Mojo, Will, & Me

 

You are as fond of grief as of your child.

 

-King Philip

King John                       Act III Scene iv, Line 92

I’m not sure where to begin, but I’m afraid I’m going to rattle on a bit today, because today’s Totally Random line leads into one of my favourite passages in all of Will’s works. I wrote at length on this passage once previously, about five years ago, and here’s that blog, if you’re interested Totally Random Daily Shakespeare . Today I want to throw a slightly different angle at you.

Almost thirty years ago the wonderful American author Toni Morrison gave remarks upon the acceptance of her Nobel Prize in Literature. I’ve read a copy of those remarks several times, and I think it’s a really extraordinary composition on language. One of points (if not the main point) that she makes is about the ‘…recognition that language can never live up to life once and for all. Nor should it. Language can never “pin down” slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to do so. Its force, its felicity is in its reach toward the ineffable.’

I read this for the first time a number of years ago, and it’s really stuck with me. At the time, I had to think ‘of course that’s right’. But on the other hand, without it being stated, the obviousness of it might never have been apparent to me. But it is now, and it gives me pause.

The best writers are those who allow us to visit places or experience situations that we would otherwise not be able to. And yet, we know, or should know, that it’s only a semblance, not the real thing. I think of this specifically when I read or hear Constance’s response to King Philip, speaking of the child she has lost. 

        Grief fills up the room of my absent child,

        Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,

        Remembers me of all his gracious parts,

        Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;

        Then have I reason to be fond of grief!

 

I think to myself, ‘I know full well that I do not actually know how Constance feels, having never experienced this type of loss. But I believe her words, Will’s words, bring me oh so close to that feeling.’

Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Where, or how, on earth did Will come up with this?

 

And I guess that’s all I’ve got to say about that.