Why should you read Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”? - Iseult Gillespie
Claps of thunder and flashes of lightning
illuminate a swelling sea,
as a ship buckles beneath the waves.
This is no ordinary storm,
but a violent and vengeful tempest,
and it sets the stage for Shakespeare’s
most enigmatic play.
As the skies clear,
we are invited into a world
that seems far removed from our own,
but is rife with familiar concerns
about freedom, power, and control.
The Tempest is set on a desert island,
exposed to the elements
and ruled with magic and might by
Prospero, the exiled Duke of Milan.
Betrayed by his brother Antonio,
Prospero has been marooned on the island
for twelve years with his daughter Miranda
and his beloved books.
In this time he’s learned the
magic of the island
and uses it to harness its
elementary spirits.
He also rules over the island’s
only earthly inhabitant,
the dejected and demonized Caliban.
But after years of plotting revenge,
Prospero’s foe is finally in sight.
With the help of the
fluttering sprite Ariel,
the magician destroys his brother’s ship
and washes its sailors ashore.
Prospero’s plotting even extends to his
daughter’s love life,
whom he plans to fall for
stranded prince Ferdinand.
And as Prospero and Ariel
close in on Antonio,
Caliban joins forces with some
drunken sailors,
who hatch a comic plot
to take the island.
The play strips society down
to its basest desires,
with each faction in hot pursuit of power-
be it over the land, other people,
or their own destiny.
But Shakespeare knows that power is
always a moving target;
and as he reveals
these characters’ dark histories,
we begin to wonder if this
vicious cycle will ever end.
Although Prospero was wronged by Antonio,
he has long inflicted his
own abuses on the island,
hoarding its magical properties
and natural re-sources for himself.
Caliban especially resents
this takeover.
The son of Sycorax,
a witch who previously
ruled the island,
he initially helped the
exiles find their footing.
But he’s since become their slave,
and rants with furious regret:
“And then I loved thee,/
And showed thee
all the qualities o’ th’ isle/
The fresh springs,
brine pits, barren place
and fertile./
Cursed be I that did so!”
With his thunderous language
and seething anger,
Caliban constantly reminds
Prospero of what came before:
this island’s mine by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou takest from me.
Yet Sycorax also abused the island,
and imprisoned Ariel until
Prospero released him.
Now Ariel spends the play hoping to repay
his debt and earn his freedom,
while Caliban is enslaved indefinitely,
or at least as long
as Prospero is in charge.
For these reasons and many more,
The Tempest has often been read as
an exploration of colonialism,
and the moral dilemmas that come
with en-counters of “brave new world(s)."
Questions of agency and justice
hang over the play:
is Caliban the rightful
master of the land?
Will Ariel flutter free?
And is Prospero the
mighty overseer-
or is there some deeper magic at work,
beyond any one character's grasp?
Throughout the play,
Ariel constantly reminds Prospero
of the freedom he is owed.
But the question lingers of whether
the invader will be able
to relinquish his grip.
The question of ending one’s reign is
particularly potent given that The Tempest
is believed to be
Shakespeare’s final play.
In many ways Prospero’s actions echo that
of the great entertainer him-self,
who hatched elaborate plots,
maneuvered those around him,
and cast a spell over characters
and audience alike.
But by the end of his grand performance
of power and control,
Prospero’s final lines see him humbled
by his audience -
and the power
that they hold over his creations.
"With the help of your good hands./
Gentle breath of yours my sails/
Must fill or else my project fails,/
Which was to please."
This evokes Shakespeare’s own role
as the great entertainer
who surrenders himself,
ultimately, to our applause.
