After a rainstorm in the Fellows’ Garden at Wadham College, Oxford.
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Last night, the week’s work being over, I took the kid to see the Oxford Shakespeare Company’s production of Macbeth, outside in this same garden, minimally staged but played fairly straight and rather well I thought. The ending, the writing dark enough, was played mostly in the dark, lit by hand-held torches.
Hadn’t seen that one in years; you can forget how large old Will looms over our language until you sit there and hear, within a few words, basics like “fell swoop” and “be-all and end-all” and remember he invented them.
