November 2021: Prospero is truly a despicable character. I'm almost inclined to let that simple statement be my entire review. However, if I wish to include this review in my total count for Cannonball Read, it has to be at least 250 words. I haven't delved into this play for a decade. I've never witnessed it being performed either. Even though I've read it several times, it's never been my top favorite. The most remarkable aspects of it involve some of Shakespeare's most iconic lines. For instance, "Hell is empty and all the devils are here." This line truly sets a dark and foreboding tone. Another one is "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep." It beautifully captures the ephemeral nature of life.

"What's past is prologue." This phrase holds a certain wisdom and suggests that our past experiences shape our future. And who can forget "How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!" It expresses a sense of wonder and hope.

Also, every scene featuring Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo is pure gold. I failed to appreciate in high school just how hilarious those scenes were. They are filled with puns that went right over my head because I don't live in Jacobean England. The biggest conclusion I draw from this, as stated in the very beginning, is that Prospero is a terrible person, and Caliban deserved much better. So did Ariel and Miranda. Prospero is an interfering, sanctimonious, patriarchal, controlling, manipulative, cruel, and gaslighting monster. Part of the reason this play will never be my favorite is that I don't entirely believe Shakespeare intended for us to criticize Prospero or feel sympathy for Caliban. I think he presented it in a straightforward manner, and its ethics simply don't align with my own. Nevertheless, it's a short play that can be read in approximately an hour.

February 2011: I'm not certain why I gave this such a low rating (three stars) previously. I suppose the first two times I read it, I was being rather foolish.

**"The Tempest: A Tragicomedy in the Land of Phantoms"**

I set aside my relatively mild pursuit of the chronological sequence of Shakespeare's works - thanks to a kindred spirit - and arrived at "The Tempest" with a significant shift in time and style. The path that Shakespeare had begun in the early 1590s with rather exuberant and unfinished plays (such as "The Two Gentlemen of Verona"), relying on wordplay ("Love's Labour's Lost"), and based on slapstick (such as "The Comedy of Errors"), culminated around 1610 in "The Tempest", which is likely Shakespeare's last independent work and, in the opinion of many, one of his greatest masterpieces.

