Shakespeare surprised me with this play. As a person who doesn’t cry in movies and generally only enjoys books with happy endings, you can imagine my mouth wasn’t exactly watering to sample this tragedy by Shakespeare. While King Lear definitely represents a tragedy in every sense of the word, and it certainly did not by any means leave me feeling warm and fuzzy as I read over the last lines, I did find myself content with the ending, and despite my original skepticism, I must say that I am, in fact, a fan of the play.
As far as Coppelia Kahn’s argument that King Lear’s transformation revolves around his increasing understanding of his inner woman, I am not certain I can completely agree with that. Sure, it is not manly to cry. Even in today’s society, though open displays of emotion are more acceptable and welcome, the dogma still exists that men are to be strong and tears are a sign of weakness. But, can you really say that Lear’s entire transition from a hard, short-tempered man who is incapable of feeling love and measures this powerful emotion by how eloquently one can profess it, to a man whose survival rests on his ability to receive and reciprocate the undying love of his one loyal daughter, comes from him being more “womanly”? There is no question that Lear shows more emotion towards the end of the play than we ever would have expected based on the harsh character we are introduced to in its opening scenes, but how can it be determined that his wise moments are solely to the credit of his becoming more feminine, as though both genders are not capable of remorse for wrongdoing? (Though this sentiment might provide the backbone of bitter women support groups everywhere.)
While Kahn’s focus is on the absence of a maternal role throughout the play, a reader cannot ignore the significance of the women that are present, as one will find the female characters serving as both Lear’s downfall and his saving grace. His decision to relinquish his power to his two daughters that are able to articulate expressions of love that don’t exist, and to shun the one who loves him so dearly that she cannot find the words that will suffice is the beginning of the end of Lear’s reign as a dominant, revered leader. This decision is the epitome of his emotional ignorance, but serves as the guiding force behind his emotional education, as well. As Goneril and Regan feign love and proceed on their path of deceit that drives their father to insanity, Cordelia’s reappearance in her father’s darkest hour serves as the gesture that allows him to feel and understand true love for the first time, and proves just enough to make a madman sane.
I agree that King Lear’s transformation in this play does find him expressing previously repressed emotions, and finds a once infallible king of great stature now willing to kneel in repentance for his sins; however I also feel that this transformation is a universal one, not one based on gender. I don’t concede that King Lear begins this play a man and ends it a woman; I believe that the better analogy pertains to the recurring theme of the “fool” throughout the play. Initially, Lear is the old fool that his evil daughters, Goneril and Regan, portray him to be, but by the end of the play, King Lear has acquired the wisdom to merit the white hairs in his beard.
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I agree with your interpretation, for the most part. The snippets we read of Kahn’s argument also made me feel that she was arguing for a picture of Lear first as a man and finally evolving into a woman, which does not seem fit at all. It seems more natural that anyone could fall privy to one’s own penchant for stubbornness and then realize a role reversal after seeing the error of one’s ways. I would never call this gender reversal. Self-actualization can occur on every level and in either sex.
ReplyDeleteI don’t agree that Lear was at once incapable of love and then learns how to love through the expression of emotion and dependence upon others that comes hand in hand with old age. I think that Lear does genuinely love his daughters, especially Cordelia. Thus when she fails to meet his expectations (what a daughter should be, what a daughter should say) the blow is more than he can withstand. This shock coupled with his own stubborn nature is what causes him to banish her without a second thought. His love for his elder daughters manifests itself through his almost blind trust. It is clear to the reader that Goneril and Regan harbor unclean motives, but as their father and their king, Lear fails to recognize this, at least right away. His emotional transformation then grows out of his own self-doubt rather than a sudden epiphany teaching him how to love and be loved by his daughter Cordelia.
I really enjoyed reading your entry. Although I do not think I got quite as much enjoyment out of reading this play as you, I can say that it was much better than my previous Shakespeare experiences. I was also content with the end of the play.
ReplyDeleteOverall, I agree with just about everything you said. It mirrored many of my thought regarding this topic. In particular when you said, “can you really say that Lear’s entire transition from a hard, short-tempered man who is incapable of feeling love and measures this powerful emotion by how eloquently one can profess it, to a man whose survival rests on his ability to receive and reciprocate the undying love of his one loyal daughter, comes from him being more ‘womanly’?” I immediately thought ‘no.’ I really thought Lear’s changing emotion had more to do with what transpired around him than it did with some personal realization of inner woman. Like you said he was emotionally ignorant at the beginning of the play, but because of that he was able to discover, with the help of those around him, how he felt about certain things, which he would not have discovered otherwise. I also agree that his changing in emotion is not based on gender.
I agree with you completely. It is a bit myopic, even naive, to suggest that King Lear's downfall (and too-late redemption) can all be attributed to Lear's femininity, or the lack thereof at the beginning.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, one cannot deny the feminine influence that tears away at Lear's soul. It is possible, however slightly, that if the man could have embraced those "water-drops" a few decades sooner, we'd have had a lot fewer bodies to tally into the body count, but it is a tragedy after all. The King's pride and chauvinism are just as valid a trigger for backstabbing, usurping, and madness as any other tragic foil.
There is, of course, the foul presence of two women who will stoop to any depths, no matter how vile, to take what they think to be theirs. One could make an argument for the "inner man" in Goneril and Regan, but as you pointed out earlier, it would an exercise in frivolity to suggest that compassion is merely a woman's instrument, and deceit a man's. With the exception of Cordelia and possibly Kent and Edgar, all the characters appear capable of evil; this type of behavior cannot be simply categorized as "male" or "female".
Yet we come full circle to the gender roles that may have instigated the bloodbath that follows. We, the readers, are given the chain of events, and the terror that haunts King Lear (aided in no small part by his dementia, or by his Fool, who knows much more than he lets on), and could spend a lifetime interpreting "King Lear" for all of its attributes (spiritual, political, philosophical, et al.) that the feminist approach hardly seems the end-all-be-all interpretation. It sheds much light on Lear as a character, but I do not think it fair to narrow Shakespeare's masterpiece down to simply a study of gender, and the timeless differences between the two. Like the Fool, Shakespeare keeps us guessing.
I really like your view of King Lear as the old fool in the beginning. It fits the way his two daughters view him. It's an interesting twist I never would have even thought of.
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