Under Milk Wood: The Definitive Edition | Dylan Thomas #Dewithon

In 1991, I spent a lovely long weekend with my Welsh cousins in Pendoylan. One of the many tours we managed to fit into my brief visit, was an afternoon in Laugharne to wander around Dylan Thomas' boathouse and writing shed perched on the side of a hill above the River Taf.

Growing up in Australia, with our broad expansive, open vista's everywhere you look, I was struggling somewhat to appreciate the more compact, grey-green, misty views of England, Wales and Scotland. I spent a lot of time, in 1991, visiting famous sites and sights in the UK, thinking, 'but where is the rest of it?' My imagination had super-imposed Australia-sized space onto all those well-known, well-trod British places that I had read about all my (very young) life.

I had the same experience in Laugharne as my Welsh cousins raved about the beauty of the sea and sand at the estuary. All I could see was a muddy stream running out to sea, with more muddy sand in a tiny strip beside it. I wondered how on earth Thomas could wax so lyrical about this rather grey, dismal, wet view. I refrained from saying anything, but I think my cousins were disappointed with my lacklustre enthusiasm.

Back in Australia, in 2012, Mr Books and I saw a production of Under Milk Wood at the Opera House, starring Bruce Spence, Jack Thompson and Sandy Gore. I went into the show knowing next to nothing about the play, except that it was one of Mr Book's favourites from school. It may not have been the best way to start my Milk Wood journey. I was bemused and confused by most of it. I remember a mad-cap, slightly manic stage romp with a group of actors clearly enjoying themselves.  Mr Books was spell-bound though.

I bought him a copy of the 2015 definitive edition as a love-token.

As Dewithon 2020 loomed large, I went searching through our bookshelves for books by Welsh authors. Sadly, given my Welsh heritage, there were not very many options. So I plundered Mr Books shelves.

I felt a little daunted about reading the play after my experience with The Tempest earlier on this year, so I decided to listen to Richard Burton's full cast BBC recording as I read along - the only way, I believe, to really appreciate the rhythm, pacing and beauty of the language used by Thomas Dylan in this, his play for voices.

It was a delicious rainy Sunday afternoon experience.

Time passes, Listen. Time passes.

As it turns out, I read/listened to Under Milk Wood during the early days of my One Hundred Years of Solitude readalong, and enjoyed the crossover of ideas between the two - dreams, ghosts, time, love and loss - in particular.

But I will leave it to those far more learned to discuss the merits of this play. I was enchanted by Burton's retelling. His rolling r's, his use of pauses and pacing that brought the narration to life and his inflections were spot on.

Mr Books' career has been made on the back of his lifelong love of words. I can now appreciate one of his early influences. An influence he shares in common with Bernadine Evaristo (Girl, Woman, Other).

The Tempest | William Shakespeare #Play

I wanted to read The Tempest at some point for two reasons. 

1. I would like to read Margaret Atwood's Hag-Seed one day. But I have never seen any productions of The Tempest and don't really know the story very well.
2. I have never read a play before that I had not already seen a theatre, movie or TV production of (I don't count seeing Return to the Forbidden Planet in 1991 at the Cambridge theatre, London, as I remember absolutely nothing about it!)

So I added it to my Classics Club List #2 and it came up during the last CC Spin.

I was curious to know how easy it would be to read an unknown play.

It was not.

Easy, that is.

I struggled to gather any information about the characters. I couldn't pick up any inflections, tone or tempo from the bare words on the page. I didn't know if the various speeches were meant to funny, sad or ironic. There were simply not enough clues for me to work it out on my own.

In the end I let the words just wash over me. I gave up trying to remember who was speaking to whom, except for Prospero, Miranda and Ariel.

Early on I picked up on the hag-seed reference to Caliban though,

Save for the son that she did litter here,
A feckled whelp hag-born.

and realised this must be the point of entry for Atwood's version of the story. But again, who was Caliban? I couldn't work it out from the text in from of me. 

