Happy Death Day, Shakespeare! You’re 396 Years Young (Dead), I’m Sure You Look Terrible!

So it’s Shakespeare’s deathday (his Christening day is Thursday; we don’t know his birthday, but it was probably a week or so ago). In honor of this auspicious holiday I drew this horrible likeness of the Bard in paint:

Per my usual literary holiday-makings, I think I’ll read some Shakespeare tonight in honor of the man; I’ve been meaning to revisit Lear for a while. You should do the same! (Not Lear, necessarily. But something.)

The first thing remembered when I thought of Shakespeare’s death was last Fall’s movie, Anonymous, that cashed in on the popular (and oft-refuted) Oxfordian theory of Shakesperean authorship: that Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford wrote Shakespeare’s plays. I was tickled by Renee Montagne’s interview with the filmmaker of the project, especially since the last part she seemed to be laughing at his work. Even moreso, I loved this deliciously acerbic New York Times article by Stephen Marche (who said of the film, “it is fiction that wants to confuse itself with fact.”) I reviewed Marche’s book on Shakespeare last fall, and was not impressed. But this article is good.

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