trennels | Readthrough: The Player's Boy: Chapters 5-8

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Readthrough: The Player's Boy: Chapters 5-8

(Another Henry IV chapter title, incidentally.)

The opening of this chapter has its various echoes of Ready-Made Family (Yetland Cove doesn't seem to have changed much in 400 years) and Run Away Home (saddle-sore runaways). Nicholas's memory of the Armada again serves to illustrate conflicts and interpenetrations of national and religious loyalties: it occurs to me that one of the things these books offer is a primer in the beginnings of a 'British' patriotism in the 16th century.

Marlowe calling Nicholas cousin has some far-reaching consequences, and echoes his later, more durable connection with Shakespeare (it never seems to stop people assuming that Nicholas is a bastard son, but at least the proprieties are nodded to.)

Nicholas shows an enthusiasm for the sea worthy of his descendant, and the pantomime of him being beaten to raise a wind is in a way his first theatrical role. There's some lovely commentary on superstition--always a consistent undertow in Forest--in this chapter too.

Chapter title is As You Like It, and couldn't really be more appropriate.

This portrait of Marlowe subdued, anxious and feeling rather guilty abut Nicholas underlines rather than contradicts our sense of his volatility. Forest writes him as a man marked by death, I think: his refusal to flee underlines his sense of fatalism. She eclipses Marlowe's connections to the Walsinghams in order to bring him into Southampton's orbit. (If you're interested in novels that plays up those connections for all it's worth, including all the Marlowe/Thomas Walsingham slash you can shake a bloody dagger at, I could do worse than recommend Anthony Burgess's A Dead Man in Deptford: eccentric in every way, but one of the best fictionalised Marlowes out there, I think.) Walsingham connections aside, Poley, Skeres and Fryzer cut pretty disreputable figures. Forest's account of Marlowe's death, however, is for now, largely in line with that of that very dubious coroner's report. Though it is far from the last we'll see of Poley, a thoroughly sinister figure, who suborns Nicholas on pain of death into his service, making Marlowe look really rather benign.

We come now, after 80 pages, to the scene of the first paragraph: the splendour of London Bridge almost immediately undercut by the squalor of the plague-struck city, vermin and heads on poles (Poley's words are nicely chilling, I think). And finally, Nicholas is pitched into the orchard of Essex House: a nice echo with the venue for numerous Shakespearean scenes of eavesdropping and spying.

Chapter title from Romeo and Juliet, describing Paris, which resonates a little ironically with Southampton as rather reluctant bridegroom.

We're introduced to Humfrey, who strikes a reassuringly inept figure in these intimidating surroundings. There's been some discussion of Hilary Clare's objections to the informality of interactions between Nicholas, Humfrey and the noblemen: my feeling is that Humfrey's connection to the Danvers family (who will play an important and not terribly edifying role in Southampton's life) and the wonderful picture that Forest creates of a parallel but different unconventionality to Marlowe's are more than enough to account for any inaccuracies. Nicholas's amazement at having blundered into the 'conversation world' he overheard in the Merrick's garden, and found it full of real people, seems apt comment, too.

Like Nicola, Nicholas has a gift for instruction, and he corrects Humfrey's archery stance and aim with his descendant's aptitude for demonstrating slow bowling.

A nerve-racking brush with Gilly Merrick, and then Nicholas is in the presence of Southampton. I'm impressed with the way in which Forest registers Southampton's androgynous appearance, and demonstrates some of its unconscious effects on Nicholas, without intrusive editorial comment.

Southampton's grief at Marlowe's death (though as far as I know there's no evidence he was his patron: I haven't my biographies of Marlowe to hand, and welcome correction or further information on the point) echoes Walsingham's personal affection for Marlowe, implied in the publisher's dedication of Hero and Leander to him. I confess to a weakness for poet/patron relationships, (and can I put in a word for Burgess's other--and perhaps better--novel about this milieu, Nothing Like the Sun, here?) so this has been your regularly scheduled fic prompt. Humfrey's explanation of friendships and enmities in terms of the Trojan War strikes both a Shakespearean note (as we'll see later, in a discussion of Troilus and Cressida), and a homoerotic one. Essex's dislike of Marlowe, and triumph at Nicholas's revelation that Kit was a spy, suggests--without any authorial comment--(to my ear) personal jealousy as well as political suspicion.