**About the Story**
"The Tempest" is about a man named Prospero who was formerly the Duke of Milan but now, after being usurped, is a sorcerer living on a desolate island with his daughter and two servants. By chance, the ship of his old enemies passes near the island. What better opportunity to settle scores and restore things to their former order? Prospero has a precise and calculated plan, not by using the force of the sword or even great wisdom, but by means of his staff and his book that can subdue all the forces of nature.
**About the Genre**
The first point is that "The Tempest" can hardly be placed alongside the earlier comedies I mentioned. Of course, there are still moments and characters that are humorous and carry the comic burden, leading the story to its intended destination - the "happy ending" that the audience desires. But "The Tempest" is overall serious, solemn, and brooding, like the dark clouds and waters that toy with the king and his companions on the ship in the first act. However, the colorful backdrop here is an important and older one than Shakespeare: "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and its magical world where anything was possible. The difference is that in "The Tempest", there is no news of the mischievous fairies who make childish mistakes and easily make amends. Here, a great injustice has occurred that must be righted. A god-like hand is at work that does not err, that can take life or give life and shape the plot as it wishes. ["The Tempest" is usually classified among Shakespeare's late romances; middle-aged men alongside young lovers, the presence of a colorful tragedy that, of course, has a happy ending and does not prevent comedy, the portrayal of pre-Christian gods in a secondary but important and influential way, and the elements of the supernatural and magic.]
**About Power**
Each of the characters around Prospero confronts his power in a different way. His daughter Miranda has complete faith in Prospero's kindness. [Of course, we cannot completely place the relationship between the two in the framework of the complete and ordinary authority of a father over his daughter in the seventeenth century.] Ariel, Prospero's servant in magic, is obedient, but cannot hide his longing for freedom from the numerous commands of his master. And finally, Caliban, the household servant in daily affairs, who with all his being wants to be freed from the evil of this master and enter the service of another master. It is not surprising, then, that one of the most important themes, both in the analysis of the text and in its interpretation and staging, is the treatment of power and authority. The discussion becomes even more complicated when Caliban is often depicted as a wild, dark (in skin or in spirit?), and postcolonial figure. When we place this alongside the formation of the first stable British colonial colony in North America in 1606, it becomes clear why the relationship between Prospero and Caliban has been the most problematic part of the play in the last four centuries. Is Prospero a kind and merciful father and ruler or a tyrannical colonizer who demands that everything go according to his will? [Shakespeare, of course, does not make any direct reference to colonialism and incidentally says that the story takes place in the Mediterranean. But this critical approach is not a modern reading of the ancient text, because the way of dealing with the natives has been a controversial topic since the beginning of the colonial era and the time of Shakespeare.]
**About Maturity**
"The Tempest" is a mature play in many ways, focusing its energy on a specific goal. First, the wordplay in it has been minimized, and it does not overly immerse the audience in a multiplicity of meanings. Second, it has a remarkable unity of time and place, and the plot lines have a greater coherence. [Compare it with "A Midsummer Night's Dream".] Third, in accordance with the gradual trend in Shakespeare's plays, the rhyming in it is very limited, and we are dealing with a kind of free verse. [Was Shakespeare also opposed to the confinement of old forms?]
**About Other Things**
The richness of "The Tempest" can also be seen in other aspects: numerous references to the classical texts of Virgil, Ovid, and Montaigne (a little familiarity with which makes reading more enjoyable), a different look at magic in the age of witch-hunts, its emphasis on the instability of the stage and its comparison with the real world, and finally, the importance of memory. Prospero is constantly remembering, and what he desires more than anything from those around him is their forgetfulness. We can understand this as part of the mechanism of his power or as an allegory of God's omniscience and omnipotence, but I like to summarize it in this famous sentence as the summary of the play: I forgive but I do not forget.

---------
Read from the Cambridge edition with countless footnotes and an introduction as long as the play itself.
And with thanks to my dear kindred spirits.

William Shakespeare, the renowned playwright, reached a point in his life where he desired a return to the simplicity and tranquility of his hometown, Stratford-upon-Avon. After over two decades of intense and fruitful writing for the stage, he was ready to leave the chaos of London behind. At nearly 50, an advanced age for the 17th century, his career was illustrious and unrivaled.

His last play, "The Tempest," begins with a fierce storm that strands a ship carrying noblemen on an unnamed island off the coast of Italy. The rest of the fleet is scattered, and the passengers and crews assume the worst. However, the island is not as deserted as they think. Prospero, a sorcerer, rules this land with his daughter Miranda and the deformed slave Caliban.

Prospero, who can be seen as a representation of Shakespeare himself, has learned black magic from mysterious books. He was once the Duke of Milan but was overthrown by his treacherous brother Antonio with the help of the equally wicked King of Naples Alonso. Now, both Alonso and Antonio are shipwrecked on the island, along with Ferdinand, the King's son. Miranda, who has only ever seen two men in her life, falls in love with Ferdinand at first sight.

As the story unfolds, plots for power emerge, but Shakespeare, like Prospero, ultimately desires peace and tranquility. He wants to enjoy his remaining days in peace. The author believes that, in the meantime, people should be kind to one another, a message that is powerfully conveyed through Shakespeare's works. His genius is truly unparalleled.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

Six years ago, I embarked on a journey to read through Shakespeare’s complete plays. I mostly experienced them as audiobooks, hoping to get as close to the theater experience as possible. At that time, The Tempest left me unimpressed. Given that it was not only Shakespeare but one of his most renowned plays, I refrained from giving it a star ranking, as I felt no ranking was better than a low one.

