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

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. ( )

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. ( )

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?

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. ( )

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. ( )