Was he a hero or anti-hero, a bad guy or just misunderstood? Was he an 'other', a victim or villain, foolish, naive or tragic? 

Does he represent the natural world as being uncivilised? Or does he show up the civilised world as being cruel and domineering? Is he inhuman or beast, untamed or rebel, monster or noble savage? 

Perhaps, though, it is this very doubt and openness to interpretation that makes Shakepeare's plays so great. Caliban can be any or all or none of these things, depending on the reader, the director, the times or the lens.

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 

Which thou takest from me. 

When thou camest first, 

Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me 

Water with berries in't, and teach me how 

To name the bigger light, and how the less, 

That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee 

And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 

The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:Cursed be I that did so! 

All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! 

For I am all the subjects that you have, 

Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me 

In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 

The rest o' the island.

The only thing I really gleaned about Caliban is that his mother was called Sycorax and she was banished to the island pregnant and unmarried. I'm not sure who the father was, but Caliban is certainly the quintessential bastard son. He was living on the island alone, when Prospero and Miranda arrived. They took him in, cared for him, used his knowledge of the island, then took offence when he wanted to make babies with Miranda ['Thou didst prevent me. I had peopled else this isle with Calibans.'] It would be very easy to view this play through a post-colonialism lens.

There is much speculation about the name Caliban. The predominate one being that it is an anagram of canibal (Spanish spelling) with more than a passing nod to Montaigne's essay Of Cannibal.

One of Caliban's most famous speeches (below) was the inspiration behind Caliban's Dream as performed by Sir Kenneth Branagh at the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics.

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. 

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 

Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices 

That, if I then had waked after long sleep, 

Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming, 

The clouds methought would open, and show riches 

Ready to drop upon me, that when I awaked, 

I cried to dream again!

Literary references also abound, with the most well-known one coming from Oscar Wilde, 'The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.'

The Tempest was first performed at Court in 1611 and was probably the last play written by Shakespeare.

My version of the play was an EMCP access edition PDF.

I'm not sure I will ever read an unknown play again. I'm obviously one of those people who needs to see a play to make sense of it. There is an art to reading a play that I do not have the skill to unpack.
The only real satisfaction I got from this one (besides spotting the famous quotes and making the Caliban/Hag-Seed connection) was the post-reading research.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And like the baseless fabric of this vision, 

The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on; and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.


Since writing this post, I've been thinking about and talking about which Shakespeare play is my favourite. Turns out it's harder to answer this question than I initially thought. Mr Books comes down on the side of A Merchant of Venice, which I do like a lot. But I tend to be a little more frivolous and romantic when it comes to Shakespeare and I'm leaning towards Much Ado About Nothing or Taming of the Shrew. But then again, I've seen so many different versions of Romeo and Juliet over the years, it feels like the play I know best of all.

But if I really had to pick a favourite, it might just be Macbeth.

Out damn spot and double, double, toil, and trouble.
Witches, the conniving Lady Macbeth and the guilty, tormented Macbeth.
Political intrigue, psychological angst and power struggles.
It all makes for great drama and tension.
The original why-dunnit.

What about you?
What's your favourite Shakespeare?

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by J K Rowling, John Tiffany & Jack Thorne

I had LOTS of doubts about a new Harry Potter.

Did we really need a new Harry Potter? Wasn't this just a crass cash grab? Was there anything new to be said about the power of love?

As it turns out the answer is yes!

Rowling along with Tiffany and Thorne had plenty more to say about the power of love and the art of forgiveness. After all, Harry was a pretty easy character to love. But what would happen if the main character was less lovable? How would we all respond then?

Young Albus is struggling. Struggling with being the youngest in a high achieving family. Struggling with being famous thanks to who his father is and struggling to feel competent or relevant.

