We’re in the hands of a real pro(se) with this one.

As shorthand, I think this is a less impressive take on the Shakespeare in Love trope – but less impressive than that screenplay by Tom Stoppard is hardly an insult.

Like Shakespeare in Love, we see a young William Shakespeare – here always called “W.S.” until the final page – as he navigates various possibilities of love and ambition, culminating in the mind that produced the most impressive corpus in all of English literature (and possibly the world). It’s more or less funny in itself, but it’s power lies in our knowledge that this is the future Greatest of All Time. Every detail resonates because it might be something echoed in one of the masterworks.

The real star here, though, is Burgess’s prose. In one sense, this is almost a prose poem. I don’t think it’s written in iambic – at least not throughout – but it has a rhythm informed by Shakespeare’s own work. (Someone I read quickly suggested some Joycean rhythm, too, and I can see that.)

There are lots of great individual lines, but it’s more the overall feeling that the language creates. This feels like it might be from the rough drafts of a Renaissance writer, like it’s written by someone immersed in the same everyday language as the author of Hamlet or Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy.

As for plot, I’m not sure I could have followed it without a decent sense of Shakespeare’s biography. (I have taken graduate classes on Shakespeare, of course, so that puts me beyond what most will bring to this.) With that, though, it was fun to see him meet Richard Burbage or to see an imagined sense of how his Richard III came to be performed as part of a pep rally for a group planning to rebel against Elizabeth.

And we get ‘highlight’ inventions as well. There’s the idea that W.S. had an affair with an African woman – from whom he catches syphilis and whose child by W.S. returns to Africa – and there’s the claim that he’s cuckolded by his younger brother. (Anne Shakespeare comes off as quite the lusty woman, one reason W.S. decides to leave Stratford for London.)

I’ve never read Clockwork Orange, but I understand it works as a similar if even more audacious experiment, one where Burgess invents a whole new idiom for his world of futuristic street gang toughs.

Some of this may not quite hold up four decades later, but there’s no denying the skill or the fundamental joy that produced it. As I say, a real pro at the peak of his powers.

O.K. Това определено е история, която няма да прочетете в христоматиите. Целта на Антъни Бърджес може и да е била да шокира, но същевременно с това изгражда прекрасно развит образ на търсещ, чувствителен и надарен човек, дръзнал да се изправи срещу предначертаната съдба и да се бори за по-добър живот. И този образ е доста по-реален и пълнокръвен от другия, който вече се е превърнал в английска търговска марка.
Не мога да кажа, че не ми хареса, но ме остави с едно чувство на горест и безнадеждност, въпреки че се възхитих как умело лавира между митове и биографични данни и използва Сонетите за скеле на повествованието. Горкият Уил, все се мята в търсене на любовта, която в крайна сметка го погубва. Плюс това, в книгата на Бърджес сонетите, които толкова обичам, са не плод на искрено чувство, а само средство да се измоли подкрепа, покровителство, да се съблазни, а често служат и на чужди цели.
Заглавието на книгата Nothing Like the Sun е част от първият стих от Сонет 130 на Шекспир, в български превод: "Очите ѝ не са звезди...". Четох на руски под заглавието "Влюбленный Шекспир", което ме заблуди да очаквам романтична история в стил Холивуд. Нищо общо с едноименния филм!

As impressed as I was that Burgess captured the Shakespearean tongue in novel format. The story never capitavited me or brought my interest below the surface. I didn't get into WS head or even learn more about his upstart or career. It's told in small vignettes, most of which aren't very interesting. It's an interesting approach, but I felt that chapter 7 in part 2 was the peak for the book, when the chapter is told through a series of journal entries. As far as criticizing a book of this magnitude I can simply say no more than it wasn't for me. I'm sure there are those who find subtle, accurate, and poignant, but as fan of both WS and Burgess I found simply put boring and uninspired.

This novel has been described by a Shakespeare scholar as the only such which functions as a work of art, and I would agree. It is a delicious wander through a possible sexual and romantic life of Will, not to be considered in anyway a history but nonetheless it has more than a ring of truth at moments. The language is, in typical Burgess fashion, a joy. Definitely one for fans of him and of course, of the. Are. Not for the prude nor the weak of stomach, however!

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.."