Six years later, I am revisiting this famous play. Honestly, I still don't have a deep affection for it. I suspect that the very aspects that make it a favorite among Shakespeare scholars are the cause of my antipathy.

The Tempest is widely regarded as Shakespeare's summation of his life's work - referencing his previous plays, revealing his writer's techniques, and bidding farewell to it all. In modern terms, it is filled with Shakespearean Easter eggs. While this makes it a treasure trove for enthusiasts to study, it poses challenges for actual performance.

I have seen this play once and now listened to two different full cast audio performances (reading along with the text the second time). It is so crowded with characters and action that, when experiencing it as a performance, it is difficult to follow the action with comprehension. There are too many characters, the main characters are either underdeveloped or unlikable (Prospero is a rather unpleasant character whom I have never warmed to), the clowns are subpar (some of the weakest in Shakespeare), and the plot lacks the focus and drive of Shakespeare's best works. I believe that all, or at least most, of these issues can be attributed to the play being used as a clever summation rather than being centered on a unique story.

The Tempest does have some redeeming qualities. As already mentioned, it is cleverly crafted as Shakespeare's summation of his work and an implicit farewell. Beyond that, it contains many of Shakespeare's most brilliant lines, flashes of genius amid the overly loud and chaotic thunder of this play. However, I have yet to experience a production that can focus that lightning so that it overpowers the din of its confusing thunder, and I don't think it's entirely the fault of the actors.

The words seem to paint a vivid and somewhat melancholy picture. "As I said,

they are each a spirit,

and all melted and mingled with the air,

that thin air.

Just like the texture of these dreams that cannot be touched by hand,

the peaks of the cloud-covered constellations,

the magnificent palaces,

the great temples,

even this lofty earth

and whatever is on it will one day melt;

Just like this illusory show that just flew away,

not even a wisp of smoke will remain after it."

It makes one think about the transient nature of things, how everything that seems so grand and permanent can eventually disappear. The imagery of the spirits melting into the air and the dreams having an untouchable texture gives a sense of the ephemeral. The mention of the great structures like palaces and temples also emphasizes how even the most magnificent creations of man are not immune to the passage of time. It's a thought-provoking piece that invites us to reflect on the impermanence of life and all that we hold dear.

The Tempest is a captivating romance that delves into a plethora of themes. It explores the realms of magic, love, and marriage, while also presenting intricate plots centered around the acquisition or restoration of political power. Additionally, it touches upon the discovery of new lands and the complex relationship between nature and civilization.

The famous lines "Hell is empty and all the devils are here" and "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep" add a touch of depth and mystery to the play.

The main conflict in The Tempest is political in nature. A duke named Prospero desires redress against his brother and a king who have conspired to usurp his throne.

Parallelism is a prominent feature in the play. Antonio and Sebastian's plot to obtain the kingship of Naples by murdering Alonso in his sleep mirrors Caliban and Stephano's plan to seize the kingship of the island by killing Prospero as he slumbers. These plots also parallel the backdrop of the play, where Antonio and Alonso schemed to deprive Prospero of his dukedom.

As we peruse the pages of this play, it becomes evident that Shakespeare was influenced by the reign in which he lived, where political conflicts were often resolved through marriage. Prospero, the rightful duke of Milan, devises a plan to marry his daughter to the heir of the throne in an attempt to regain his stolen position.

The "aside" parts in the play introduce dramatic irony, as the audience is privy to information that the other characters are unaware of.

I have a profound love for this play as it has made me reflect on numerous aspects of life, such as dreams and fate.

There is no doubt that Shakespeare is the only dramatist capable of touching one's heart and soul in such a profound manner.

Since I was engrossed in reading John Banville's Ghosts and noticed that Banville was using Shakespeare's The Tempest as a sort of lens to view his own tale, and being strongly influenced by this Shakespearean atmosphere, I made up my mind to listen to this particular play. It is one of his later works, a play that I haven't read or seen for a great many years, yet one that I have always held a deep affection for.

