Othello

Shakespeare has always been an intimidating figure, a writer whom one praise but do not read. Finally I have urged myself to visit Shakespeare. It was not easy. It felt like a leap of faith. I did not know what was on the other side of the door, for all I know, it could well have been an infinite abyss of obscure words and incomprehensible phrases.

It was better than I thought. It felt strenuous, especially the start, but with the aid of notes of translation, I managed to survive, and even, thrive, in the world of 17th century Elizabethan English. It even at times felt like a riddle, and to comprehend Shakespeare gave me great pleasure.

The moral of the story is, go and pick up a play of Shakespeare, Mother Fucker, don’t be a pussy, please, it is not as difficult as you think, and maybe even, sometimes, a bit fun.

It was a damn good play. The dramatic tension Shakespeare created, through such a simple plot, is unbearable. It is a piece of unfathomable brilliance. (So was all of his other plays, I believe.)

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