Patrick on Language, Shakespeare...

Several things come to mind here in relation to David's post about words, language, Shakespeare, etc. In a dream, Graham Greene taught me that in writing fiction, dialogue must be action. (He reiterated the notion in his autobiography, "Ways of Escape.") Perhaps for obvious reasons, this notion is a given in theatre (though not always the case) and less generally considered in fiction, where we don't think as acutely of every passage needing to propel action forward. So it was a fabulous lesson. When you think about it, this "dialogue/action" occurs naturally in the best fiction writers, and doesn't occur at all in weaker writers. Pick up 9 out of 10 novels in the store and you can practically "see" the story "take a break" as chunks of dialogue sit there, maybe revealing character, certainly taking up some pages, but not necessarily developing "action" as it is understood in theatre, i.e. dramatic, sense One of the reasons I liked the Phaedre, as a play, was that the dialogue propelled the action forcefully. The acting has been criticized as emoting, but the lines themselves, maybe Ted Hughes had something to do with this, the lines themselves kept the story moving forward potently. I.e. the lines were action. Now when David speaks about words as actions in his post, the sense I think is primarily of them as physical action. (Not that he's minimizing their other values, of course, but simply that his post is about the actor's physicality.) And this brings us to Shakespeare. To this day, I hear exceptionally brilliant people, such as George Orwell, say that Shakespeare endures most primarily because of his poetic qualities. That the plays themselves, as plays, are faulty enough not to have endured the centuries were it not for their unparalleled linguistic genius. I also hear exceptionally brilliant people, such as Howard Allen, say that the reason Shakespeare is taught in virtually every English Literature and Theatre program in the world is because he has survived the test of time ON THE STAGE. His plays continue to be produced the world over---and in obviously weaker translations of hundreds of language---and this is why he is still read. In this moment, and probably in most moments, I think Orwell is more right. Shakespeare is our Dante, and he endures for some of the same reasons. By the way, for an experience of language primarily as action, and language which at times stops action, read The Divine Comedy. And we'd probably say that in many Shakespeare plays, the same thing happens. That passages (which are often cut today) do not necessarily move the action forward. I think this may have more to do with our shortened attentions, or, if you will, our quicker mind frames, than with the actual text. I have a suspicion that 16th century audiences found much more of the Shakespeare's text as "active" because they thought differently than we do. Maybe the porter scene in Macbeth (Shakespeare's leanest tragedy) was not simply a "relief" (comic or otherwise) but a propelling forward of the plays thematic action. The "gardener" scene in Richard II is another example that comes to mind. And this brings us to Chekhov's Orchard. The study of "time" in the text by Bill Killian that David describes and then develops as part of his process/production seems a strong example of the indivisible qualities of poetry and action---Chekhov's work as a whole seems particularly apt in this regard. In other dramatists, as in other fiction writers, one can more readily see whether the dialogue propels the action or not. In Chekhov, as David's process emphasizes, the beauty is in the union of theme, action, dialogue, etc. More can be said, but we'll leave it to Gertrude to close with her calling for "More matter, less art." But let's question this plea. She too was all too ready to divorce truth from reality. Patrick