In 2009 I published The De Vere Code, which demonstrates that the poems published as Shake-speare's Sonnets in 1609 were in written, not by William Shaksper from Stratford-on-Avon, but by Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, a nobleman at the court of Queen Elizabeth I.
As the promotional bandwagon for Roland Emmerich's Stratford-baiting Anonymous gets under way, this blog will chronicle the next few months in the life of The De Vere Code, to see how its arguments, and the wider case for Edward de Vere, fare during this time of unprecedented scrutiny around all things Authorship…
Monday, 24 October 2011
Friday, 21 October 2011
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
"None of which would matter very much were there not something repellent at the heart of the theory, and that something is the toad, snobbery—the engine that drives the Oxfordian case against the son of the Stratford glover John Shakespeare. John was indeed illiterate. But his son was not, as we know incontrovertibly from no fewer than six surviving signatures in Shakespeare’s own flowing hand, the first from 1612, when he was giving evidence in a domestic lawsuit."
Monday, 17 October 2011
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Thursday, 6 October 2011
The review is lengthy, but worth a look, as Niederkorn provides an all-too-rare example of what Shakespeare lit crit might look like if it were to be accepted that there is an authorship question. He reviews Beauclerk's book as if it contains an argument, rather than as a work of paranoid fantasy. He's interested in the interesting stuff, and sceptical of many of the claims - in other words, he's not a loony. Perhaps the future belongs to the Allfordians.
Friday, 30 September 2011
The Anonymous debate is showing its first signs of breaking out of the confines of movie blogs, as a mini-row breaks out in the Times Higher Ed over an entry in the previously mentioned Sixty Minutes with Shakespeare, the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust's pre-emptive volley against the anti-Stratfordians:
"William Leahy, head of the School of Arts at Brunel University, was startled to discover one contributor questioning the "intellectual justification" of "degrees awarded to those doubting Shakespeare's authorship at Brunel and Concordia (Oregon) universities"."
In a bizarre twist to the "Snobs, snobs, yer all snobs" accusation levelled against Oxfordians, it seems the academic establishment is now turning on its own. Again, it all comes down to whether you think the authorship of Shakespeare's works is a subject worthy of serious study. Some clearly don't. But some, like Brunel, do. But whichever side one is on, I don't think the Brunel course, or even a module on it, is entitled "Proving Stratfordians Wrong", let alone "Solving the Authorship Question", and the idea that exploring a subject indicates that one is not intellectually the full shilling is, of course, snobbery par excellence. Perhaps Brunel should award James Shapiro, and Alan Nelson honorary degrees. They are after all academics, and they have published on the authorship question. It wasn't beneath them.
PS: Having met William Leahy, I know that he's an extremely serious academic. But then I would say that, as he was kind enough to read The De Vere Code in manuscript, and described it as 'convincing', among other things. But, and it's a big but he said, the difficulty I would face was getting anyone to take encipherment seriously, as it was a subject so tarnished (and rightly so I reckon) - by the Baconian nonsense of the late-19th and early-20th centuries.
That has turned out to be true enough. As I have discovered, in a landscape already over-populated by ostracised fanatics, the cipher-discoverer is the loneliest loony of them all.
Thursday, 29 September 2011
As the intermittently flickering studio lighting added an unintentionally Elizabethan fireside atmosphere, Professor Nelson single-handedly fended off the uncompromising director Roland Emmerich, screenwriter John Orloff and Oxfordian author Charles Beauclerk. Amazingly, he actually opened his remarks by saying that he'd written a book demonstrating that Edward Vere was a really bad person - and bad poet (see previous post). This was greeted with a ripple of laughter from the audience, but only served to goad Emmerich and co. It was the Professor's last laugh of the evening.
It provided a wonderfully bad start, however, with the prof delivering a seven-minute (according to Emmerich) tirade against Anonymous, after which the director spluttered, 'My god, is this how you teach?'
Awkward shuffling of papers. Nobody seemed sure who was chairing the debate (no one - it turned out appropriately enough), so screenwriter Orloff launched a salvo on historical accuracy, stating that dating Shakespeare's plays is subjective. No it isn't, replied Nelson. Yes it is, Orloff parried. Alright then, it is, Nelson countermanded.
In appeasing mood, Emmerich conceded that he was not 100 per cent sure either way who wrote the plays - but thought it more likely that Oxford was the author. Orloff chipped in that a fundamental issue for him was that Shakespeare's daughters were never taught to read or write - how could a man of Shakespeare's intellect allow that to happen? In addition, though it is documented that the Stratford man went to and fro between Stratford and London over a period of 20 years - not a single example of a letter from him exists in London or Stratford. Yet there are many examples of letters from other poets of the time.
