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As previously indicated, authors tend to kill off characters that get too difficult to write about and Fforde seems to be dancing on that line in the final chapters of what could have been his last Thursday Next book. Rather than make a big deal about the bad guys' comeuppances, both Kaine and Goliath get a paragraph each so the focus is on Thursday. Here's hoping Dark Reading Matter is as gentle an ending.

With the Tralfamosaur captured and Boo gone, the story can resume its inevitable confrontation with the Might Shandar (whose return was hinted at as early as book one). Before this event happens, we get an update from Zambini Towers, a visit with the unbearable royal family (but no sign of the King's Useless Brother) and a new challenge: the education of Princess Poo-girl. Shandar commands an impressive four minutes.

After several confusing months and a title change, the third and possibly final Jennifer Strange story at long last unfolds, with Fforde's best effort to get new readers up to speed. It continues the adventure by tying up loose ends from book two. The third instalment is promising so far, as it gives thoughtful chase to dangerous beasts created by the whims of an unknown wizard. Hope the Magnificent Boo returns soon.

In a bold storytelling move that rivals Adams' Life, the Universe and Everything, this set of chapters revolves around a sporting event of global importance. The ups, downs and legal decisions go far beyond the typical underdog story: it is a matter of fate versus slapstick. In an equally bold and unexpected move, there is a shift in narrator's voice and the final results are held off due to a silly tragedy.

Developing from well-grounded theories of distributed cognition, Tribble first examines what we know about early modern theatre by what we see on stage, not necessarily the actors but the doors they used: the heartbeat of the play. Plots, playbooks and parts each have unique affordances, and it is sad to think how in 1613 all of this type of evidence that may have helped to understand the plays went up in the flames.

Among the many bizarre and sadly all too familiar crimes of the fictional corporation Goliath, cloning extinct species and notable historical humans seems to be exactly what might have happened in an alternate England occupied by Nazis - not so much a slap in the face for German people (as Bismark takes it from the Danish), but rather the wicked deeds done in the name of national security, even in a place like Wales.

Mycroft and Polly Next return to the narrative with their guileless geniuses, and Fforde hits all the Douglas Adamsy improbabilities: it would be great to find some scholarly support for Nextian mathematics to arrive at the factors that make the question from the answer. Hamlet could use some of these applications for the multitude of questions from the infinite variety of performances he observed. Also Neanderthals!

If I had a scholarly way into the topic, and support from my faculty, I'd love to write a research paper about the intricacies of time travel according to Jasper Fforde: in these five chapters he deftly switches from alternate pasts to possible futures, all the while writing from the ever-present point-of-view of Thursday Next. The uneradication scene gives her a chance to ponder the could have being of her marriage.

What pieces of work are the men populating this novel, including the gallant, Mad Max-obsessed Hamlet, the maniacal, worrisome Emperor Zhark, and the stoic yet sentimental Neanderthal Stig. In spite of all these men, the novel purposely passes the Bechdel test by Thursday conversing with strong female characters and not necessarily dwelling too much on her eradicated husband Landen (not that much, at least).

This book likes like it is the tipping point between two fascinating and hitherto loosely connected areas of interest: Shakespearean staging and socio-cognitive development. Seems like much of what I studied in my recent postgrad studies will come in handy: who knew I would be returning so soon to Kyd's Spanish Tragedy! Another bonus is that I am back in familiar APA style territory, no more vague MLA dates.

Although he seems to have a bone to pick with playwrights, along with lunatics and lovers, when the Pyramus and Thisby begins, Theseus becomes the most forgiving of the actors' faults while other "gentlemen" in the audience are at the least endearing behaviour. The fairies return to turn the tables on the audience for not making the fullest use of their imagination, but then kindly letting them off the hook.

Having a corporation turn into a religion is a novel, perhaps even inevitable possibility; yet the moral cost is too much. Considering the grubby 13th century monk, St Zvlkx, as representative of a previous worldwide organization that fell on hard times, at least in this version of 1988 England, all attempts at global domination are doomed. To contrast this folly is the interpersonal tragedy of Cindy Stoker's career.

The most Inception-like scene in Shakespeare's plays, more than famed speeches from The Tempest or nightmare visions from Macbeth, has the characters confronting a reality that they co-created with the fairy's narcotic. Each dreamer wakes with a better sense of what they need to do, but it is not clear what Oberon got out of this scheme - where's the Indian boy? The play within must go on!

Glad to see how supportive Thursday's LiteraTech coworkers are after her 2 1/2-year unexplained absence, knowing that there are bigger fish to fry with a book-burning lunatic looming. Her father gets a rare moment of temporal fixture, being a younger version than most other instances, yet still knows more about the "pioneers that ploughed the first furrows of history" (p. 98). Hamlet gets a radical revision.

It is unfortunate that the clowns are branded "rude" and lower-class when all they seek is to entertain a crowd of nobles and not get their heads chopped off for doing so. Just because a few mispronounce some words, readers are led to think them ill-educated louts, and yet these same people will look on with fondness at the upper-class twits rampaging through the woods ready to do violence upon each other for "love?"

