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Shakespeare (Eminent Lives Series) –…
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Shakespeare (Eminent Lives Series) (alkuperäinen julkaisuvuosi 2007; vuoden 2016 painos)

– tekijä: Bill Bryson (Tekijä)

JäseniäKirja-arvostelujaSuosituimmuussijaKeskimääräinen arvioMaininnat
4,0401612,165 (3.8)156
William Shakespeare, the most celebrated poet in the English language, left behind nearly a million words of text, but his biography has long been a thicket of supposition arranged around scant facts. With his trademark wit, Bill Bryson sorts through this colorful muddle to reveal the man himself. Bryson documents the efforts of earlier scholars, and, emulating the style of his travelogues, records episodes in his own research. He celebrates Shakespeare as a writer of unimaginable talent and enormous inventiveness, a coiner of phrases ("vanish into thin air," "foregone conclusion," "one fell swoop") that even today have common currency. His Shakespeare is like no one else's--the beneficiary of Bryson's genial nature, his engaging skepticism, and an unrivaled gift for storytelling.--From publisher description.… (lisätietoja)
Jäsen:susanwithagoodbook
Teoksen nimi:Shakespeare (Eminent Lives Series)
Kirjailijat:Bill Bryson (Tekijä)
Info:Perennial (2016), Edition: Reissue, 224 pages
Kokoelmat:Oma kirjasto
Arvio (tähdet):
Avainsanoja:Non-Fiction, Shakespeare, Biography, Read, Shelf - Game Room Display

Teoksen tarkat tiedot

Shakespeare: The World as Stage (Eminent Lives) (tekijä: Bill Bryson) (2007)

Viimeisimmät tallentajatgibsonfinley, yksityinen kirjasto, DaveM18, boldforbs
  1. 00
    Introducing Shakespeare (tekijä: G. B. Harrison) (Waldstein)
    Waldstein: Older and shorter, more scholarly but only slightly less witty, introduction. Mr Harrison's accounts of the Elizabethan playhouse and the development of Shakespeare's style are erudite and illuminating. Contains also revealing excerpts from Shakespearean criticism through the centuries (Dryden, Pope, Dr Jonhson, Coleridge). Excellent complement to Mr Bryson's book. Be sure to get (post-)1954 edition (the year of last revision, first published in 1939). Very little dated. Excellent bibliography of scholarly editions of original documents (Henslowe's Diary and Papers, the volumes edited by E. K. Chambers, Mr Harrison's own Elizabethan Journals, and others).… (lisätietoja)
  2. 11
    Shakespeare (tekijä: Anthony Burgess) (edwinbcn)
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» Katso myös 156 mainintaa

englanti (153)  hollanti (2)  saksa (1)  tanska (1)  italia (1)  ranska (1)  Kaikki kielet (159)
Näyttää 1-5 (yhteensä 159) (seuraava | näytä kaikki)
I thought I knew a few things about Shakespeare. As I learned from Bill Bryson, some of what I knew was not true or was some biographer’s educated guess or was someone’s made-up, unsupported, illogical fantasy. Very enlightening. Turns out there is a lot more guessed about Shakespeare’s life than is actually known, and the lack of facts has left room for the growth of some bizarre but very creative theories. Bryson does a great job of distinguishing what we know from what some guess, and he explores why for many it is impossible that such a genius came from such a provincial background. What I found most amazing is that a writer like Shakespeare appears to have never written down his own thoughts, feelings or even a record of events about his life or the time in which he lived. At least, not that we know of. This was my second by Bryson, and I enjoyed it much better than the first. I liked what appeared to be an honest, balanced, well-researched take on Shakespeare. ( )
  afkendrick | Oct 24, 2020 |
I genuinely enjoyed listening to this book narrated by the author himself. The story telling makes the journey into the 16th and early 17th century as real as a memory. Part history, part research, part imagination, part pure art. ( )
  Jolene.M | Jul 30, 2020 |
A well-grounded excellent introduction to Shakespeare, abolishing all the nonsense about who wrote the plays. The book sets you up for further study.
It has fascinating facts about Elizabethan life. It illustrates Shakespeare’s profound influence on the English language.
Now what play of his should I read?
  GeoffSC | Jul 25, 2020 |
When I was about sixteen my parents independently decided that I was at “that awkward age” at which they had no clue what to get me for Christmas. Henceforth, they announced, unless there was something I particularly wanted, my Christmas present would be cold hard cash. Actually it was in notes, not coins, and had usually just come from someone's pocket, so I guess it was lukewarm floppy cash rather than the cold hard variety. I digress.

This state of affairs continued for some time. Christmas would bring with it a couple of envelopes “To Lee xxx”. To start with this was great, I could buy all those PlayStation 2 games I wanted. And later, at University, it meant I could buy other fun things, like food.