It's only natural, then, that when he starts at Hogwarts that he would be drawn into friendship with another outsider. Another boy struggling with his family history and his sense of belonging - young Scorpius Malfoy.

I'm not going to reveal any major (or minor) plot points, you will have to read the book (or see the play) for yourself if you're that curious. My main concern, was centred around whether or not it was actually worthwhile to continue the series at all.

Given the huge response to Rowling's tweets in previous years about what the Potter children would have been up to, it's easy to say, yes, the interest was there.

Did Rowling herself feel compelled to write more about the Potter's and Hogwarts? I guess only she can really answer that, but given that she chose not to write a book herself perhaps suggests she was a little ambivalent or maybe just more focused on other creative pursuits.

Although perhaps those other creative pursuits played right into the idea of creating a play (see what I did there?)

As for the play itself, if I lived in the UK, I would have moved heaven and earth to get tickets for the show. Reviews for the play generally agree that the 2 part experience was worth it. As a theatrical production, The Cursed Child works. And if it ever comes to Australia, I will be there.

But what about the script?
Was it necessary to produce a hugely publicised co-written script for the event?

Given that it's Harry Potter, again, you'd have to say yes. People want to know, even if they disagree with what Rowling et al have ultimately devised.

The tricky thing about The Cursed Child though is that it's only half about Harry Potter and it's only half about the childhood world of Hogwarts. And Harry Potter as an adult, struggling with how to be a father, juggling work, marriage, friendships and fame is not the same as the youthful, idealistic Harry that we watched grow up. Mr Books, who has also read the script, said that the adult Harry, Hermione and Ron were still acting and sounding just like kids playing at being grown-ups. The transition was always going to be awkward - for all of us.

Albus (and Scorpius) are baring the brunt of inter-generational damage. Their character growth and development and that of all the main players felt believable and real.

All of that comes through in the script.

What doesn't come through as well though (at least for someone who is imaginatively impaired) is the glorious blend of ordinary life and magical life that is alive in the earlier books. I missed the descriptive language.

I ended up skimming through the final half of the script just to find out what happened. It was a quick, easy read that left me delighted to see that once again, the power of love and hope wins out. The magic of Harry Potter is still out there. You just have to believe!

Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas

On Saturday night I went to the Opera House to watch the STC's production of Under Milk Wood.

I confess I knew nothing about Milk Wood at all.

My husband had studied and loved this book at school and still raves about the Richard Burton version over 25 years later. He suggested that I go in cold, so I restrained myself from all google searches and arrived at the theatre with absolutely no idea what I was going to see.

Although that is not completely true.

I knew that Dylan Thomas was Welsh, so I assumed the play would be set in a Welsh village. I knew that Dylan liked his liquor and assumed there would be references to drinking and I knew that Jack Thompson was the narrator for this particular production.

I also thought that I knew that this being a STC production it would be played at Pier 4 Wharf Theatre. On presenting our tickets at the door at Pier 4 we were told we were at the wrong venue. It did say this very clearly on the ticket, I just didn't read it because I assumed!

A quick dash around the Quay saw us arrive at the Opera House only 5 minutes late.

A very kind, understanding usher allowed us in the back way (and the other couple who also went to the wrong venue). The back way actually took us through one of the prop storage areas not normally viewed by the public. It was fascinating in a rushed kind of way.

And suddenly we were in a darkened room hearing the iconic, laconic tones of Jack Thompson as day broke on Llareggub and the townsfolk awoke.
I quickly realised that we were following the lives of various characters through one day.

I loved the multi-roles the actors played - how they embodied each one subtly by changing one article of clothing, one prop or one physical characteristic.

I loved the roll and the rhythm and the play of the language. I loved the ordinary dramas of everyday life. I loved the humour and the sympathy with which Thomas drew his characters.

I am now a Dylan Thomas convert and I would like to listen to the Richard Burton narrated audio & I would like to read a copy of the play...if only I could find one still in print! And I would love to see other productions of this wonderful play.