Ethics, Sovereignty, and Subjectivity in English Revenge Tragedy
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At the Limit: Ethics, Sovereignty, and Subjectivity in English Revenge Tragedy A dissertation submitted by Emily L. King in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English TUFTS UNIVERSITY August 2012 2012, Emily L. King Advisors: Lee Edelman & Judith Haber ii Abstract At the Limit: Ethics, Sovereignty, and Subjectivity in English Revenge Tragedy At the Limit offers a new way of conceptualizing the so-called revenge tragedy genre by examining a group of 16th- and 17th-century English “traditional” revenge plays, chronicle plays, dark comedies, epic poems, and elegiac verse. The current understanding of early modern revenge tragedy is indebted to Fredson Bowers who most recently identified the dramatic texts that comprise this genre in 1940. Subsequently, the term “revenge tragedy” has denoted Elizabethan and Jacobean plays that include either a vengeance- driven narrative or spectacular acts of violence. In contrast, my dissertation challenges the boundaries of revenge tragedy as I investigate how the structure of revenge animates early modern literature. By expanding the generic limits, one can better assess how revenge influences early modern culture. I argue that revenge – in its characteristic excess, its disruptive qualities, and its possibility of perverse enjoyment – destabilizes. But it is not simply that revenge engages in subversion; rather, revenge simultaneously undermines and constitutes concepts of early modern culture. In particular, I examine how the structure of revenge informs and exceeds conceptions of reading (chapter one), ethics (chapter two), sovereignty (chapter three), and subjectivity (chapter four). Casting my reading across generic boundaries, I construct a theory of reading the traumatic spectacle instantiated by revenge in Marlowe’s Edward II and iii Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy; make use of the early modern vagabond to show how Marston’s Antonio’s Revenge and Middleton’s The Revenger’s Tragedy repudiate ethics and choose a “vagabond aesthetics” that privileges unproductivity, exile, and perpetual motion; bring Beaumont and Fletcher’s The Maid’s Tragedy and Tourneur’s The Atheist’s Tragedy into conversation with the execution of Charles I to argue that regicidal revenge, perversely enough, preserves and reifies the structure of sovereignty; and examine revenge’s role in shaping the republican subject in Milton’s Paradise Lost and his assorted political tracts. iv This dissertation is dedicated to Connie and Ed John and to the memory of Joanne C. King. v Acknowledgments It was my good fortune to work with highly talented scholars throughout this project. I thank Lee Edelman, who served as my co-advisor, for his incisive criticism and careful readings. He has influenced this project from the beginning, and this dissertation is all the better for it. Judith Haber, who also served as my co-advisor, demands special recognition for turning this former Americanist into a scholar of the English Renaissance! Her seemingly boundless reserves of energy and emotional support, in addition to her impressive attention to detail, have enabled me to reach the finish line. Kevin Dunn’s warmth, kindness, and intellectual rigor are appreciated more than he’ll ever know. Carla Freccero graciously joined this committee as my outside reader, and I’m immensely grateful for her expertise and collegiality. My colleagues at Tufts University have played no small role in this dissertation. In particular, I thank Jenny Howe and Laurel Hankins, who have graced me with delightful combinations of academic support and friendship at various points in this process. Over the past three years, the English Department of Stonehill College has been especially kind to me. For that, I thank Jared Green and Helga Duncan. My former students and tutees at Tufts and Stonehill have enriched my scholarship, my pedagogy, and my quality of life. Chelsea Ongaro, Davis Vigneault, Kate Godlesky, Alex Brannelly, Amy Norton, and Anna Bick demand special recognition for their intelligence and friendship. The memory of Henry Thevenin’s smile remains, and his creative redefinition of “gall” provokes fits of laughter even a year after his passing. Beyond the classroom, I have been nurtured by a community of activists, a community from which I have learned much. In particular, Susan Barney, Bhavin Patel, and Reverend Jason Lydon embody all that to which I aspire. Other dear friends who have enriched my life include Cheryl Alison, Rebeckia Caporale, Pat Dunlay, dr. joe, Sara Hasselbach, and Nathan Paquet. Sherry Richman supported me through the most tumultuous years; her wisdom, compassion, and sense of humor enabled me to survive. And where would I be without the inimitable Andrews clan – comprised of Peter, Laurie, Brooke, Bec, Blanca, and Paul – who have embraced me as one of their own? Surely I would be enjoying a less congested liver, but I would have, no doubt, missed out