Endymion

In order to broaden my myopic interests, I asked for something a little out of my comfort zone: A book of English Renaissance drama that isn't about Shakespeare. (Surprise! They mention Shakespeare all over the place--the editors, not the original writers, of course.) Having already read two or three of the selections, I skipped to the first one of "Oh, I haven't read that one," which was John Lyly's Endymion.

The play itself is pretty light on plot and characterization--in fact, the synopsis on the above-linked Wikipedia page on the play is succinct and about all you need--but I felt like I should jot down my honest reading of the play. And, honestly...I kept wondering why I was reading this instead of more Shakespeare. (In the consideration of honesty, I think that often. And, with even more honesty, I should say that I finished 2 Henry VI, or the First Part of the Contention the same day.)

Characters

Still, the play isn't without merits. It lacks the vigor and confidence that Shakespeare applies, though. Even though Shakespeare was writing at the same time (early 1590s), it's clear that Lyly and Shakespeare were approaching theater in different directions. Lyly, as I mentioned before, doesn't really put a lot into the characters. Though some see a stronger comparison to Love's Labor's Lost, I felt more like I was in the same world as The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Part of that comes about because of the eponymous character's relationship with Eumenides, a good friend, which is reminiscent of Proteus and Valentine. (Incidentally, Two Gents was likely written the same year as Edmyion.)

For Lyly, the two E's are stalwart friend, complete with Eumenides' self-sacrifice at the end to figure out how to get his friend out of a jam--a true wingman. However, his name is who he is: "The well-wishing one". So it's little surprise that he chooses what he does. He's the Watson to Endymion's Sherlock, the Hyrum to his Joseph--he's the true-blue, through and through friend. Because he (and, really, all of the characters) is a one note player, it's no surprise when he plays his loyal note in Act 3.4 of the play. His earlier explanation of his own character ("...such is my unspotted faith to Endymion that whatsoever seemeth a needle to prick his finger is a dagger to wound my heart" (3.1)) makes clear what he's going to do when put into the position of choosing between his own happiness, or his friend's. This hollows out his ruminations in 3.4, where he speaks from line 93 to line 126 to himself about what he ought to do.

I know, I know: Shakespeare has soliloquies that drone on for what seems like pages. But his lengthiest speeches are all in verse; Lyly eschews that form entirely, filling his play with prose only. And, while Lyly is competent at writing, here's another sample of some of his verbiage:

Shall I not hazard the loss of a friend for the obtaining of her for whom I would often lose myself?--Fond Eumenides, shall the enticing beauty of a most disdainful lady be of more force than the rare fidelity of a tried friend? The love of men to women is a thing common, and of course; the friendship of man to man infinite, and immortal. (116-121)

There's nothing wrong with his words; they work well and evoke the feelings of the character. But they also lack the same alacrity that I've grown accustomed to in reading the Bard.

In the interest of fairness, Shakespeare's The Two Gentlemen of Verona, which I've already pulled as a parallel, is written only 25% in prose. And Proteus, named after the mercurial son of Poseidon, is (unsurprisingly) capricious in his affection and his thinking. Shakespeare's play is likewise weak on plot points, seems sloppily researched (characters travel from land-locked locations via boat, for example), and relies on sketches rather than characterization for the people on the stage. And the ending? Embarrassing. It's easy to say that Two Gents is one of the weakest of Shakespeare's early career.

And yet, here's a passage from the play to show off the different ways that the two playwrights approach the same concept (loyalty in a relationship):

Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine, or Valentine's praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont.
O, but I love his lady too too much,
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her! (2.4.185-201)

The poetry is more tightly controlled, the imagery more helpful in exploring the (shallow) reasoning of Proteus, and though there are more lines selected here (so the comparison is imperfect), they give a greater indication of what Shakespeare can do with ten syllables per line than Lyly in his prosaic format.

Comedy

I loved Sir Tophas. He's a bombastic military fellow who, much like Launce and Crab, steals every scene he's in. He's always accompanied by the long-suffering servant Epiton, whom Sir Tophas calls "Epi!" at every turn, and who provides the straight-man to Sir Tophas' zaniness. When we first meet the two, Sir Tophas enters "ridiculously armed and accoutered", which is great license for the imagination. He flaunts his Latin regularly, which lessens his appeal to a modern audience, I would imagine, but the marginalia helps show why the conversations run the way they do.

He declares, for example, that he'll befriend some of the characters, because

amicita (friendship), as in old annuals (almanacs) we find, is inter pares (among equals). Now, my pretty companions, you shall see how unequal you be to me. But I will not cut you quite off; you shall be my half friends, for, reaching to my middle, so far as from the ground to the waist I will be your friend. (1.3 31-35)

He goes on in this manner throughout the entire play. Indeed, in the Dramatis Personae, his character is described with two words: "a braggart". This comic relief is enjoyable and bright. I found myself agreeing with two servants who, in Act 4.2, complain because they've nothing to do. Dares points out "Sir Tophas is so far in love that he pineth in his bed and cometh not abroad" (3-4), which is enough to make us all wish he weren't so far in love. Of course, as so often happens in these plays, using his name essentially summons him to the stage, and it isn't too long before Epiton shows up to talk about this colorful character.

He is no Falstaff, of course, but he is a good comic piece. Like Launce in Two Gents or Launcelot in Merchant, he is comedic but serves little purpose to the plot. This is something that Shakespeare refines as he goes along, making sure the subplots tie in more tightly to the larger, more important aspect. Think, for example, of the subplot in King Lear: Edmund's ambitions, and the familial troubles of Gloucester, provide additional motivations and nuances. Since it isn't fair to compare a light-hearted romp like Endymion to a masterpiece like King Lear, A Midsummer Night's Dream is also a useful comparison: Bottom and Oberon's separate stories are technically a subplot to the main thrust of the piece, as is Theseus' marriage to Hippolyta. These disparate stories intersect, intercept, and interfere with each other, making them all integral to the general story. (That isn't to say that Shakespeare always does this correctly; he sometimes introduces a subplot that doesn't really do much besides improve the pacing of the piece, and I feel like Two Gents is another example of that.)

Conclusion

Okay, so I didn't really analyze the play; I compared it to Shakespeare's works. But that's how I read it. Taking it on its own merits, it's fine. It's a pleasant few hours to work through, and there's little to be offended by it. Nevertheless, it's reassuring to know that it isn't simply reworking famous stories (as Endymion is a Greek motif) or adding -eth to every verb that makes Shakespeare so potent. His contemporaries' best work is passable, and, for their sake, I'm glad they didn't have to work in Shakespeare's shadow, the way the rest of Western history has. I suppose there's a lesson to be learned here, had I the wit to see it.