The play and the novel both deal with profound themes such as vengeance and forgiveness, art and imagination. The Tempest is a tragicomic romance, sometimes associated with A Midsummer’s Night Dream due to all of its fantasy, mythical, and classical elements. It is also sometimes regarded as Shakespeare's farewell to the theatre, being one of his last and one of his more lyrical plays.

The Tempest, written between 1610 and 1611, is set on a secluded island. On this island, Prospero, a wizard, resides with his daughter Miranda, and his two servants: Caliban, a wild and monstrous figure, and Ariel, an ethereal spirit. This isolation provides the perfect opportunity for Prospero (and perhaps Shakespeare himself) to engage in deep reflections about his life and work, his joys and regrets.

I won't offer a detailed summary of the plot. However, I can say that it is filled with flights of lyrical fancy and concludes with Prospero's renunciation of his own long-held engagement with imagination and art.

But in certain parts of the play, there are beautiful acknowledgments of fancy: "How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in it!" and "Now I will believe that there are unicorns...".

At the same time, there are also torments: "Hell is empty and all the devils are here." and "This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine."

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."

So, the question arises: is what we have witnessed on the stage and experienced in life "real"? Story, time, memory, and dreams are all intertwined: "What's past is prologue."

And for us, centuries later, as his plays and all the literature and life we have encountered continue to live on: "So. Lie there, my art."

I first saw this play more than fifty years ago in Stratford, Ontario, at the Festival Theatre. I can definitely relate to it more deeply than ever before in my later years.

It was extremely tiring and simple.

It didn't have the depth of those famous shows at all, and the entertainment was not interesting either.

It seemed as if all the interesting events of the story had taken place before the start of the show and behind the scenes, and we were only reading the uninteresting final part.

We expected more excitement and surprises from this show, but unfortunately, it failed to meet our expectations.

The lack of depth and engaging content made it a rather forgettable experience.

Perhaps the creators could have put more effort into developing the plot and characters to make it more captivating for the audience.

Overall, it was a disappointment and we hope for better shows in the future.

This is just so incredibly dreamy!

I don't pay any attention to what anyone might say.

All I know is that I have this intense desire to see it live.

<3

In 2024, I have a strong need to reread and experience it all over again.

The thought of seeing it live makes me feel so excited.

It would be absolutely cunty!

I can just imagine the atmosphere, the energy, and the pure magic that would unfold right before my eyes.

It's something that I've been longing for, and I'm determined to make it happen.

No matter what obstacles might come my way, I won't let anything stop me from fulfilling this dream.

Seeing it live would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I would cherish forever.

“The Tempest” is the final work written by William Shakespeare. It premiered in 1611, five years before he passed away at the age of 52. I only have four of his books, namely “Macbeth” (my favorite), “Hamlet”, “King Lear”, and this one. They are in my library precisely because of the types of themes they touch upon. His comedies don't attract me much, and perhaps I would only read “A Midsummer Night's Dream” or “Othello”, but nothing more. Besides this, it is obvious that I am full of praise for such a literary genius.

This work contains all the elements of the fantastic tale that so many authors wrote centuries after him, as it has intrigue, conspiracies, betrayals, witchcraft, and humor. I love the character of Prospero. He reminds me of Dr. Strange from the Avengers with his powers as a sorcerer, capable of summoning spirits (like Ariel) and manipulating the reality of other characters at will. Moreover, I feel identified with him on a personal level. What happens to him as soon as the story begins, I also experienced.

In the middle, a series of picturesque and strange characters parade by, such as Trinculo, Caliban, and Stefano, and of course, the villains like Antonio, Alonso, and Sebastian appear. From this book emerge some of the most beautiful phrases of Shakespeare, such as “Hell is empty and all the devils are here!” and “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” And from a dialogue of the character Miranda, the phrase “Brave new world” emerges, from which Aldous Huxley takes the title of his book known in Spanish as “Un mundo feliz”.