Virginia Woolf has written of the new biography in which fact and fiction are commingled in an entirely novel and delicious manner thus bringing forth the true personality of the subject of that biography. Anthony Burgess' 'Nothing Like The Sun' epitomises the new biography. A story of Shakespeare's love life, it is also a revelation of his incandescently fascinating mind. I knew about Shakespeare's literary history and a little of his personal life, but the present novel resurrects his personality, turning words to flesh. There's another biography I've been reading simultaneously with this fictional take on the Bard. Although it maybe more informative, it also very impersonal. Nothing Like The Sun, on the other hand, situates us not only within the Elizabethan period but also within Shakespeare's mind. A mix of Elizabethan English, Shakesperean language, and Joycean wordplay, Nothing....might not be easy to read but for the one who perseveres it can be a richly rewarding experience.

It also has something of a postcolonial bent to it in its unmasking of slavery, serfdom and naked colonialism. That must have made the New Historicists really happy.

"Life...is in a sense all lies. We watch ourselves act everyday. Philip drunk and Philip sober. One is inside the other watching the other".

These lines hint at the Bakhtinian idea that we can never know our true self. It is the other, the one outside us who completes us.

Shakespeare, referred throughout as WS, is always shown searching for love. He calls women a deflection, being time and again disappointed in love.

"...Faustus. A play, yes, a mere play, but the smell of truth in it - not the truth of the present feel of his horse's hot flanks, the sweat running down his nose, Kemp's droning song, but the bigger truth that lay behind this painted curtain."

Fervently he worked, not giving in to the demands of his time, in order to create something timeless and transcendent.

The novel maybe built on speculation, because not much is known about Shakespeare's life, but it fuses life into a bygone era. It offers historical context for most of Shakespeare's work through the relationships of WS with Henry Wriothesley and the Dark Lady.

Also, this was my first Burgess and I devoured it. I wish I could read how writing about the Bard impacted Burgess.

I really liked this book, and I suspect I would have liked it even more if I understood better what was going on half the time. It's a difficult book to read, and I think the better you know Shakespeare's work, the more one will like it. I got many of the references but must have missed even more.

Totul se învârtea în jurul unei zeităţi – întunecoase, ascunse, mortale, înspăimântător de dezirabilă. Când i-o fi mijit prima oară imaginea ei? De bună seamă că într-o zi de Vinerea Mare. Să fi fost în ’77? ’78? ’79? WS, un flăcăiaş cu jiletca roasă, strâmtă, cu pelerina peticită, dar cu mănuşi noinouţe. Aproape spân, cu puful obrajilor auriu în razele soarelui, cu părul castaniu-roşcat, cu ochi ageri, ca de prepelicar. Dădea cu piciorul, cu draci, ca un flăcăiandru ce era, în smocurile de iarbă de pe malul stâng al Avonului, urmărind cu privirea-i ageră, de prepelicar, bulboana ce se iscă sub podul Clopton. (Clopton, eroul de la New Place, care şi-a lua tălpăşiţa din târg şi a ajuns bogat. Oare el, WS, o să-şi sfârşească zilele tot ca un mare erou al Stratfordului?) Îl durea faptul că ai lui încă îl tratează ca pe un copil, trimiţându-l, împreună cu Gilbert, idiotul familiei, la plimbare cu micuţa Anne şi cu mormolocul de Richard, în aerul sănătos, când el are de livrat nişte mănuşi. Cerul e senin şi aerul înmiresmat deasupra ierbii şi tufişurilor din care ţâşnesc iepurii sălbatici, departe de mormanele de bălegar de pe Henley Street, unde măcelarii îşi ascut cuţitele şi aleg din ochi animalele ce urmează să fie sacrificate, pregătindu-se pentru târgul din Ajunul Paştelui. Animăluţe tinere pier cu un be-e-e-e-e-e-e, victime ale gustului rafinat al oamenilor. Păpuşa de paie, întruchipare a Postului, urma să fie alungată din casă şi lovită cu pietre de mulţime. Aerul e blând şi melancolic, cu un ecou de ploicică venind dinspre sud-vest. E primăvară, iar urechile îi sunt lovite de gemetele unei alte morţi, scoase de altă bestie – albă, cu degete încovoiate şi picioare ca de broască în patul alb ca linţoliul. O văzuse, în dupăamiaza aceea din Joia Sfântă, deschizându-le, nevinovat, uşa iatacului, be-e-e-ee-e-e. N-ar fi trebuit să vadă, nici să audă. Înghesuindu-se, albă. N-au cum să ştie ce-a văzut. — Termină, Dickon! îl repezi el încă o dată pe Richard, care, de data asta, voia să-şi bage degetul plin de muci în ochiul soră-sii. Apoi adăugă: Şi nu te apropia prea mult de apă. Apa e vicleană şi te-neacă, şi, în cel mai bun caz, undele sunt ude. Se lăsă furat de sonoritatea cuvintelor, era încă de pe-acum băiatul vorbelor. „Unde ude unde ude unde ude.“ Anne îşi roti ochişorii cu o privire şireată, la fel cum făcea taică-său, de-i cădeau în mreje toate fătucile, pe vremuri, înainte de-a da de beleaua care îl făcea să-şi roadă toată ziua unghiile.