Eventually the novelty wore off. By my mid-twenties I was earning enough money to buy food even when it wasn't Christmas. But I was still at “that awkward age” so still got money for Christmas. I'd spend the money on books and I'd enjoy them, but my choices would be rather predictable. Stick me in a bookshop with a tenner and nine times out of ten I'll leave with some popular science fiction or one of the Stephen King novels I've missed. I was essentially getting exactly what I wanted, and this was becoming a problem. And that problem's name was Longitude.

Skip back to Summer 1998 (yes, this review is not chronological, pretend it's an episode of Doctor Who if you like). My mum had just returned from a holiday with her partner and was picking me up from my grandparents. The adults were nattering away about what mum had done on her break, when all of a sudden she looked at me and said “I bought you a present.”

This was new, and this was exciting. Previously I'd always gone on holiday with my parents and so there hadn't been much point in them buying me gifts. But apparently now gifts were a thing. My mum reached into a bag, and I was filled with the sudden excitement of infinite possibility. I had no idea what she'd bought me, and no idea what I'd really want if she asked me. But inside that bag could be literally anything. Well, anything that would fit into a bag, anyway. And presumably something purchasable too, I would have been sub-amused if she'd bought me an abstract concept like integrity or prudence, or an ability to avoid long digressions in book reviews.

What came out of the bag was a small brown paperback called [b:Longitude|13011992|Longitude The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of his Time|Dava Sobel|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1320508948s/13011992.jpg|1755348]. For those who've not read it, Longitude is a short piece of non-fiction detailing the problem of determining one's longitude at sea and how it was solved by John Harrison in the eighteenth century. It's also one of the most wonderful little books I've ever read, although it's fair to say that it wouldn't have been near the top of thirteen year old Lee's wishlist.

And therein lay the problem some twelve years later. I read a lot and there's a lot I want to read, so I rarely take big chances in bookshops. Why risk time and money on what might be a horrifically dull treatise on some snooze-inducing topic when I could pick up the next George R.R. Martin novel, or yet another Stephen King book I've missed? The answer of course is Longitude, the book I would never have read.

And so when Christmas rolled around again and my parents informed me that, hey guess what, unless there's anything you particularly want we'll give you the usual, I explained that actually there was something I wanted: books. They asked which ones, and they asked if I wanted vouchers, but like Amy Winehouse I responded thus: “no, no, no.” I wanted them to buy me books that they had picked. I'd been their son for all my life and half of theirs, so they should be able to make a good stab at it. Now begone with you.

And so for about five years now Christmas has meant a fresh inundation of books that I would never have bought. (And, happily, not just from my parents, my sisters seem to have got in on the act.) Some of them, it turns out, deserve never to have been read, but I don't care. I love them all, because my parents saw them in a shop and thought “I bet Lee would like that” rather than stuffing a bank note into an envelope and thinking “I bet Lee will use that.”

Christmas 2013, and one of my book-shaped gifts from mother turned out to be this, Shakespeare by Bill Bryson. And you know what? It's Longitude all over again. ( )
1 ääni | imlee | Jul 7, 2020 |
When I was about sixteen my parents independently decided that I was at “that awkward age” at which they had no clue what to get me for Christmas. Henceforth, they announced, unless there was something I particularly wanted, my Christmas present would be cold hard cash. Actually it was in notes, not coins, and had usually just come from someone's pocket, so I guess it was lukewarm floppy cash rather than the cold hard variety. I digress.

This state of affairs continued for some time. Christmas would bring with it a couple of envelopes “To Lee xxx”. To start with this was great, I could buy all those PlayStation 2 games I wanted. And later, at University, it meant I could buy other fun things, like food.

Eventually the novelty wore off. By my mid-twenties I was earning enough money to buy food even when it wasn't Christmas. But I was still at “that awkward age” so still got money for Christmas. I'd spend the money on books and I'd enjoy them, but my choices would be rather predictable. Stick me in a bookshop with a tenner and nine times out of ten I'll leave with some popular science fiction or one of the Stephen King novels I've missed. I was essentially getting exactly what I wanted, and this was becoming a problem. And that problem's name was Longitude.

Skip back to Summer 1998 (yes, this review is not chronological, pretend it's an episode of Doctor Who if you like). My mum had just returned from a holiday with her partner and was picking me up from my grandparents. The adults were nattering away about what mum had done on her break, when all of a sudden she looked at me and said “I bought you a present.”

This was new, and this was exciting. Previously I'd always gone on holiday with my parents and so there hadn't been much point in them buying me gifts. But apparently now gifts were a thing. My mum reached into a bag, and I was filled with the sudden excitement of infinite possibility. I had no idea what she'd bought me, and no idea what I'd really want if she asked me. But inside that bag could be literally anything. Well, anything that would fit into a bag, anyway. And presumably something purchasable too, I would have been sub-amused if she'd bought me an abstract concept like integrity or prudence, or an ability to avoid long digressions in book reviews.

