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Treasure
November 22, 2006
My great-grandfather was a writer. Actually, if his career had to be classified, it would be better to call him a worker. He wanted to be a writer. He also wanted to support his family. The latter overrode the avocation. He published only a couple books - on-location guides to cities that he knew well.
My grandfather says of him, “He was a simpleton with the heart, the desire, of a scholar. He desperately wanted to be part of a group that he couldn’t belong with.”
My great-grandfather loved Shakespeare. He was obsessed with Shakespeare. He named his daughter, my grandmother, Hamlette.
She later changed her name to Josephine, my middle name.
I knew nothing of this until recently, when I expressed my interest in Shakespeare to my grandfather, who is also a playwright. I knew that my interest in writing had been sparked by my grandfather. I had no idea that the particular aspect of my character came from both sides of the family.
On that day, my grandfather disappeared to his room and reemerged with two books and handed them to me. They instantly became two of the most priceless items I own.
One of tragedies. One of comedies. They’re falling apart. The binding is broken, the pages are falling out. They are filled with newspaper clippings and scraps of notes written by my great-grandfather. It’s as if every page was read and read and then read again.
My favorite detail is the illustration. Scenes are sketched based on the compiler’s interpretation. Every full-page drawing is covered by a protective, translucent piece of paper. They’re gorgeous. Below, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
My favorite drawings are the portraits of the female Shakespearean characters. Below, Juliet.
It makes me wonder if I was predisposed to be fond of certain things, or if I’m just the result of being raised by a writer.
Day 10. Photos from books.
November 22nd, 2006 at 5:02 pm
That’s beyond interesting. He named her Hamlet? That’s crazy.
You’re really going to be something, and I’m excited for you.