Alliances, backstabbings, and intrigue abound in Merrie England
I read this for Tea & Ink Society’s 2025 Shakespeare in a Year Challenge.
I’d never heard of King John before seeing it on the reading list. Because I had no idea what it was about, I read a summary and looked at the cast list and tried to keep all the characters straight.
I listened to the play (the excellent Arkangel production) and just let it wash over me. I didn’t worry too much about keeping track of every twist and turn. As always, I’m surprised by how much there is here.
King John doesn’t get staged all that often these days, but the political intrigue, shifting alliances, and backstabbing sure do feel relevant.
Like so many of Shakespeare’s plays, this one deals with the question “Who am I?” Am I a king? If so, why? How come that other guy isn’t king instead? He’s illegitimate—what does that mean? Do I even want to be king? Am I fit? Also, who are my friends? Why are they my friends and not my enemies? What does that say about me?
I could go on.
Also, this idea of Who Is in Charge? Who is running England? We see many forces at work that demonstrate it’s not always King John who is calling the shots. At the end, we see nature swoop in and throw a wrench in both the French and English forces. Who is in charge? Could it be an almighty God, or is it random chance? The fact that a unnamed monk (who never even makes it onstage) poisons John (for reasons unclear) and forces the nation into a new era of leadership—it shows that the levers that shift the world aren’t always the big ones. Just because you are a king doesn’t mean you’re powerful. Also, our nations aren’t as strong as we think they are. They can fall apart a lot easier than we think. Just pull a few threads, and the seams rip.
We also see appearance vs. reality, especially with the death of poor little Arthur. What the nobles “see” as reality isn’t reality at all. But nobody is interested in working to uncover the truth about what happened to him.
Alliance and allegiance are big themes, too. Who will the kings and nobles ally themselves with and why? Who do they want close to them and why? What makes England a country? Under what circumstances are we willing to compromise or even collude with our enemies? Why not just let France take over because what is England anyway? Boundary lines change constantly in the play, and most of the motivations are self-centered and not moral. The one scene where we see a moral victory over a political one is when Hubert refuses to kill Arthur.
The women in the play suffer. There are several strong moms, but they suffer. One gal is wedded to the Dauphin as a bargaining chip. Arthur’s mom goes mad. It’s not easy being a woman in this play, for sure.
A great place to start if you’re reading Shakespeare for the first time
I read this as part of Tea & Ink Society’s Shakespeare in a Year Challenge for 2025. My first time experiencing the play, I listened to the Naxos audio version, which was great. This time, I watched the 1996 film starring Imogen Stubbs, which is extremely well done.
This story isn’t meant to be believable. It’s meant to convey a human experience, and the central questions of identity, excess, and honesty are so interesting.
It’s got the same lightness and humor of Dream, but none of the magic. It’s set firmly in the real world, and all of the antics occur due to practical joking or classic Shakespearean misunderstandings (they really are the best).
This is such an amazing commentary on love and disguise! And it’s got a great wise fool.
The second time I read the play, I “got” the subplot, the one with Malvolio and Sir Toby and Maria. It mirrors the high plot, but it has this tragi-comic trajectory that makes you feel uncomfortable about the trickery, and you’re forced to ask why it doesn’t sit well. Why is it different from what Viola is doing? I’m always amazed by the depth in these plays.
The first time I read this, I consulted a few summaries from several children’s summaries and retellings, trying to land on a good homeschool resource for my kids. Here are my impressions of those:
1. Charles and Mary Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare. This was the most thorough and extensive, and it did the best job of preserving much of Shakespeare’s language and elevated tone and diction. It’s more formal, offers some commentary, and is best suited to a read-aloud for young kids, as there are no pictures in my version, and the paragraphs are very long and intimidating.
2. A Stage Full of Shakespeare Stories: 12 Tales from the Bard Retold for Children by Angela McAllister. This was the shortest retelling, and I liked the colorful illustrations on every page and the Cast of Characters reference page (Antonio, Cesario, Orsino, Malvolio, Olivia…their names contain all the same letters, so confusing!!!) This one also preserved several of the most famous quotes, but I felt like the retelling itself was a tad dry because the plot was reordered for simplicity.
3. The Usborne Complete Shakespeare: Stories from All the Plays. I actually enjoyed this easy, fluid retelling, which is great for very young kids. I liked that the presentation of the plot aligned closely with the play. There is only one illustration spread per play, so not as much to look at here for younger kids.
I read this book with my 7- and 9-year-olds for Sarah MacKenzie’s Christmas School this year. I was surprised by how much they were able to access, despite the old-fashioned language. This tale echoes through so many other stories that they’re familiar with, namely the Grinch.
I am a fan of The Muppet’s Christmas Carol movie, as well as Mickey’s Christmas Carol (I had a bootleg VHS recording of this as a kid), but I cannot abide the Jim Carrey version.
I loved Bleak House, but I think I just might love this one more. This book is about what it means to be truly free and happy.