I love Nicholas's perception that Humfrey has a 'life-long' face, unlike his own and Adam's more youthfully changeable features--I can think of people like that in my own life.

And Nicholas is also, like Nicola, a good, if untrained singer. And he has, probably fortunately, a similar estimation of his ability to deal with questioning (though subsequent events will prove perhaps a bit more natural talent for crime).

More arse jokes: the ars in praesenti quibble doesn't turn up in Shakespeare, I think, but it's certainly in some of the citizen comedy of the time (Googling finds me an example from A Chaste Maid in Cheapside, and Diane Purkiss, interestingly, speculating on its implications of sodomy as well as chastistement). But it's a moment of remarkable sophistication here, I think, likely to be a bit wasted on the target market: Southampton's pause is primarily one of grief--it's the first time, one imagines, that he is obliged to say Marlowe's name in a context of relative composure, but it's followed immediately by a schoolboy joke which draws deflective attention to his own (possibly sexual) relationship with Marlowe and registers his suspicion about what Nicholas was to Marlowe as well.

Nicholas's revelation that Marlowe was an informer reveals a standing grievance between Essex and Southampton, and the impression that sexual jealousy as well as political risk is involved is rather comically underscored by Nicholas's comparison of them to Geoffrey and Kate having a row. I love Southampton's 'fledgling authority'--so callow! But very moving. And Essex's thunderous look in response--so unguarded that even Nicholas (to hysterical hilarity) realises that he's unquestionably in the presence of a lovers' tiff as well as a Political Incident.

The discussion about how Nicholas might be smuggled out of the house nicely touches upon Southampton's androgyny and on cross-dressing in theatrical contexts.

(Especially astute readers may be able to guess that this chapter caters rather expansively to a number of your correspondent's weaknesses.)

In another satisfying resonance, Nicholas is seen at Titchfield learning some of the skills no doubt described in The Art of Fauconerie.

Shakespeare greets Nicholas with an allusion to that mysterious helpful personage in All's Well that Ends Well, the 'gentle astringer', and Nicholas proves himself a little bit more educated than the average falconer with his allusion to Aesop. It's a lovely meeting between two grammar-school boys.

Nicholas's being spruced up ('it's the guest who minds'), while amusing, reminds us of just how often he's been treated as an object or a chattel.

That tease about the sonnets, Miss Forest, is unforgivable, setting us up for a discussion of the form between Shakespeare and one of the likeliest candidates for his master-mistress, and then revealing them to be 'mock-courtly' jokes written for a student revue. Though it probably makes this the only historical novel for the 9-12 age bracket to contain a reference to the Gesta Grayorum. But there's a good bit of flirting in Southampton's offer to Shakespeare of a sinecure, and with this I suppose we must be content.

In Nicholas's missing his cue there's an echo both of Nicola's drying up at the competition and Esther at the carol service. Dowland's setting here.

I enjoy Shakespeare's unvarnished assessment of Southampton's potential as an actor, and the commentary on the egotism necessary for an actor--foreshades of Lawrie.

More sonnets-related teasing, as Shakespeare tries to persuade Southampton to marry, and I do rather like the tolerant exasperation of: ' "So would many men," agreed his guest politely, not as if he were one of them,' which isn't quite the attitude of the speaker of the sonnets in his more ardent moods, but fits very well with Forest's characterisation. I'll leave the rest of this first impression of Shakespeare to the comments.

So, Nicholas is apprenticed to Shakespeare and becomes the player's boy.

Quite enough from me: over to you!

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Does anyone else feel that Nicholas is just too much the wonderboy? Clever, kind, good-looking, photographic memory, athletic, instantly at home on a ship, sings well, immediately liked by all who meet him from pages and lords to sailors and falconers, good with the hawks, never moans, always tries his best, - and as we're about to find out, excellent at tumbling and acting.
In her own time Nicola is a bit of a wonderchild but at least she has some things that she can't do as well as other people. All of Nicholas' attributes can be found in Nicola and Lawrie, but at least then they're shared between two people.
Perhaps this is an adult criticism. I never read these books as a child. Do children rather like the main character in a book to be a complete hero in every way?

