Thursday, April 2, 2020


This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:

-Shylock



The Merchant Of Venice                          Act I, scene iii, line 88



Well this is early on in the play and we have Shylock talking about being blessed. Grateful? Almost. Now, it’s not exactly a continuation of yesterday’s discussion, but it’s sort of related. And yes, this is Shylock talking about being blessed. Yes, Shylock. The guy who has been painted by history as the miserly villain. Perhaps he’s neither. 

Which brings me to the theme of our new book, which has yet to be titled. The working title is Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice Retold. That will probably be part of the title, or actually the subtitle. But in any event, a main theme of our retelling will be that things aren’t always what they seem. Like Shylock. At first blush, and certainly based on how he’s been treated by history, he’s the villain of this story. He’s irredeemable. But he’s really not. He’s got a good and human side, and today’s line is just one small sign of that. 

And now, just because you’ve taken the time to read this blog, I’m going to give you a real treat. No picture today, but instead I’m giving you a peek at the intro to our new book: the aforementioned Merchant retelling. You saw it here first. 
And, again, this is in lieu of a picture.



Introduction to The Merchant Of Venice Retelling
Many summers ago, back when I was still young,
On a warm August day, just to have me some fun,
I was out and about on my Schwinn ten-speed bike,
Not a care in the world, just as free as you like.

I had stopped for some traffic, and catching my breath.
I was wiping my brow, got a handful of sweat.
I was straddling my bike with my feet on the ground,
At Jackson and Park in the north end of town,
Where Park Ave is busy, and folks don’t slow down.
 
A car soon pulled up and, well, just like me,
They were waiting for traffic and looking to see.
And I turned and I looked, and I couldn’t help say
(To myself, not out loud) ‘don’t see that every day!’
A Volkswagen beetle, a bright yellow car,
Those beetles were small, well I guess they still are.
But this one was holding a guy who was big,
Hunched over the steering wheel, squashed like a fig.
And he had a big nose, and a big black mustache
He seemed all cramped up with his chin on the dash.
And the dog riding shotgun, well he was large too.
Out the window he hung, with a tongue dripping goo.

Then the guy turned and looked, saw me starin’ at him.
Said, ‘You look like you’re looking for trouble there, Jim.’
‘Well Jim’s not my name,’ I replied, ‘And what’s more,
Looks are sometimes deceiving, I know that for sure.’

He wasn’t expecting that answer, I guess
And it shut him down quick, not a word, no big mess,
Then he gunned it and left, nothing more, nothing less.

Now why have I told you this really old story,
‘Bout days of my youth, yes the days of my glory.
The thing is, a theme of this story herein,
The one that we’re almost about to begin,
It’s quite tricky, and easily missed and, well, so
I wanted to tell you and thought you should know.
Here it is, pay attention, I’ll say it real slow:
Appearance and truth, I guess that’s what I mean,
And that things aren’t always the way that they seem.

Who’s the good guy, who’s bad, whose intentions are high
Villain or victim, which one is that guy?
And is anyone happy or sad, if so, why?
Who loves who, who don’t care, who cares maybe too much?
Who is deserving of love and the such
And who is the friend that you’d want in the clutch?

These are some of the questions I hope you’ll consider
And maybe the answer will simply be neither,
Or both. I don’t know; That’s for you to find out,
But I think you can do it, in fact I’ve no doubt.
Just proceed with some care, don’t speed hastily through it
the story needs thought as you slowly review it.
Look at each situation, and see every side.
Try not to assume, keep your eyes open wide.
Be careful, consider; once, twice, three times even.
I’ll say it once more, one more time, then I’m leaving:
Remember that looks can sometimes be deceiving.

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