Amy Dorrit was born in the Marshalsea prison for debt. Her father was once a prosperous gentleman, but now he’s imprisoned for life. Amy, the youngest and smallest of her siblings, quietly and devotedly manages things so they can all survive.
One day, when Amy is 21, a 40-year-old man named Arthur Clennam comes on the scene, and he’s a friend to her and her family. He plays a key role in making a discovery that leads them out of the Marshalsea and restores all their former fortune and then some. The Dorrits go from a literal prison to a metaphorical one (London high society). Meanwhile, Clennam falls upon hard times and there’s a reversal of fortunes. But wait, there’s another twist.
Amy and Arthur’s story is just one fraction of the book. There is a huge cast of characters who are all trying to break free from something. What does it mean to be truly free in body, mind and soul? Some characters are imprisoned by expectations, by guilt, by vice, by emotion (romantic love in particular). It is so beautifully rendered and woven together. It’s far too complex to write about here, but I thoroughly enjoyed steeping in this theme for a month.
As is always the case with Charles Dickens, his antidote is Christian love. Even though Dickens was a flawed man who made a lot of mistakes, he writes so clearly about the power of Christian morals and ethics to bring true freedom and happiness.
I highly recommend the audiobook narrated by Juliet Stevenson. I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed it half so much if I’d read it in print. I also highly recommend watching the BBC miniseries first, as it’s shockingly faithful to the original.
Now, some quotes:
Regarding Mrs. Clennam: Verily, verily, travellers have seen many monstrous idols in many countries; but no human eyes have ever seen more daring, gross, and shocking images of the Divine nature than we creatures of the dust make in our own likenesses, of our own bad passions. Ch. 30
Regarding Arthur and Amy: Looking back upon his own poor story, she was its vanishing-point. Every thing in its perspective led to her innocent figure. He had travelled thousands of miles towards it; previous unquiet hopes and doubts had worked themselves out before it; it was the centre of the interest of his life; it was the termination of everything that was good and pleasant in it; beyond, there was nothing but mere waste and darkened sky. Ch 27
For we all know how we all deceive ourselves—that is to say, how people in general, our profounder selves excepted, deceive themselves—as to motives of action. Ch. 13
Be so good as to say nothing that goes beyond what is said among us. If you keep within our bounds, you cannot well be wrong. Ch. 8
It is enough that she was inspired to be something which was not what the rest were, and to be that something, different and laborious, for the sake of the rest. Inspired? Yes. Shall we speak of the inspiration of a poet or a priest, and not of the heart impelled by love and self-devotion to the lowliest work in the lowliest way of life! Ch. 7
Crushed at first by his imprisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. He was under lock and key; but the lock and key that kept him in, kept numbers of his troubles out. If he had been a man with strength of purpose to face those troubles and fight them, he might have broken the net that held him, or broken his heart; but being what he was, he languidly slipped into this smooth descent, and never more took one step upward. Ch. 6
More twists and turns than a cinnamon roll, and a masterpiece of suspense
This book has the “train wreck” quality, where every scene has you biting your nails, saying oh no, oh no, oh no. And it’s not because it’s high on action. In fact, most of the action takes place in relatively serene settings indoors, such as parlor rooms, dining rooms, and bedrooms. People talking, with only one fist-punch that I can remember. But it’s the escalation that had me hooked, hoping for a good outcome for the shy, insecure narrator.
This book is carefully crafted, swathed in atmosphere, and bursting with symbols and meaningful details. It’s a literary banquet. It’s hard to review the book without spoiling anything.
For a long time, I thought this book might be too scary for me. I thought it was more of a ghost story with paranormal whatsits flying around, but no. Even though there are eerie aspects, it wasn’t scary. And if I wasn’t scared, then nobody gonna be scared because I’m a wuss.
Even though this is a rather slim review (to avoid spoilers) you can grab my Rebecca book club guide and get everything you need to enjoy this classic.
Two sisters with wildly different temprements fall in love with men they can’t have
This book contains some of Austen’s all-time best dialogue. So many double meanings, so much dramatic irony. I will say, though, that this novel gets off to a rather slow start. I’d forgotten how long it takes for things to really get rolling. But the story just keeps getting better and better as it flows along.
I’m a total sucker for strong theme, and this book has it—it’s right there in the title. Just like Pride and Prejudice. You’ve got two sisters who embody two extremes of temperament. Eleanor is all sense, and Marianne is all sensibility. Austen shows us the upsides and downsides of each, ultimately praising both in moderation.
In the BBC miniseries from the 2000s, there is a very cringey scene in which Brandon and Willoughby duel with pistols on a foggy morning. I always mocked this scene up and down, saying, “That never happened in the book.” But I was so dead wrong! When Brandon confides in Eleanor, he mentions in veiled language that a duel did take place. So, there you go. Duels do happen in Austen.
What happens when a selfish lord decides to help a poor family get a foothold in London society? Rrrrrrrromance! (Roll the “R.”)
This was delightful. Georgette Heyer is often described as the inventor of the regency romance genre when she started publishing novels like this one back in the ’20s. This book is like Jane Austen with antics, haha.