In short, “The Tempest” is a very pleasant work of Shakespeare, who can never be rated below five stars.

“¡El Infierno está vacío y todos los demonios están aquí!”

Prospero, the legitimate king of Milan, was unjustly overthrown by his brother Alonso. He was cast adrift on the open sea along with his young daughter, Miranda. Alonso had expected them to perish, but by some stroke of fortune or divine providence, they were washed ashore on a distant and uninhabited island. The only inhabitants they found were the recently deceased witch Sycorax, her son Caliban (described as "monstrous" but without specific details), and an "airy spirit" named Ariel who had been trapped in a cloven pine by Sycorax for refusing to obey her.

Prospero, being an accomplished magician himself, used his powers to free Ariel. In gratitude, Ariel happily served him. Caliban also did Prospero's bidding, but he resented it. He had once tried to rape Miranda, which led Prospero to treat him harshly.

Life continued among these four and the other spirits occasionally summoned by Prospero. Many years after their arrival on the island, another shipwreck occurred. The titular "Tempest" was raised by Prospero, and when the survivors came ashore, Ariel confused them, making them believe they were the only ones left. Among the survivors were Alonso the Usurper and his son Ferdinand, who was of marriageable age. Miranda had also just reached nubility, and an immediate spark flew between the prince and the isolated girl, who turned out to be his first cousin.

Meanwhile, Caliban, still nursing his wounds, encountered two drunken fools, Stephano and Trinculo. He ingratiated himself to them and convinced them to help him overthrow Prospero. As always, Shakespeare's play is full of evocative phrases that can be applied in various contexts. It seems to be inspired by both explorers' tales of the Western Hemisphere and ancient traditions of weird sea adventures. The play adheres to the familiar world of monarchy and conquest while hinting at a "brave new world" where these constructs might be more fluid.

Even on the surface level, it is a visually rich story that has influenced countless later works. The whole episode on Ramandu's Island in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" borrows heavily from it. I also wonder if the characterization of Luke Skywalker in the Star Wars sequel trilogy was inspired by Prospero. The play intrigues on multiple levels and is a great example of Shakespeare's powers, with more at stake than some of his other comedies but happier and easier to understand than some of his tragedies. I'm very glad I read it.

The tempest that gives this Shakespeare play its name – the one that drives a sailing ship onto the shores of an uncharted Mediterranean island – has no connection to warming ocean waters, a low-pressure tropical area, or any sort of wind shear. Instead, this storm is the result of an aggrieved wizard's magic. The Tempest, Shakespeare's last completed play, showcases the Bard's application of his artistry to a new kind of drama, perhaps as he looks ahead to the end of his own career.

By the time Shakespeare wrote The Tempest, significant changes had occurred in his life and in that of his theatre company. The death of Queen Elizabeth I in 1603 and the accession of King James I meant that Shakespeare's acting company, formerly the Lord Chamberlain's Men, was now the King's Men. This change, in turn, provided Shakespeare and his colleagues with more money and resources for their theatrical productions. Just imagine the excitement in modern-day Hollywood when a film producer says, "Cost is no object here, spend what you need to spend," and you can understand how pleased Shakespeare and his colleagues were with these welcome developments.

It was also a period when audiences were seeking a new type of drama. In Elizabethan times, the expectations for attending a play were quite straightforward. If you went to see a play titled The Comedy of Errors, The Tragedy of Hamlet, or The History of King Henry V, you had a good idea of what kind of play you were going to watch and could anticipate the dramatic conventions that your theatre experience would involve. It was similar to how a moviegoer today knows much of what to expect in terms of cinematic conventions when choosing whether to watch Alien: Romulus, Horizon: An American Saga, Top Gun: Maverick, or Anyone but You.