I have now tried to read this twice, first in paperback and this time in audiobook, despite some serious concerns, because it’s relevant to one of my writing projects. There are so many glowing reviews of this novel, but both times I couldn’t get past the mocking portrayal of Anne Hathaway trying to entrap “WS” into marriage. Burgess writes Anne as a sexist caricature, and he does the same for Old Madge the witch. After the third chapter, I was so sure the portrayal of the Dark Lady was going to be horrific, I returned the audiobook in a fit of anger. Maybe I’ll have the emotional energy to skim the rest of the novel later, but for now I give up.

If Anthony Burgess were a Shakespeare character, he'd be Malvolio. He tastes with a distempered appetite!

Writing about Shakespeare gives Burgess free rein, but not in a good way. What he's drawn to in the Elizabethan era is not the adventure, the romance, the chivalry or the passion -- it's the diseases and the smells. Shakespeare was a great writer with a multitude of moods. He could be dreamy, playful, optimistic, just as easily as he could be cynical, despairing, and savage. Burgess, not so much. He's only interested in the dirty side of Shakespeare, the dirty side of England, the dirty side of life.

Never once do you get a glimpse of Shakespeare's patriotism, his pride in being an Englishman. Other reviewers have mentioned Burgess' loathing for women -- but it's awfully odd to have an Elizabethan novel with no Elizabeth. It's emblematic of how little interest Burgess has in leaving his own comfort zone. He wants a dirty-minded Shakespeare who despises women, just as he wants a secret Catholic Shakespeare who despises Protestant England's destiny as the champion of religious liberty.

Having said all that, there are a couple of sexy scenes between the young Will Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway. But that's about it.

No real review because I read this for a class with a specific focus, but I just can't go without writing some words about this, especially after scrolling through the many praising reviews here on Goodreads. Nothing Like the Sun was almost a torture to read through. There's the writing style for once, that was the kind of pretentious that may work for some, but for me was just confusing without making it any more profound or lyrical. I appreciate the author's talent for words, but it was just too much, and with my attention constantly wavering due to the dull plot, it was hard to follow what he was trying to say. But what most annoyed me was the way Burgess writes women. This is supposedly a novel of Shakespeare's love life, so accordingly you have multiple female characters that play a role. Yet I say "supposedly" because truly this is only about his sex life, not about love. Every woman that played a role in this book was reduced to sex and stereotypes. They don't have character or feelings or motivations besides sex. Anne Hathaway especially, who's portrayed as a nymphomaniac sex monster who takes advantage of young Shakespeare and entraps him in their marriage. But it goes for his Dark Lady as well, whom he basically rapes in their first romantic encounter. The only love interest that shows some character is, of course, a man. Here suddenly Shakespeare can have proper conversation with him and he's not reduced to his cock. There's capturing the misogyny of the time, yes, but this is just plain misogyny, hidden behind the facade of history.

This has been sitting on my TBR shelf for a while, mainly because I find getting back into Old English so tough after 3 years of studying it at university.

However, this novel offered a really interesting account of Shakespeare's life, intertwined with other prominent literary texts of the time (such as Marlowe of 'Dr Faustus'). He also considers the perhaps more controversial sides of his life, such as his affairs with black women and men in Tudor England, as alluded to in many of his texts. While this is an imagination of something never fully confirmed, it definitely offers a poignant portrayal of race/sexuality all those hundreds of years ago.

If you have read anything by Burgess before, you will know it's a bit of a journey, but well worth it.

It takes a word master, like Burgess, to write a biography of Shakespeare's life. He is ingenious in his use of sonnets to both set the stage and intersperse the storyline with Shakespeare's growing talent.