As yesterday was the first of April, strictly speaking, one may have expected this Lies About Books post to go up then. However, I was very concerned that people, in the spirit of the day’s festivities, might mistakenly believe that I was trying to deceive them with my post, and so I have held off until now.
With that caveat, I would like to review the play Hamlet by William Shakespeare.
Hamlet is a play about a small town–a hamlet–in the middle of nowhere. This Danish town is so insignificant and nondescript that it does not even have a name; it is simply known as “the hamlet” to its residents, and not known at all to those outside.
The residents of this little hamlet live an idyllic, charmed life–until one day, near the start of the play, mysterious hedges begin springing up around the outskirts of the hamlet. Soon the residents find that some unknown power is preventing anyone from entering or leaving the town.
Can their neighbourliness and good cheer last when their hamlet becomes their prison?
I would recommend Hamlet to anyone who enjoys locked-room mysteries, long stretches of indecision and hesitation, and iambic pentameter.