However, by 1611, audience expectations had changed. Theatre audiences no longer wanted plays that could be easily categorized into one genre or another. Instead, they desired a sort of mash-up that might combine elements of comedy and tragedy, incorporate historical allusions, and set the whole thing in a dreamy, otherworldly setting. I've seen these plays referred to as "tragicomedies," but I prefer the term "romances." Among the romances that Shakespeare wrote towards the end of his career, The Tempest is the best-known, most highly regarded, and often the most controversial. So, as the sprite Ariel says at one point, "Come unto these yellow sands" of a mysterious island and experience William Shakespeare's The Tempest.

The Tempest begins in medias res with, not surprisingly, a tempest – a fierce Mediterranean sea storm that overwhelms a sailing ship on its way from Tunis back to Italy. We learn little about the ship or its passengers until Act I, scene ii, when we journey into "the dark backward and abysm of time" with the magician Prospero and his daughter Miranda, two inhabitants of the desert island that the ship has been driven onto.

From Prospero, we then learn a great deal about this ship and why he used his magical powers to drive it onto his island. It turns out that the ship's manifest includes Alonso, King of Naples, who was an enemy of Prospero when he was Duke of Milan. Prospero's brother Antonio – one of the last in a long line of bad Shakespearean brothers that includes the title character from Richard III, Duke Frederick and Oliver de Boys from As You Like It, and Edmund from King Lear – conspired with King Alonso to overthrow Prospero, and their scheme was successful. Prospero and Miranda were taken out of Milan and set adrift in a leaky vessel, through which they reached the island.

Yet Prospero is not entirely helpless in this situation. He tells Miranda that, out of all the Milanese advisers, one, an older man named Gonzalo, remained loyal. He could not openly oppose Antonio's coup d'état, but, Prospero says, "Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me/From mine own library with volumes that/I prize above my dukedom." Gonzalo has already made a positive impression on the reader as a man of even temper. During the shipwreck, when everyone around him seemed to be panicking, Gonzalo remained calm, saying of the ship's singularly rude and profane boatswain that "Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows." (In other words, "We have reason to hope that we won't drown in this storm, because this man is clearly destined to die by hanging.") Now, Gonzalo emerges as a particularly important benefactor to Prospero.

The reason is that Prospero's books are not just a fine all-purpose library with which to pass the time during one's island exile as best one can. They are books of magical spells, and Prospero has used one of those spells to force this ship full of his enemies onto his island, to do with them as he pleases.

And Prospero and Miranda are not alone on their little island. There are two other inhabitants, both of whom, with Prospero's magic, take the play out of the realm of the realistic. The first, Ariel, is an "airy spirit" whom Prospero freed from tormenting imprisonment by the witch Sycorax, who once ruled the island. Since then, Ariel has served Prospero, although he longs for his freedom.

The other inhabitant of the island is Sycorax's son Caliban, described in the list of dramatis personae as "a savage and deformed slave." Caliban serves Prospero but resents his bondage, stating that "This island's mine by Sycorax, my mother,/Which thou tak'st from me." In turn, Prospero insists that he treated Caliban "with humane care…till thou didst seek to violate/The honour of my child." Caliban gleefully acknowledges the truth of Prospero's charge that he tried to rape Miranda: "O ho, O ho! Would't had been done!/Thou didst prevent me. I had peopled else/This isle with Calibans." Prospero insists that he has brought Caliban the gifts of language and civilization, but Caliban is unmoved: "You taught me language, and my profit on't/Is, I know how to curse."

Ferdinand, the young son of King Alonso, has been separated from the rest of the grounded ship's company. Ariel draws Ferdinand toward Prospero's and Miranda's home on the island, on the way regaling him with false information regarding the supposed drowning of his father, the very much alive King Alonso:

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange. [I.ii.482-90]

The application of such rich figurative and poetic language to such grim subject matter – and in the context of a good young man being tormented with false visions of a beloved father's death – is one of the most striking moments in all of Shakespeare's oeuvre.