What came out of the bag was a small brown paperback called [b:Longitude|13011992|Longitude The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of his Time|Dava Sobel|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1320508948s/13011992.jpg|1755348]. For those who've not read it, Longitude is a short piece of non-fiction detailing the problem of determining one's longitude at sea and how it was solved by John Harrison in the eighteenth century. It's also one of the most wonderful little books I've ever read, although it's fair to say that it wouldn't have been near the top of thirteen year old Lee's wishlist.

And therein lay the problem some twelve years later. I read a lot and there's a lot I want to read, so I rarely take big chances in bookshops. Why risk time and money on what might be a horrifically dull treatise on some snooze-inducing topic when I could pick up the next George R.R. Martin novel, or yet another Stephen King book I've missed? The answer of course is Longitude, the book I would never have read.

And so when Christmas rolled around again and my parents informed me that, hey guess what, unless there's anything you particularly want we'll give you the usual, I explained that actually there was something I wanted: books. They asked which ones, and they asked if I wanted vouchers, but like Amy Winehouse I responded thus: “no, no, no.” I wanted them to buy me books that they had picked. I'd been their son for all my life and half of theirs, so they should be able to make a good stab at it. Now begone with you.

And so for about five years now Christmas has meant a fresh inundation of books that I would never have bought. (And, happily, not just from my parents, my sisters seem to have got in on the act.) Some of them, it turns out, deserve never to have been read, but I don't care. I love them all, because my parents saw them in a shop and thought “I bet Lee would like that” rather than stuffing a bank note into an envelope and thinking “I bet Lee will use that.”

Christmas 2013, and one of my book-shaped gifts from mother turned out to be this, Shakespeare by Bill Bryson. And you know what? It's Longitude all over again. ( )
  leezeebee | Jul 6, 2020 |
Näyttää 1-5 (yhteensä 159) (seuraava | näytä kaikki)
ei arvosteluja | lisää arvostelu

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To Finley and Molly and in memory of Maisie
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Tiedot englanninkielisestä Yhteisestä tiedosta. Muokkaa kotoistaaksesi se omalle kielellesi.
Before he came into a lot of money in 1839, Richard Plantagenet Temple Nugent Brydges Chandos Grenville, second Duke of Buckingham and Chandos, led a largely uneventful life.
Sitaatit
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We don't know if [Shakespeare] ever left England. We don't know who his principal companions were or how he amused himself. His sexuality is an irreconcilable mystery. On only a handful of days in his life can we say with complete certainty where he was. . . . For the rest, he is a kind of literary equivalent of an electron—forever there and not there.
In fact it cannot be emphasized too strenuously that there is nothing—not a scrap, not a mote—that gives any certain insight into Shakespeare's feelings or beliefs as a private person. We can know only what came out of his work, never what went into it.
One variation [of bearbaiting] was to put a chimpanzee on the back of a horse and let the dogs go for both together. The sight of a screeching ape clinging for dear life to a bucking horse while dogs leaped at it from below was considered about as rich an amusement as public life could offer. That an audience that could be moved to tears one day by a performance of Doctor Faustus could return the next to the same space and be just as entertained by the frantic deaths of helpless animals may say as much about the age as any single statement could.
[I]t needs to be said that nearly all of the anti-Shakespeare sentiment—actually all of it, every bit—involves manipulative scholarship or sweeping misstatements of fact.
"In some ways the records are extremely good," Thomas told me. "Sheepskin is a marvellously durable medium, though it has to be treated with some care. Whereas ink soaks into the fibres on paper, on sheepskin it stays on the surface, rather like chalk on a blackboard, and so can be rubbed away comparatively easily. Sixteenth-century paper was of good quality ... It was made of rags and was virtually acid free, so it has lasted very well." ... Paper and parchment were expensive, so no space was wasted. There were no gaps between paragraphs - indeed, no paragraphs.
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(Napsauta nähdäksesi. Varoitus: voi sisältää juonipaljastuksia)
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Englanninkielinen Wikipedia (4)

William Shakespeare, the most celebrated poet in the English language, left behind nearly a million words of text, but his biography has long been a thicket of supposition arranged around scant facts. With his trademark wit, Bill Bryson sorts through this colorful muddle to reveal the man himself. Bryson documents the efforts of earlier scholars, and, emulating the style of his travelogues, records episodes in his own research. He celebrates Shakespeare as a writer of unimaginable talent and enormous inventiveness, a coiner of phrases ("vanish into thin air," "foregone conclusion," "one fell swoop") that even today have common currency. His Shakespeare is like no one else's--the beneficiary of Bryson's genial nature, his engaging skepticism, and an unrivaled gift for storytelling.--From publisher description.

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