on all the fun. To my own family, of course, I owe some debt, as they have inspired much of this project. My parents, Therese and Dennis King, have never refused me a book, and that childhood indulgence played no small part in my literary endeavors. Other family members – Brett King, Carma Nowak, Dorothy King, Brian King, Kevin King as well as Connie and Ed John – have taken great pride in this endeavor. Without Diego Millan, I would wither and die. Surely and truly. He has offered countless backrubs and hugs, read and reread chapters, challenged my critical readings, endured tantrums (mine not his), accompanied me on runs, surprised me with snacks, and been my dearest, dearest friend. My debt vi to him is immeasurable, and I look forward to supporting him as he begins the dissertation process this May. Stephanie Andrews, my beautiful partner and farmer, has not read a single word of this manuscript. Not a one. But she has been my touchstone through and through, reminding me of the beauty of the natural world. Thank you, Steph, for giving me permission to quit and, when I decided to keep going, for accompanying me to the very end. vii Table of Contents Introduction In Poor Taste: The Curious Case of Revenge 1 Chapter One Shock and Awe: Reading the Spectacle of the Real 20 Chapter Two Vengeance and Vagabond Aesthetics 65 Chapter Three Regicide, Revenge and Revolution In Jacobean Revenge Tragedy 103 Chapter Four The Republic and the Revenge Machine 135 Endnotes 185 Bibliography 205 1 At the Limit: Ethics, Sovereignty, and Subjectivity in English Revenge Tragedy Introduction In Poor Taste: The Curious Case of Revenge In the past few years, the genre of revenge tragedy has reemerged from its decades long hiatus from literary criticism. Recent examples of scholarship include Linda Woodbridge’s English Revenge Drama: Money, Resistance, Equality and Thomas Rist’s Revenge Tragedy and the Drama of Commemoration in Reforming England. Much of this resurgence is indebted to recent interest in political theology and sovereignty – a trend in which part of my own project participates. That said, an aura of ill-defined unseemliness persists nevertheless. Revenge tragedy, despite its current popularity, is appreciated not for its spectacular vengeance but rather in spite of it. Stevie Simkin quips: They [revenge plays] are (with some reluctance) permitted to join the established canon of classical works, occasionally dragged out like exotic creatures for a season to be observed by curious audiences and often patronizing theatre critics, and then locked securely away for another ten years. (4) Of this reaction, Susan Zimmerman observes that “plays of blood and/or revenge foreground an explicit, even outrageous, sensationalism that would seem to preclude serious symbolic import” (13). For those who subscribe to 2 this notion, aesthetic value and revenge tragedy emerge as mutually exclusive categories. In rationalizing their distaste, some critics aim to move beyond revenge. For them, the ideal revenge tragedy is one in which there is no revenge. Analyzing The Tempest in Shapes of Revenge, Harry Keyishian valorizes Prospero and his “revengeless revenge,” citing this character as an example of “Shakespeare’s most effective revenger.” One most succeeds at revenge, according to Keyishian, when one does not engage in it. This is not to say, of course, that Keyishian actually moves beyond revenge; he advocates for revenge – “revengeless” or otherwise. Taking Keyishian’s sentiments one step further, Michael Neill lauds Prospero as a “reformed revenger…whose very name suggests hope for the future (Pro-spero) rather than obsession with the past” (348-49).1 Neill’s disavowal of revenge stems from a belief that it is both anti-life and anti- future. Unequivocally condemning the behavior of theatrical revengers, Neill writes: “This was what Bacon had in mind when he wrote of ‘vindictive persons liv[ing] the life of witches’ – being possessed, as it were, by the evil spirits of the past, which must in the end undo them” (345). One of the major problems with the structure of revenge, at least according to Neill, is that the avenger is necessarily “undo[ne].” On this last point, I find myself surprisingly in agreement with Neill. Revenge does undo. But in contrast to the argument put forth by Neill, my dissertation aims to stay with, rather than disavow, that undoing. My project 3 endeavors, in other words, to show how revenge simultaneously supports and undermines. I contend that revenge functions not unlike a mercenary, operating without loyalties in its radically deconstructive mission. Revenge, as I will argue in this dissertation, is neither inherently “evil” nor “good.” Rather, revenge drives us beyond the structures of binary logic. But even if one were seduced by the potential of “revengeless revenge” – the hope that revenge, in other words, could be recuperated and “reformed” – problems would continue to plague us. To begin, I question Neill’s claim that Prospero is a “reformed revenger” as his behavior extends to Caliban.