In high school I played Joan la Pucelle (better known as Joan of Arc) in Shakespeare's King Henry VI, and distinctly remember a particular monologue from act five, scene four.
In it, Joan is near the end of her patience for perpetual provocation, and is found guilty for a small crime she was framed to perform. At least, this is what happens in her own account.
Shakespeare's rendering of Henry's tale--in conjunction with Joan's--is what I call cooked. He started with something raw and real, but then added a little heat, a little flavor. (You can give me any book, play or film, and I can relate it to food. Try me.)
When I performed that monologue, I thought--and don't mock my naivety--I was spouting off something raw. I thought the words were Joan's, and they were beautiful, and the moral was sound. But now I know better. Shakespeare, as a fictional playwright and poet, was a cook. And that's fine! He was and still is brilliant! But now-and-again I enjoy a good, raw read.
|Mm. Makes me hungry for some non-fiction.|
After I pressed the button to order it, I realized, "Who would ever thumb through this but you?" Most people enjoy their meat cooked, not raw. That thought has directly produced this post. While we're showcasing the virtues of fiction, does anyone prefer a fictional biography over a non-fictional one? I tend to lean toward the sushi-bio. Give it to me raw.