All summer, I read Shakespeare out on my porch with a cold drink, pausing to watch the dragonflies hover around the leaves of my hibiscus.
I can’t imagine a world more different from my own than the one I’ve been entering every time I open one of my Heritage Library editions of Shakespeare’s plays. My cell phone chirps and trills as his messengers run breathlessly from place to place. There are no Dukes plotting revenge in Birmingham’s Southside, and the only cuckolds I see are on midday soap operas.
Still, there’s a magic there. As distant as it seems, once you start reading, you find you can’t stop until the end. It’s a long journey from my kudzu-covered porch to the courts of Venice, but the people, those you can recognize anywhere. Their fears, their hopes, their loves and pain, are very close to home.
Even if home is Alabama.
Written by: Amethyst V.