The Tragedy of Arthur_ A Novel - Arthur Phillips [116]
I normally dislike “ain’t” in any accent, especially an English one, where it sounds like a smug, coked-up viscount trying to pass as a prole whilst scoring heroin. In this case, however, I was delighted. And he was glad to go on, preening a bit while I took notes to throw back at Random House. He picked out a dozen phrases and words that had tipped him off as “dead giveaways, I’m afraid. Not raining on a parade of yours, am I?”
“Not at all. Let it come down, Tom. Ain’t my parade at all.”
FROM: “Hershey, Jennifer”
DATE: Tue, 10 Nov 2009 18:26:35 -0500
SUBJECT: Re: Expert input
Arthur,
Now I think you’re messing with my mind. Please call me back. I’m going home now but call me there or on my cell. Seriously.
Did you look up the lines and words that were his “dead giveaways”? Every single one of them (even the one you said he called “not a chance in blue hell”) occurs in canonical Shakespeare. Every one. Check out www.shakespeareswords.com or some other concordance. I’m not saying he’s a fool, and I appreciate you passing on the opinions of naysayers, too. We definitely want all opinions. But in this case, I think this guy’s reaction reflects something other than careful reading of the play without prejudice. I actually think, if we get the authentication and we publish the play (IF IF IF), we’re still going to get a lot of responses like your friend’s here. People might be more afraid of looking foolish than of missing the boat. I think that’s sort of natural. You say to yourself, “This can’t be. It’s too good to be true.” And then you find reasons to disbelieve and get mad, prove you can’t be suckered. It’s almost a false syllogism. “I do know Shakespeare and I don’t know this, so this must not be Shakespeare.” Anyhow. Please call.
Tom had gone (dissuaded with difficulty from a long, boozy chat about Dana and her possible feelings for him), and I did go back and check online: terms of manage, extraught, endamagement, whinyard, archaic spellings like unckle, phrasings like “In litter sick, did he still lead.” (“No,” said Tom. “Just come on. Not him. No chance. No.”)
Jennifer was right. Nothing wedged under Tom’s skin more irritatingly than words Shakespeare had used but that Tom didn’t recall and that then seemed to him to be parodies of Shakespearean writing. His certainty was odd, because nothing else he’d said could be measured or proven. Pacing? Mindset? Texture? Fingerprint? I don’t know, but I’m sure that this lovesick actor was, in general, right, even if all his specifics were wrong. Still, Jennifer was right, too: his reaction demonstrated something about how a certain type of Shakespeare lover will feel at first exposure to a newly discovered work (if such a thing ever comes to light).
I also felt sympathy for Jennifer and all of Random House, and for my agent, who had sat in those meetings and put her reputation on the line and whose nurturing voicemails I couldn’t bear replying to. Random House has gone to great expense, and they expect a massive return, and everyone in publishing is on the ropes right now, and this would be grand, “game-changing.” I get it. But, more than that, Jennifer is a true believer, and she was (still is) about to attach her name and credibility to something that she understandably views as the most important event of her career, and a monumental gift to literature and culture. And there I was muttering, “Get out, get out, get out.” I’m sure that was unpleasant. But she’s going to feel worse next year, after publication. Sorry, Jen.
FROM: “Hershey, Jennifer”
DATE: Tue, 10 Nov 2009 23:11:08 -0500
SUBJECT: Re: Mounting evidence
I’d rather do this on the phone. But I’ll stay up all night emailing if you want. I feel like