Quite a lot of ground covered in what might have been the last Thursday Next novel, kind of like From Russia with Love or The Final Problem. There are enough references to previous books to keep the fans guessing, but enough of a description of who is who that someone entirely new to the series might have some sense of what is going on with Millon-like notes. Hamlet seems at ease being her sidekick.

Our divided natures seem to affect both fairies and humans, with Robin Goodfellow being a mischief-maker most of the the time, but a loyal servant to an angry Oberon. Titania raises the issue of jealousy, and then to enact her accusation comes Helena, in love with a disdaining Demetrius and resenting her childhood friend Hermia. When Lysander declares his love's reasoning, it is to the wrong partner: he is the snake!

Egeus must be Athens' crankiest citizen, to insist on a son-in-law like Demetrius over Lysander, when one is as interchangeable as the other, plus he makes complaint to the Duke who just a few lines ago was telling his fiancé about the crazy stuff he did to woo her. Seems a bit out of character that Theseus would take Egeus' side against his own daughter, so the tradesmen need not worry about performing mimetically.

At the end of a long term of Shakespeare studies, I can finally catch up with reading plays for enjoyment - or not quite yet! Turns out this masterful psychological gem will be the play my Early Modern Exploration students want to study, and even rereading the introduction with my newly educated eyes makes me spot the miniature echoes throughout the play of greater themes elsewhere, plus there's Greenblatt's Freedom.

The final Act is perhaps the strongest proof that as a playwright Shakespeare had some notion of the transmigration of the soul: he leaves two pivotal Roman characters, Dolabella and Proculeius, until the end when the actors playing both Antony and Enobarbus were available to double up in these roles. Even though Enobarbus is on the stage with Dolabella in Act IV, he must come back to warn Cleopatra of Caesar's plan.

In what seems like the lightning round of scene changes, Antony gains the confidence he needs to fight with Caesar, on land, yet loses his followers, each one more heartbreaking than the last: honest Enobarbus dies almost quite literally for a broken heart and Eros would rather die himself than mercifully kill his emperor. Cleopatra emerges in the final scene as bereft of a "crown o'th'earth" but bearing a new heart.

This Act includes many types of misrepresentation, from the schooled messenger, the schoolmaster turned ambassador, and the fawning Thidius who gets whipped for his messaging. Caesar makes a big fuss over Octavia's return, yet seems to have plans for war already in place, making her a whore for his empire. On the other hand, Antony recklessly risks the lives of his followers with his attempt to be the warrior he was.

Pompey appears a little late to the table when claiming his Great ancestor's great deeds, so unlike other Romans made big by their names. His sobering complaint to the drunken Antony about his father's house is his last stab at making a name for himself. The marriage between Antony and Caesar by way of his sister is doomed from its start, and the worst to suffer for this fault is the messenger reporting to Cleopatra.

The hot and cold reception Antony receives from his love Cleopatra, often changing with the space of a pentameter, is a beguiling statement about those who love deeply: hard to take them at their word, but easy to spot by the actions. Almost each scene makes note of Antony, and Cleopatra is one step ahead of his with answers to her own questions. Caesar appears like a jilted suitor who gets too moralistic about love.

Near the end of my undergrad, the Fine & Performing Arts department were renaming the degree program I was in: it was basically a coin toss between Critical Studies in Arts and Cultural Studies in Arts. I could choose between the two and went with Culture as it fit with my extended minor in Humanities. Very similar to what was happening at Stanford School of Education, inserting Culture amongst Language and Literacy.

The play transcends so many expectations, as clearly discussed in Emrys Jones' introduction, that it is no surprise that this grand tragedy is often thought of in terms what it isn't: a conventional tragedy, even among Shakespeare's fine examples it stands out. The potential for staging it also asks for more than is possible: too big for biggest stages, yet requires an intimate setting also life beyond printed pages.

The metaphor near the start of this longish chapter works on both research types: building a bridge by scattering all the Lego pieces in your toy- err toolbox and choosing which ones will do. Like any good sociocultural activity, writing a dissertation is really just the model of future research, just as a Lego bridge can lead to actual engineering feats. The most important feature of project is how well it holds up.

What the what? How does this drama work? I can understand how proud Sejanus dismisses the ominous auguries or the senate's support of him right up to when the tables are turned. But what is happening with the multiple exits of the consul Regulus? And really, the antihero undone by a lengthy letter from an absent emperor? Followed by Sejanus' brutal treatment, worse for his family, and Caligula rules next? WTF Jonson!

Why can't more guidebook chapters be like this one: short, succinct and crammed with sensible observations? Helps that it starts off with pragmatism, yet no mention of Pee (Peirce) or Dee (Dewey). Instead, there is a move into more familiar theoretical territory with Vee, Bee and Gee. While I am not completely sold on discourse analysis, I appreciate how the authors relate Gee's big D back to their exampled research.

In the ages since I studied ancient Rome, I still recall Caligula became emperor after Tiberius, yet the play presents him as barely there while his brothers Nero and Drusus Junior get all the advancement. Of course, as the plot twists tighter and tighter, any character whom Fortune raises is doomed, and I am surprised that mouthy Arruntius has survived so long into Act IV. Spies must have deaf ears for stage asides.