2 hours. And all the while, I was enjoying a delicious plate of Spaghetti Bolognese. I’ve come to the conclusion that watching movie adaptations can count as a form of rereading, especially when the text is mostly unchanged. So there!

What’s the point of giving a star rating to a Shakespeare play anyway? It seems rather absurd. I might as well rate how much I like Maxwell’s equations (maybe a four) or Einstein’s theory of General Relativity (definitely a five). It’s a pointless exercise.

Really, all I want to say is that I think the line Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, and thou no breath at all? is one of the most powerfully moving sentences in the English language. I’m always amazed at how Shakespeare’s godless, and at times almost nihilistic, view of the world didn’t get him into more trouble. I suspect people just didn’t notice.

Also, take a look at these lines spoken by Lear to his daughter, Cordelia, as they are being led away to prison. They are simply beautiful:

\\n  “No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,
Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out;
And take upon's the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.”\\n

King Lear is a profound work that reflects the general tragedy of human suffering in the natural condition.

Tragedy here serves as a kind of mediation between suffering and nature. Every word in this play seems to hold a profound meaning, making the reading experience a bit torturous for me.

For instance, the recurring word "natural" has various interpretations. Lear views nature as a higher order, while Edmund sees it as an earthly human order. Gloucester associates nature with amoral astronomical divinity, and Edgar has a more moralist perspective. Lear believes it is natural to be loved by his daughters, but Regan and Goneril don't think it is natural or obligatory to love their father. Cordelia's stance is rather ambiguous and somewhat creepy to me. The Fool, a childlike figure, seems to represent a natural state of honesty, which is both loving and bitter.

Despite their different conceptions of "nature," all the characters experience tragic suffering.

Like Regan and Goneril, I find Edmund dangerously attractive. As an antithesis to Lear, he is so dispassionate, not only towards love but also towards his own death, that he appears somewhat sexy. I don't think he is passionate about power, but he does assume the role of a prime mover and strive for it. In the end, despite his Machiavellian human ambition and amoral treachery, he falls to the bottom of the wheel of Fortune.

The only reason I didn't give it five stars is that it is so abstract that I sometimes feel detached from it. If I had a more powerful brain, it would definitely be a 5.