The Value of Being Good and Pissed Off

Before I begin, allow me to draw your attention to the auspiciousness of this moment. I am now writing my second blog in a month. A big deal, I know. Feel free to congratulate me later.

So, I was with my girlfriend all weekend, and we had a great time reconciling and so forth. However, while we were busy reconciling, there was something very important that I was neglecting. My English 207 paper on Titus Andronicus. And so here it is, almost midnight, and I just finished. I started a little after seven. Of course, that's probably because I thought the paper had to be three to five pages. I was mistaken. The professor asked for five to seven. In a panic, I opened up my laptop and began typing away, armed with a pocket style manual and, of course, the text.

At about 9:00 I had a really nice introduction and thesis. My paragraph on Titus was good, my paragraph on Aaron the Moor only slightly less so. I was explaining a problem with Titus, that problem being excess. Titus, as a hero, doesn't garner any empathy from his audience because he is so aggrieved that no one can really sympathize. Aaron is a terrible villain because we don't know why he is so evil, so we don't care. Those points were easy to make.

My last supporting point discussed the play as a whole. I was planning on talking about the lack of catharsis due to the excessive violence, especially in the last act. I struggled with it. I fought with it. I revised, I re-wrote, I restructured, and I was still having a hard time getting the point to jump out clearly. And then I got pissed. I went off. And in the process, I did something that an English major--particularly a freshman--should never do.

I insulted William Shakespeare.

I read over the line-in-question a couple times. I gaped in horror at what I had done. I struggled to find a way to re-word it. But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, the way it appeared on the screen was the best way I could think to say what I meant. And then I realized. I meant to insult him. Because I was pissed off.

For those of you that have never been subjected to Titus Andronicus: fuck off. You have no idea how lucky you are. Titus Andronicus is without question the worst play I have ever read, Shakespeare or otherwise. It is mindless pulp fiction. For crying out loud, there are only about 23 speaking parts, and of those, half die. And Titus doesn't just kill his enemies, oh no. He kills Empress Tamora's sons first, and he decides to bake them into a pie and serve them to their mother before stabbing her. Even the pie isn't quite enough, because instead of just using their flesh for filling, Titus uses them to make the crust as well. He grinds their bones to powder, then uses their blood to make a paste that he bakes into a "coffin," or pie-crust. Of course, this is all told to the audience. After she digs in, Titus asks her husband, the Emperor Saturninus, if a victim of rape should be put out of her misery. When the Emperor says yes, Titus stabs his daughter Lavinia, who had her tongue cut out and her hands cut off after the Empress's sons-turned-pot pies raped her. The Emperor then says, "Like, Titus, why'd you stab your daughter?" (or something to that effect). To which Titus replies, "Her sons raped her after they killed your brother and had my sons beheaded. Then Titus stabs the Empress. Then Emperor Saturninus is like, "That's my wife, asshole," and he stabs Titus. Then Titus's son is like, "You stabbed my dad! That wasn't nice." Then he stabs the Emperor. Titus's son survives, but only because there really wasnt' anyone left to kill him.

That all takes up less than fifteen lines, the last three deaths only getting a line apiece. Normally, this would be sad, like in Hamlet, but here, I honestly didn't care less. Why? BECAUSE THE CHARACTERS AREN'T EVEN FUCKING PEOPLE! They are just poor representation of vices or emotions or ideals, terribly fleshed out, with one-dimensional depth and no real motivation, save two. IT IS THE STUPIDEST FUCKING PLAY I HAVE EVER READ! AND I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHO WROTE IT! IT STILL SUCKS!

*Breathes heavily*

As you can tell, I still haven't gotten over what a colossal waste of time that play was for me. At the end of Oedipus Rex, I felt bad for him, although he was so stupid. At the end of Death of a Salesman, I was truly saddened by Willy's demise, even though I knew it was coming. However, at the end of Titus Andronicus, I wondered what took everyone so long. I honestly didn't care at all about the pie thing, and when Titus stabbed poor, soiled Lavinia, I started laughing hysterically. My laughter increased in intensity until the death of Saturninus, at which point I dropped the book on the floor and fell over on my bed, clutching at the stitch that had developed in my side. I then read it to my Chinese roommate, who had his own hysterical fit. He doesn't even speak English very well, and he thought it was pretty damn funny, too.

And so, William Shakespeare, your first tragedy is a steaming pile of shit. My dog could write better. You should have just drawn stick figures. They would have the same complexity, and it wouldn't take as long to watch them die. Don't misunderstand me. You are still the best author in the English language. However, you had a pretty rough start in the tragedy department.

I feel so much better now. Sometimes it just takes a good, long scream.

Or an angry and indignant blog post.

That, William, is catharsis.