Guided forward by Ariel, Ferdinand encounters Miranda, and the two fall in love at first sight. When Prospero pretends to find Ferdinand untrustworthy, Miranda objects, saying that she finds Ferdinand attractive and adding that "There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple./If the ill spirit have so fair a house,/Good things will strive to dwell within't." Prospero approves of the prospective match between his daughter and Ferdinand – indeed, he has arranged it – but he still plans to impose tests and obstacles for the young couple to ensure that their love will be true and lasting.

Meanwhile, in another part of the island, various members of the shipwrecked party are revealing their character – or lack thereof. Gonzalo, with kind intent, continues trying to comfort King Alonso, who is convinced that his son Ferdinand is dead, just as Ferdinand is convinced that his father Alonso is dead. But Alonso's brother Sebastian sarcastically makes fun of Gonzalo's efforts, noting that King Alonso "receives comfort like cold porridge."

Yet Sebastian – another bad Shakespearean brother – has villainous qualities that go beyond sarcasm and lack of compassion. He responds enthusiastically to Antonio's suggestion that "What's past is prologue" – or, in other words, that the marriage of King Alonso's daughter Claribel to a Tunisian prince, combined with the (supposed) death of Alonso's son Ferdinand, opens up the chance for Antonio and Sebastian to kill Alonso and bestow the Neapolitan throne upon Sebastian. When Sebastian expresses doubt over whether the Neapolitan court will accept him as King of Naples, Antonio assures him that "They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk." [II.i.328]

As is often the case in Shakespearean comedies, the intricate political intrigues among the "noble" characters are complemented, in The Tempest, by low-comedy doings among the "common" characters. Trinculo, jester to King Alonso, encounters Caliban when he crawls into Caliban's bed to avoid a storm, reflecting that "Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows." Stephano, who is King Alonso's perpetually drunken butler, meets up with the two. Caliban offers his allegiance to Stephano as his new lord, and Stephano accepts Caliban's homage, ordering the insult-minded Trinculo to "Keep a good tongue in your head." Caliban assures Stephano and Trinculo that he knows the island well – "Be not afeared. The isle is full of noises,/Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not" – and the three begin crafting a plot to kill Prospero and give lordship of the island to Stephano!

Yea, verily, one murder plot doth tread upon another's heels, so fast they follow.

And I can imagine how this story might have ended if Shakespeare had been writing it a few years earlier – during the time when he was composing his "Big Four" tragedies: Hamlet, King Lear, Macbeth, and Othello. It might have gone something like this: Prospero would get revenge against his treacherous brother Antonio, to be sure, and the other plotters of murder would also get their comeuppance. But one killing would lead to others. Revenge would consume the innocent as well as the guilty, with Ferdinand and Miranda dying before their time, the promise of their love unfulfilled. Prospero likewise would die, with time for a moving deathbed speech about how the revenge he once sought had rebounded upon him and those he loved. And at the play's end, only a few of the major characters would be left – good old Gonzalo, for example, and possibly a reformed and repentant King Alonso – to offer some closing remarks on the inscrutable ways of fate and the vanity of human wishes.

But The Tempest is a tragicomedy, a romance, not a tragedy – and therefore things don't end that way at all. The playgoer or reader always has a distinct sense that Prospero is in control of everything, orchestrating the flow of events. And the suggestion, by many critics, that Shakespeare, through Prospero, may be consciously bidding farewell to his theatrical career might be understandable when one considers what Prospero says to Ferdinand after bringing a magical end to an otherworldly wedding masque that he had conjured in honor of Miranda and Ferdinand's upcoming marriage:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.

Cut! Master Shakespeare might be saying. That's a wrap!

Prospero has his enemies in his power. And just when he could use his magic to destroy them all, Ariel invokes their suffering, and particularly the weeping of the loyal Gonzalo, and suggests that "if you now beheld them, your affections/Would become tender." Moved by this show of compassion from a non-human spirit, Prospero decides to show mercy, saying that "Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,/Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury/Do I take part. The rarer action is/In virtue than in vengeance." Like a few characters in Shakespearean drama – Fortinbras in Hamlet, for example – Prospero consciously chooses not to take revenge, and the happy elements of the play's resolution, for Prospero himself and for others, flow logically from that ethical choice.

