When I was something like fourteen years old, my grandmother
gave me an old volume of the collected works of Shakespeare. I was very excited
about this and was determined to make my way through it. At that point, I think
the only plays of the Bard that I had read were Macbeth, Taming of the Shrew, and possibly Romeo and Juliet, but I don’t remember. (Plus I had seen that
production of Julius Caesar.)
I remember looking rather obsessively at the list of
contents and being introduced for the first time to the names of plays I would
later read—plays that I had never heard of before like Coriolanus and Troilus and
Cressida.
I decided to start reading at the beginning, with the plan
of working my way through the entire volume (although that obviously never
ended up happening). The first play in this particular volume was Two Gentlemen of Verona. It was one of
those that I had never heard of before, but I plowed through it and was
absolutely delighted by it. I remember thinking it was absolutely hilarious. I
even convinced my brother to let me “direct” him in performing a monologue from
the play that I found particularly funny.
In reviewing this play more recently, I found it challenging
(almost impossible) to separate my rather nostalgic feelings about it and
approach it objectively. I hadn’t read it in upwards of ten years, but while I
was reading, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I had once enjoyed it.
Two Gentlemen of
Verona had marked an important point in my relationship with the Bard. It
wasn’t the first I had read. It wasn’t even the first I had read by myself—that
honor goes to Taming of the Shrew. But
there’s something I didn’t mention about this volume of Shakespeare’s collected
works where I discovered how many plays Shakespeare had written. It had no
notes, essays, footnotes, explanations, definitions, or anything else. It had
the Dramatis Personae, the text of the play, the list of contents, and that was
it. I knew that without these aids, I was likely to miss things, but I gave it
a try, anyway.
My experience with this play was important because it built
my confidence, and because it showed me that even literature like Shakespeare doesn’t
have to be studied and dissected and held under a microscope. It can just be enjoyed. Don’t get me wrong, I love
dissecting and analyzing it and the whole lot, but there’s nothing wrong with
enjoying something and then moving on. Because I didn’t have notes or class
discussions or essays to write about it, I read it just like I would have read
an American Girl book, or a YA romance, or an interview with Emma Watson.
Two Gentlemen of
Verona is generally listed as Shakespeare’s earliest play. It is not his
best, by really any measure. It’s not his best early play (that honor goes to Richard III in my opinion); it’s not his
best comedy (if pressed, I would have to give that to A Midsummer Night’s Dream or As
You Like It); it’s not his best writing, his best story, or his most
creative. It’s not his “most” or “best” anything.
But coming back to this play reminded me of the impact that
nostalgia can have. This is a play that was once quite important to me. It’s a
play that grew my love of Shakespeare. It gave me confidence that I could read
the Bard’s works on my own and understand and enjoy them.
Two Gentlemen of
Verona is perhaps out of fashion, but regardless of how
flawed it is, I doubt very much that it will ever fail to bring a smile to my
face.
