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Goodreads reliably informs me that I first read Hamlet a decade ago, in 2012. I am not sure what I was thinking then – I doubt I understood much, but I seem to have liked it. I gave it 4 stars. That’s a lie… I remember some of what I was thinking, and a lot of it was confusion. 10 years later, I have gained that naïve confidence that tells me I have understood a lot more, but I will be looking back and laughing at this instance too, hopefully sooner than in 10 more years.
This time around it’s a 5. Hamlet is undoubtedly my favourite Shakespeare character that I have read or watched. I am not sure I ever wholly aligned with his nihilistic sentiments, but boy are they fun to read. A particularly powerful scene remains the prince’s musings at the grave of Yorick. I can only assume that the squeezing of the heart that I felt on reading the scene will grow in pain and magnitude as the years roll on.
Upon seeing the skull dug up by the gravedigger and asking for its identity (ha), Hamlet learns that it belonged to Yorick. He knew Yorick. The memories dredged up are so known to us all. We have all forgotten someone who, at a moment in our lives, meant the world to us. It’s truly an adaptive function of the mind to allow us to forget these reminiscences, else the day would be spent in a miserable and melancholy fog. “Alas, poor Yorick!” says Hamlet, “I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times.” And here is that portrayal, a work by Philip H. Calderon which I found recently called The Young Lord Hamlet:
The renewal of a beautiful relationship with this play. I hope to catch it in a theatre this summer.
This time around it’s a 5. Hamlet is undoubtedly my favourite Shakespeare character that I have read or watched. I am not sure I ever wholly aligned with his nihilistic sentiments, but boy are they fun to read. A particularly powerful scene remains the prince’s musings at the grave of Yorick. I can only assume that the squeezing of the heart that I felt on reading the scene will grow in pain and magnitude as the years roll on.
Upon seeing the skull dug up by the gravedigger and asking for its identity (ha), Hamlet learns that it belonged to Yorick. He knew Yorick. The memories dredged up are so known to us all. We have all forgotten someone who, at a moment in our lives, meant the world to us. It’s truly an adaptive function of the mind to allow us to forget these reminiscences, else the day would be spent in a miserable and melancholy fog. “Alas, poor Yorick!” says Hamlet, “I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times.” And here is that portrayal, a work by Philip H. Calderon which I found recently called The Young Lord Hamlet:
The renewal of a beautiful relationship with this play. I hope to catch it in a theatre this summer.