Prospero, invoking "Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves" [V.i.39], talks of all the wonders he has worked with his knowledge of magic, but then adds that "this rough magic/I here abjure". Not content with merely forswearing any further working of magic, Prospero pledges that "I'll break my staff,/Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,/And deeper than did ever plummet sound/I'll drown my book." Once again, it is a passage that some readers have seen as representing Shakespeare bidding a conscious farewell to his art. Perhaps Shakespeare, who died about five years after completing The Tempest, is also reflecting on his own mortality, as when Prospero states that "We are such stuff/As dreams are made on, and our little life/Is rounded with a sleep." [IV.i.175-77]

Whatever the truth behind such surmises might be, it is humorous to see how Miranda responds when she sees all the other young men from the now-restored ship. Since Ferdinand is the first, and up till now, the only young man she has ever seen in her life, she has had no basis for comparison. Now, however, she has a great many young men to compare among, and she expresses her feelings thus: "How many goodly creatures are there here!/How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world/That has such people in't!" One would certainly understand if Ferdinand suddenly felt just a bit jealous at Miranda's sudden exclamation of enthusiasm for the good looks of young men generally.

The Tempest is a Shakespeare play that is of particular interest to me because, among other things, it is Shakespeare's most American play. Ariel's mention of "The still-vexed Bermoothes" [i.e., Bermudas] reminds the reader of an important historical antecedent for this play: in 1609, a ship called the Sea Venture, bound from England for the Jamestown colony, was beset by a hurricane and driven on shore at Bermuda. Sailors' superstitions held that the Bermuda islands were a hellish place, inhabited by devils. Ferdinand's cry, upon abandoning ship, that "Hell is empty,/And all the devils are here!" may be a reference to those nautical legends of demon-infested islands. How happy the Sea Venture crew were to find that these "devils' islands" were actually an earthly paradise, where they could refresh themselves, repair their ship, and eventually sail on to Jamestown.

Another reason why The Tempest draws particular attention is because of the character of Caliban. As an indigenous character enslaved by European colonizers, Caliban, as a presence in the play, evokes some very ugly history. Early productions of the play depicted Caliban as a semi-human creature, often with features like a fish – perhaps because of Trinculo's exclamation, upon first encountering Caliban, of "What have we here? A man or a fish? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell....A strange fish!" Such depictions of Caliban, as a semi-human creature like the monsters of Greek mythology, could be said to buy into Prospero's description of Caliban as "A devil, a born devil, on whose nature/Nurture can never stick". More recent productions and adaptations of The Tempest, by contrast, have taken a more nuanced approach.

The Tempest has continued to draw forth a range of fascinating responses: the science-fiction film Forbidden Planet (1956), which moves the Tempest scenario to a distant planet, with a robot Ariel and a Calibanic "monster from the id" generated by the technology of an extinct alien race; Martinican playwright Aime Cesaire's 1969 play Une Tempête (A Tempest), which sets the action of The Tempest in the Caribbean, with a white colonialist Prospero, a mixed-race Ariel, and an enslaved black Caliban; Paul Mazursky's 1982 film Tempest, whose Prospero is an architect who responds to a crisis of identity by fleeing New York City for a Greek island; Peter Greenaway's 1991 film Prospero's Books, a wildly avant-garde interpretation of Shakespeare's play; and Julie Taymor's 2010 film The Tempest, which explores gender issues in a particularly creative way by making Prospero a woman wizard, Prospera, as played by Helen Mirren.

The extraordinary range of modern responses to this play shows how, even more than most Shakespearean plays, it speaks to the problems and anxieties of contemporary times. The storm of responses stirred up by William Shakespeare's The Tempest seems likely to rage on for the foreseeable future.