Frederica is determined to see her drop-dead gorgeous younger sister, Charis, have one London season. That’s all she needs to make a comfortable match with a gentleman. Since Frederica lost both her parents and has long been in charge of her younger siblings, it’s up to her to make this happen for Charis.
Frederica appeals to a distant cousin, Lord Alverstroke, who agrees to help her (at first) only to needle his bothersome sisters. But then, Alverstroke realizes that Frederica might just be his kind of gal. Romance ensues.
This book is CUTE. Clean romance. Regency period. Sparkling morals. Sweet to the bone. But, unlike Jane Austen, this isn’t all quiet action in parlor rooms and gardens and country estates. Here, we mix with people of all classes. We have adventures—barking dogs, hot air balloons, steamers!
The only critique I have (and it’s a small one) is that the writing can be clumsy to read at times. It’s not seamless. I found myself halting through some passages, especially those thick with period slang and colloquialisms. Also, Heyer uses exclamation marks with zero hesitation!!! Haha.
The next time I read a Heyer novel, I’d like to listen on audio. I bet that would be even better.
Side note: I can’t believe that filmmakers haven’t picked up on Heyer yet. Instead of making bad adaptations of Jane Austen, they could pick ANY Georgette Heyer novel and run with it.
Content warnings: None. The romance is as clean as it gets.
We see how love, loss, and jealousy play out in the lives of an interconnected group of Russians
I don’t usually go into a book this long on a whim, but I did this time. I thought I’d listen to a little of the audiobook to see if I liked the narration, and then, I thought, maybe I’d start it for real in 2024. Before I knew it, I was through part one and totally invested.
I think the short chapters propelled me on. And it was great listening on audio because the complex names didn’t trip me up. Also, this book has that “train wreck” quality that makes it impossible to NOT gawk. I just zoomed through!
This book probably hits everyone differently, but, for me, the central question of the book is “What do we live for?” Ourselves? Our passions? Our families, work, religion? Do we live for God? Each character grapples with this at some point, and I love that there are no tidy answers.
It was fascinating to watch Anna go from a “good” woman to a “bad” one. To watch her get increasingly self-centered and consequently more unhappy and paranoid. When you look at her, you realize that it can happen to anyone. Easily.
I love how life is portrayed in all its complexity and how everyone’s life seems both good and bad, one way from the outside and another way from the inside. And it’s always changing.
Content warnings: Nothing is portrayed graphically. The book deals heavily with adultery, but there are no bedroom scenes. There are some gristly deaths, one of which is suicide.
This book has been on my radar for a while simply due to the title. That title. I didn’t realize the phrase comes from a poem by William Sharp (Fiona MacLeod): “Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still, But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.” That’s something right there.
This book is something, too. But, in many ways, it’s a mess. This is one of those beautifully written, literary books that gives you a lot to think about, that stirs your emotions—but that also feels like a bucket of odds and ends that the author shakes, and it’s noisy and interesting, but we’re not sure exactly what it all means.
The book is not what I’d call entertaining. Not in the same way that To Kill a Mockingbird is entertaining, apart from everything else it brings to the table.
I’m perplexed by the paradox of this book. On the one hand, there are strong themes that you don’t have to be an English major to sniff out. But there’s a striking lack of coherence. Again, like a bucket filled with objects that clearly symbolize certain things, but they’re just crashing around in the bucket, and what does it mean at the end of the day?
As the title suggests, this book explores the theme of loneliness. John Singer is a deaf mute living in an ordinary mill town in Georgia. He’s the hub of the story. He attracts the other four main characters to him. These people pay separate but regular visits to Singer because they like to talk with him—or TO him. They believe he understands them. They’re lonely and desperate to offload their thoughts, feelings, dreams, and convictions on another human being and be understood. But, we know, through the narrator, that Singer doesn’t actually understand them. They just think he does. And they rely on him to listen. They imagine him to be who they want him to be.
Each of the four supporting characters represents different parts of American society. Mick represents the poor whites (she’s also young and coming of age). Dr. Copeland represents the “Negro race” as he puts it. Biff represents the establishment—capitalist, white working man. Blount represents the communist malcontent. The book is described as a parable because each of these characters is representative of larger ideas and societal problems.
Mick stands out as, by far, the most sympathetic and sweet, followed closely by Biff, who is thoughtful, fair, and observant. I love when Mick describes her “inside room.” It’s the inner space where she can dream and be creative. She dreams of learning music and composing songs, and she even tries her hand at writing some songs. But she doesn’t share this dream with anyone. It’s her own “inside” secret that she cherishes. The second-to-last chapter when she describes how, after a long day’s work at the mercantile, she cannot manage to get into the inside room anymore—that’s heartbreaking.
Portia’s good-faith attempts to make peace with her father are exquisitely written. Blount and Copeland’s rage-fest where they’re agreeing but disagreeing—it was perfectly rendered. There’s so much here, but it felt very meandering, like you’re not sure exactly where the story is.
I did not love this book. It was a slog. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot that will stay with me.
