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- The Earl of Kent is a bro of inestimable virtue. I don't know how else to do him justice. In every Shakespeare play I've read, it seems that the characters which conspire and take on false pretenses for their own gain or pure evil (Iago, yikes) take center stage. In King Lear, however, I'm delighted with the unwavering loyalty and selfless scheming of the Earl of Kent. He is a true hero, may he stand as one of my favorite characters in Shakespeare. I hold him in higher esteem than his counterpart of sorts, Edgar, because he has no filial interest. His loyalty to Lear, like Iago's evil in Othello, is never really explained. Inexplicable good is beautiful, Kent is just marvelous. In such a disaster of treachery, the amazing virtue and valor shown by Kent, Gloucester, and Edgar is just astounding.
- The image of Lear and his fool on the Heath in the storm (above) is something that really elevates this play among most of the other Shakespeare I've read. It's a daring image, within it lies all the touching tragedy of Lear. It was the turning point for my feelings for Lear. Before, I thought he was simply a bit obnoxious and demanding. Whether or not you think his sorrow and bitter reaction to Goneril and Regan is warranted at first, it's hard not to side with him after these scenes. The Heath is a place of transformation, not only for the characters, but for the reader as well.
- One of my favorite things about Shakespeare is the way he uses very minor characters to stir passion and work you into the play. Oswald is so obnoxious from the minute he appears on stage that you just want to kick him and trip his heels as Kent does. An insolent little bastard, he gets his due. Many minor characters are wonderful in contrast to his awfulness, most notably the Old Man who helps the blinded Gloucester flee from his estate to Dover and fetches better close for Edgar disguised as Poor Tom. Also of note, the First Servant, a character whose swift deed and honorable defense of Gloucester is worthy of a name, but he doesn't get one. In a way, the whole play speaks to how the "lower" classes are so often the most reasonable, keeping duty and their sense about them in troubled times. Meanwhile, most of the nobility concern themselves only in deceit or forgo their sense and simply go mad.
Sensitivity is a funny thing. In some facets of life, it's completely unbearable. It debases existence down to painful internal conflict. It can make a quiet summer evening a restless summer evening. Sensitivity, self-awareness, a lack of confidence, whatever you'd like to call it, drove me out of the house last night at around 1 am after watching Jimmy Stewart gallivant with a large white rabbit in Harvey. It's somewhat ironic that that film stirred me so much to leave. Elwood is a character so painfully unaware, so laughably aloof to how his peers perceived him, yet through it all wears a smile. To be insensitive, to stop thinking, surely not everyone has these crises?
After spending about 10 minutes to pick music for the occasion (indecision is another vice of mine), the journey out to 24-hour megastores and small suburban nights began. The album most desired for such a drive, the Clientele's Strange Geometry, was painfully absent from the experience, but the simultaneous intro/extrospection of the work was most present. An empty summer drive in a familiar place; a perfect time to remember yourself in an effortlessly ignored environment. It's terrifying, a place so familiar that it's impossible to fixate on or romanticize. I don't think I ever want to stay in one place that long.
At the same time, the struggle is on. The drive is to empty the head, not become trapped in it. That's where the almost alien world of late night trips to 24-hour megastores comes in handy. Leaving a beautifully dark and faintly starry night for a warehouse of fluorescent lights carries a strange comfort, a strange geometry, as the Clientele would put it. All the aisles aligned, even if you've never been in this store, what you want is exactly where you'd expect it. A bottle of wine was the actual impetus for the journey, as decided on the drive over. 15 minutes staring at various bottles within my price range (read: under $10, $8 or less preferred) later, a decision is made and a slow move towards the check-out begins. Indecision is crippling. Taking 15 minutes to decide which bottle of paint thinner to consume is just mindblowing. The more frustrated it becomes, the longer it goes on.
But everyone/thing was out to get me this night. Why on earth was an elderly greeter working at Meijer's at 1 AM on a Saturday night? The sight made me miserable. Why was there a developmentally challenged employee stocking the women's apparel? Why was the guy working the self-checkout so confrontational? Though comforted by its existence upon my arrival, upon leaving, the concept of these 24-hour megastores really challenged me. Old people and the developmentally challenged should be sleeping, or I don't know, doing something other than working at Meijer's early Sunday Morning.
Walking outside, the cool air was refreshing and the stars though barely visible proved comforting. The rest of the drive was smooth and refreshing. The evening seemed an exercise in my growing irritation and blank anger at everything around me. Sensitivity to my surrounding is just toppling. A new environment feels good, but its fleeting. The symmetry of megastore aisles and glow of fluorescent lights is welcome one moment, stifling the next. The night sky and its lack of clarity is depressing at first, but reassuring in the end. At least a faint image is existence, right?