For me it's off-set by his innocence and credulity, that he can be rather dense in some ways. There's probably some necessity for Nicholas to be a little bit wonderboy in order that he could have such entry into the world of the players. And while some flaws might have made him more interesting, in lots of ways it's not really his story, more he is the conduit through which we learn the stories of Southampton, and Shakespeare.

I have ralised I might seem a little defensive - I don't mean to be! I hadn't thought before that he has very few flaws, and you're right that he doesn't. I think that for me he still manages to be an interesting character.

I think his situation is interesting in that he is essentially an orphan making his way in the world. And as you say he is our window into the world of Shakespeare and Essex and the others. Clearly he has to be able to sing, act and move well or he couldn't be a player. But it would make him seem a little more human if, for example, he could have been sea-sick on the ship, (as Nicola is) or made a few mistakes when he first joined the players. He is an eleven year old boy after all, and I don't know any eleven year olds that perfect!

For all the parallels between Nicholas and Nicola, I think he's essentially a different sort of character: he belongs to the picaresque rather than the psychological aspect of fiction--at least at first, he's a focal point for the creation of a world, rather than of especial interest in himself: and picaresque characters are often implausibly talented and likeable because it gets them into the next situation easily (though I have also met real people who are picaresque like this: I find them fascinating because I am essentially the opposite). And that's especially true when Forest is writing him as an 11-year-old: I suspect he's actually just a year or two too young for her skillset. He's more interesting as a character in his own right later on.

I agree: I find Nicholas a bit infuriatingly perfect at times, but he is a vehicle to allow us entry into all sorts of different worlds - very convenient that Marlowe should lead via the sea to Southampton and Essex to Shakespeare, rather than down many nasty dead ends. I find Nicola a far more fascinating character because despite her many talents, she is still often rejected and snubbed. I'm still re-reading, so look forward to see his personality developing. He is certainly somewhat more mature and talented than my 11 year old.

Buntyandjinx

I was about to agree with this because I have an 11 year old boy who is nothing like Nicholas, which is partly my reason for finding Nicholas improbably perfect. But it then occurred to me that Nicholas is far more like my daughter was when she was 11. People have commented that Nicholas is essentially Nicola in a Tudor boy's dress and I can't help agreeing because Nicholas does seem far more like a girl.
(Reading on, he doesn't seem to change much either between the ages of 11 and 16; and he certainly never acts like a teenage boy, but that is a discussion for a future thread.)

I think of Nicholas as essentially Nicola in boy's dress - and I think they are both excellent leads: immensely likeable, resourceful, but also quite vulnerable. I think Nicholas is a good "all-rounder" but not super-gifted - it's made clear that Adam excels him in most athletic/active pursuits and the memory is a bit of a weird quirk more than super-intelligence. It lets him excel at school, but I assume that's because Elizabethan grammar school education is so strongly based on rote learning.

I think Forest must have been tempted to make Nicholas a super-gifted actor, like Lawrie - maybe it's because of Lawrie she doesn't - and as it is Nicholas is a good actor but has to work really hard for it. (Will's remarks to Southampton about what's needed to make a great player - self-love - definitely would apply to Lawrie, but certainly wouldn't apply to Nicholas - and actually don't seem to apply to Burbage later.)

Actually in a weird way Nicholas seems a bit like Harry Potter - eleven years old at the start, finishes up seventeen, an orphan, plunged into a strange world - and kind of an everyman type compared to a lot of the characters around him.

Lilliburlero's point about age - I do think Forest writes younger children well actually - Charles Dodd - but I've wondered why Forest chose to start with him so young as it's not really a book 9 or 10 year olds are going to "get" - and an eleven year old hero might turn off a lot of teenage readers. I wonder if she wanted to write a novel over a much longer time-scale than her contemporary novels (perhaps inspired by Renault?) or whether the Death of Marlowe and the Essex Rebellion provided her frame, and therefore determined Nicholas's age?