Professor Nelson then announced that the discussion was a waste of time.
At this point Emmerich introduced Beauclerk - a wise move guaranteed to bring calm and order to the unruly proceedings. The Earl duly intoned into the gloom at little above a whisper that the dynamic of the Stratfordian account was 'inert' and consigned the works of Shakespeare to a historical vacuum devoid of context or motivation. It's the dynamic of the plays in the context of Oxford's life that makes them exciting (mild applause). Oh, and Shakespeare's my great-great-great-granddad. Nearly.
At this point apropos of nothing, Emmerich interjected, "I would hate to have you as my teacher." I think it was directed at the Professor. He then continued, "I made the film because when I read the script I was upset that I had not been told this in school - that there is a problem, I was kept ignorant. And I knew that without me it probably wouldn't get made, because in Hollywood you have to be very powerful to even make a movie like this."
This hit a nerve with everyone, going as it does to perhaps the core of the authorship issue for many.
"Don't you think there is a problem, a puzzle?" Orloff asked Nelson.
"No, I don't," replied Nelson.
A question from the audience, "I'm an English teacher - what should I do?". (laughter).
Emmerich: "No - it's serious, just be honest and say I believe this or that, I believe it was Stratford. Whatever. Be honest."
Beauclerk: "Shakespeare is an icon, inert to schoolchildren. The authorship opens the plays up as a lens to view this period of history. Is true writing arid fantasy? Or is it the attempt of the writer to remake his shattered world? Is it good to divorce art from life for children?"
You could almost hear the audience ripping up the Declaration of Independence and pledging allegiance to the crown, so impressive is Beauclerk when he gets going, but sadly we ran out of time. So, after an interesting discussion of the relevance of historical accuracy to drama, and some fascinating stuff about why Orloff and Emmerich rewrote some of the history for film purposes, the debate closed. In his hurry to leave, Emmerich at first appeared to forget to shake hands with Professor Nelson. But then he remembered, and all ended well.
The fundamental question: Is there an Authorship Problem? was I would say, won by Emmerich and co. The Stratfordians need to get their act together in these situations, if they are serious in hoping to nail the coffin lid down on Oxfordiansim. These guys - particularly the articulate and well-versed Orloff - are not dummies. They really think there's an issue - and they've thought about it quite hard.
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Saturday, 10 September 2011
'Easily director Roland Emmerich’s best film. Instead of blowing up the world or engaging in other sorts of mass destruction, he actually steers a coherent path through a complex bit of Tudor history while establishing a highly credible atmosphere of paranoia and intrigue. His British actors deliver their usual reliable performances while designers and digital environmentalist stunningly re-create Elizabethan London right down to the tiniest detail.'
InContention.com's Kristopher Tapley was equally, if unexpectedly, approving: "the film is an elaborate piece of work (from an engaging screenplay by John Orloff), dense but rewarding, smart but entertaining, and Emmerich pulls it off without a hitch."
It remains to be seen whether the length and complexity of the film will limit the audience, but if these reactions are anything to go by it's not what the Orthodoxy want to hear. The last thing Stratford needs is a film that is watchable, even critically successful, especially from a director with a predominantly young fan base. Imagine all those English teachers having to answer awkward questions, or tour guides at the Birth Place: "You have no proof he ever entered this building? Is there a discount for that?"
It must be a worry that the Stratford tourist economy is based on so many half-truths and outright falsehoods, even before you get to the authorship debate. The question is: would the Birthplace Trust sue Sony Pictures for damaging their brand, and if they did, who would win?
Friday, 2 September 2011
Returning to Stephen Fry's four minute warning, he opens his salvo with the following ad hominem quip:
"Well, I suppose it would be rude to point out that the man who came up with the Oxfordian theory was called Looney, and I don’t wish to be mean against those who try hard to push the case for Oxford but it’s an uphill battle."
I've yet to meet the Stratfordian who can resist the temptation to ridicule the author of the first presentation of the Oxfordian case (in Shakespeare Identified, 1920) for having a 'silly' name. It gets the whole thing off to a good start, it would seem, to allow the imputation of mental illness to hang like an unpleasant aroma around Oxfordians. The first recorded instance of concern at this possibility actually came from Looney's publisher, who feared that witty types might use the author's name as a stick with which to beat him, and urged Looney to use a pseudonym. The plucky author refused, no doubt providing further evidence to some of his psychological unreliability, and to others of a naive faith that intelligent critics left such rhetorical techniques behind them in the playground.
I suppose it would be rude to say that as someone who campaigns for greater understanding of mental illness, it is surprising that Fry opts to open with this 'argument'. But then, sledging is all part of the game these days, I suppose.