"Where is Thebes now? Where is our noble country?
Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more
Must we behold those comforts, never see
The hardy youths strive for the games of honor,
Hung with the painted favors of their ladies,
Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst 'em
And as an east wind leave 'em all behind us,
Like lazy clouds . . ."
It took twelve years, but I've now read every extant Shakespeare play!* I still plan to read the long poems (Venus and Adonis, The Rape of Lucrece, and A Lover's Complaint), so I'm not technically done with my Shakespeare read-through yet, but it feels significant anyway, looking back over all the life I've lived since I first started doing this.
I'd heard Kinsmen--Will's other big collab with John Fletcher, along with the terrible Henry VIII--was quite bad, so I was prepared to finish on a bum note, but while it's certainly not a very good play and the last act is pretty much unsalvageable I actually found myself at least more engaged by this than by most of the other romances. The plot was pretty much all surprising since I knew nothing in advance, and while the characterizations are definitely broad the major players do feel a little more substantial to me than, say, Pericles or Posthumus. It even seemed for a while that we were going to get some Timely Commentary on life in a police state (i.e. Thebes under the rule of the tyrant Creon), though that wound up being kind of a nonstarter.
The Tempest is the play everyone reads as Shakespeare's farewell, which makes sense because it was probably the last one he wrote solo and is definitely the last one that's actually good, but I found Kinsmen pretty interesting to read through that lens too. No one can say of course whether Shakespeare knew while he was writing this that he'd never write another, but I like to think he did. For one thing, it very clearly echoes what was likely his first play, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, not only in its title but also in its focus on two men with a very close relationship who fall out over their attraction to the same woman. One of the characters in both plays spends some time hiding out in the woods, and the ending of both is simultaneously incredibly unsatisfying and more than a little misogynistic. Full circle, for better or worse. Another early play this one is explicity connected to is A Midsummer Night's Dream, which ends just before the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta, who have in turn just concluded their wedding at the start of this. Those are stock mythological characters, to be fair, but a lot of this play also takes place during a May Day celebration with much emphasis on music, dancing, and games, making the throughline to Dream's solstice festivities all the more apparent. There's even a comic relief schoolmaster trying to prepare his rowdy pupils for a morris dance, à la the rehearsing mechanicals in Dream.
On the tragedy front there's a clear nod to Hamlet in the form of a spurned young woman who goes mad, begins weaving flower crowns and singing nonsense songs, and tries to drown herself. (More on that in a moment.) All of the romances are to some extent mashups of earlier Shakespearean ideas, but the callbacks here feel specific and obvious to me in a way that I can't help reading as meaningful. Also feeding into my interpretation of this as a farewell statement is the fact that the eponymous kinsmen spend so much of this play contemplating their ends and saying goodbye, as well as the nostalgic emphasis on the English (excuse me, Athenian) countryside in springtime--complete with, again, a pompous but lovable schoolmaster. (It's speculated Will himself may have been a tutor or teacher as a young man, but even if he wasn't he almost certainly attended a grammar school as a boy.) At risk of overegging it, even the choice to adapt a story from Chaucer (who was himself adapting it from Boccaccio, who was adapting it from Greek mythology...), a pedigree which is acknowledged openly in the prologue, could be read as a sign that Shakespeare was finally ready to hang up the mantle and take his place in the pantheon of English writers.
I've gotten a little into the weeds with all this, which is probably indicative of the fact that, like so much late Shakespeare, this play is much more interesting as an intellectual exercise than as a narrative. The relationship between Palamon and Arcite, the titular cousins, is at times compelling (and more than a little gay: "We are one another's wife"; "Is there record of any two that loved / Better than we do[?]"), but their dispute over Emilia comes about too suddenly, escalates too unbelievably, and is resolved too slowly to really work, and the ending (with the apparent outcome suddenly reversed by an offstage fire-slash-fatal-crushing-by-horse) is flatly ridiculous. Emilia herself receives only enough agency to make a choice between these two violent lunatics, but she forfeits even that. Meanwhile the play's other notable female character, the love-maddened 18-year-old daughter of a jailer, is dispatched in a really disgusting way, sent off by a doctor and her own father to be "cured" through sex with a man she's already turned down, now pretending to be the man she loves. This is played for laughs.
As much as I love Shakespeare, so much of my experience with him through the years has been a mixed bag. It seems oddly fitting, then, that I'd find his final play simultaneously fascinating and repellant, both an appropriate bow on an incredible career and a phoned-in mess by an artist past his prime. (Even the elegiac lines I've quoted at the top of this review were probably actually penned by Fletcher--they deploy his signature "'em.") I'm relieved to be done or nearly done with this gigantic undertaking, but, as is often the case at the end of a gigantic undertaking, I'm also a little sad that there are no more Shakespearean surprises awaiting me, at least in the realm of the plays. The end of an era, truly!
Here are the actual final words believed to have been written by Shakespeare in this play. (There's an epilogue after this, but it's clearly Fletcherian.) It's not a career-best speech by any means, but in his usual way Will still sums up my feelings much better than I feel able to do:
O you heavenly charmers,
What things you make of us! For what we lack
We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still
Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful
For that which is, and with you leave dispute
That are above our question. Let’s go off
And bear us like the time.
----
* Or at least all the ones usually included in his complete works. Apologies to Edward III and Sir Thomas More, but you're not priorities for me right now.