Edited 2015-05-02 10:14 (UTC)

The other time point, as well as death of Marlowe to Essex Rebellion as a framing story is Nicholas' voice breaking. You have to have him start young to get enough technique to be able to do both Juliet and Viola.

Yes, that's absolutely right of course.

I do think the long time frame means there'a lack of intensity at times, but of course, Forest is showing the theatre very much as a craft that you learn and work at, and that almost requires the long time frame.

Having read on, Shakespeare was lucky to have Nicholas playing girl parts for so long. By the end of the book he's had his sixteenth birthday and his voice still hasn't broken. That's very late for it not to have broken, although I gather teenagers reach puberty earlier now than in the past. Really AF could have started the book when Nicholas was even younger, but then he would have been too young to believably cope with the events at the beginning of the book.

AF could have started the book when Nicholas was even younger, but then he would have been too young to believably cope with the events at the beginning of the book.

There's another point I guess, which is that the sixteenth century would have had very different ideas about childhood from us. I think I'm right that the idea of childhood as a particular stage to be cherished, and as children being very different beings from adults whose innocence should be protected/nurtured etc, is a Victorian idea. Obviously Nicholas is a child, but the attitude of his culture would be that he was an adult-in-the-making, and that maybe effects his own expectations of himself, and of those around him, and so his ability to cope.

Certainly if you read anything about the young Elizabeth I or Edward VI it's very had to see them at any point as normal "children" and although they are obviously one end of the social scale, I think it probably extends more widely. After all children were routinely sent away to become apprentices/servants at a young age (would that have been as young as 11 does anyone know?)

Children were certainly sent to sea at the age of 11 or even younger, as we see with Nicholas.

I think you're absolutely right that Nicholas would have been seen as an adult-in-the-making; a great deal must have depended on social background - the poorer a family was, the more likely its children would have been sent to work at an early age, as a point of necessity. This applied to the poor in Victorian times as well (children working in mines/factories etc.) Nicholas was well-off enough to be educated, but those around him would have seen nothing unusual in a boy of his age having to make his own way in the world.

The idea of a child-centred society (for all, and not just the well-off) is something I see very much as a late 20th Century concept, a luxury enabled by post-war improvements in lifestyle and was perhaps only just developing as AF was writing the Players novel - so possibly an easier shift in perspective for her than for the 21st Century reader.

Apprentices were often younger than 11 and it would certainly be normal for an 11 yr old of the working class to be working a full day like an adult.

Smunkybee

It's starting to break, as I recall -- he's hiding it as best he can. One of the boys in my son's choir did soprano solos remarkably late; he was by far the most reliable for a certain solo, having done it four years in a row or something, so he was retained in that role despite his voice having definitely started to change. I don't know whether that would have been as possible in speech (of course some adult men can sing countertenor).

I just asked my son and he said he thinks the boy was a sophomore in high school, so perhaps fifteen or sixteen.

Another anecdote--brother of my childhood best friend was able to sing the lead in Amahl & the Night Visitors at age 16. He told me years later that being still a boy soprano at that age in small-town America was an unmitigated burden.
Since average age at puberty has been moving steadily earlier anyway I find Nicholas' age quite plausible, tho' convenient from both a Doylist & Watsonian perspective.
thedogsdinner

I went to a talk recently about Handel's favourite tenor, John Beard (1715-91), who was a boy treble at the Chapel Royal till his voice broke at the age of 18 - the audience for the talk was very surprised by how late this was, but the speaker said apparently it wasn't that uncommon for boy choristers in the Chapel Royal at that period.

I think as a child I felt uplifted and inspired by tales of children discovering extraordinary talents in extraordinary situations. I don't think I ever worried about a hero being over talented. That academic, sporting, musical and acting potential very often do overlap is perhaps most obvious in children of about 11, before the effects of particular specialisation and training show.

On the other hand, I tended to worry and wonder at the superior courage, kindness, stoicism and honesty of fictional characters.

Although I was a bit shocked by Nicholas's extreme stoicism at school, it does seem that he actually cries more than Nicola. He also gets himself into trouble, whereas Nicola is usually in trouble because of bad luck or her sisters.

Mrs Kent

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Readthrough: The Player's Boy: Chapters 5-8

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