Well hey--here's a reprint of a book that probably couldn't be written by any person alive. Which is why it is so good to see that it is back in print: it is also one of the best, most enjoyable, and most instructive pieces of Shakespeare criticism you could want to read.
That would be Shakespeare's Use of the Arts of Language by a woman with the formidable handle of Sister Miriam Joseph Rauh, C.S.C., first published in 1947 and republished by Paul Dry Books, Inc., in 2005 (I'm slow to get the word). Sister Miriam is perhaps a tiny bit better known as the author of The Trivium (republished by Paul Dry in 2002) which is just what you might guess--an introduction to the Medieval learning impounded in "grammar, rhetoric and logic." Antique or arcane as it may appear, this venerable enterprise enjoys a certain cachet with some home-schoolers and other devotees of "traditional education."
The Shakespeare book is, in a sense, what you might expect from a person so learned in the grand tradition: it is a study of Shakespeare the artist as one who employs rhetorical devices--she counts some 200 of them, recognized in Renaissance studies, and at least one (see p. 62) that the commentators seem to have missed. She offers an introduction and analysis, but most of it is a catalog (with commentary) of examples, disclosing how the forms help to reveal the (as she calls it) "extraordinary power, vitality and richness of Shakespeare's language" (3).
You could be excused for assuming that to read such a catalog would be about as much fun as a root canal: excused, but you'd be wrong. In fact, it is a delight. In fact every page, every example, helps to elucidate the subtlety and flexibility of Shakespeare's art (not to mention the analyticsl invisiveness of the cataloguer). With her help, you get to see not just the range of devices available to the playwright, but the skill and forethought with which he deploys them.
And you get to see something almost as extraordinary when you reflect on Sister Miriam's own approach to her subject. She's a grammarian; yet surprisingly, she is the very oppposite of a pedant. Indeed one of the compelling allures of her book is her conviction that Shakespeare owes his effectiveness as much to his skill at breaking (or at least bending) the rules as at keeping them. "He uses every resource of language and imagination," she says,
The omission of conjunctions between words, called brachylogia, emphasizes the grief and sense of loss felt by Paris and Capulet on discovering Juliet dead:
That would be Shakespeare's Use of the Arts of Language by a woman with the formidable handle of Sister Miriam Joseph Rauh, C.S.C., first published in 1947 and republished by Paul Dry Books, Inc., in 2005 (I'm slow to get the word). Sister Miriam is perhaps a tiny bit better known as the author of The Trivium (republished by Paul Dry in 2002) which is just what you might guess--an introduction to the Medieval learning impounded in "grammar, rhetoric and logic." Antique or arcane as it may appear, this venerable enterprise enjoys a certain cachet with some home-schoolers and other devotees of "traditional education."
The Shakespeare book is, in a sense, what you might expect from a person so learned in the grand tradition: it is a study of Shakespeare the artist as one who employs rhetorical devices--she counts some 200 of them, recognized in Renaissance studies, and at least one (see p. 62) that the commentators seem to have missed. She offers an introduction and analysis, but most of it is a catalog (with commentary) of examples, disclosing how the forms help to reveal the (as she calls it) "extraordinary power, vitality and richness of Shakespeare's language" (3).
You could be excused for assuming that to read such a catalog would be about as much fun as a root canal: excused, but you'd be wrong. In fact, it is a delight. In fact every page, every example, helps to elucidate the subtlety and flexibility of Shakespeare's art (not to mention the analyticsl invisiveness of the cataloguer). With her help, you get to see not just the range of devices available to the playwright, but the skill and forethought with which he deploys them.
And you get to see something almost as extraordinary when you reflect on Sister Miriam's own approach to her subject. She's a grammarian; yet surprisingly, she is the very oppposite of a pedant. Indeed one of the compelling allures of her book is her conviction that Shakespeare owes his effectiveness as much to his skill at breaking (or at least bending) the rules as at keeping them. "He uses every resource of language and imagination," she says,
to give life, movement and piquancy to his richly laden thought. Since the schemes of grammar owe much of their attractiveness to the very nearness of their approach toi error, he liks to teeter on the brink of solecism and like a tight-rope walker or an acrobatic dancer to display in precariousness of balance such sureness, poise, agililty, and consumate skill as to awaken tense admiration in the prosaic onlooker with two feet squarely on the ground. And all of this he does within the scope of an approved tradition ...A book like this can prove surprisingly difficult to excerpt, because it is the sheer massiveness of its presentation that partly makes its point. Let me see if I can try by excerpting about half a page (with particular rhetorical terms rendered by me in boldface):--Sister Miriam Joseph, Shakespeare's Use of the Arts of Language 97 (2005)
The omission of conjunctions between words, called brachylogia, emphasizes the grief and sense of loss felt by Paris and Capulet on discovering Juliet dead:
Paris. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! ...It contributes an effect of piled-up derision to Enobarbus' description of Lepidus:
Capulet. Despis'd, distressed, hated, marty'rd, kill'd!(R&J, 4.5, 55, 59)
Hoo! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannotAriel's spirit-quality, and his swift and ready obedience to Prospero are enhanced by his use of asyndeton, omitting conjunctions between clauses.
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number--hoo!--
His love to Antony. (A&C, 3.2. 16)
All hail, great master! Grave sir, hail! I comeIn contrast is the measured deliberateness of polysyndeton, the use of a conjunction between each clause.
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On curl'd clouds. (Tem. 1.2. 189).
'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,The figure primarily concerned with rhythm is isocolon or parison ...
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit
To your own person (Oth. 3.3.77).
--Id., at 59
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