Macbeth – Feb 2, 2020

When I turned 12, I had a chance to read Shakespeare. The volume I took from the library had five tragedies in it. The first two of them (Romeo & Juliet and Othello) I didn’t even bother reading, as I already knew how things were going to end (not so good). The third play was Hamlet, which was a fantastic read. There was also King Lear, which I remember being really good, although not as good as Hamlet. But the last play, that I had never heard of the title before, was Macbeth.

A couple of years have passed since then. I forgot most parts of those stories, but the emotions they conveyed still remain. I was amazed by Hamlet, got upset for King Lear, and was disturbed by Macbeth. But for a weird reason, I would read only Macbeth again.

Perhaps, that is because of the story’s complete inconsistency with my expectations at that time. Especially, after reading Hamlet, one expects the main character to be “good” so that the reader can admire and want the best for him. But Macbeth turns out to be an ordinary human with flaws. And not only that; the initial admiration towards him turns into disgust as the plotline progresses.

Because of similar emotional disbalance, I still remember some pieces of Greek mythology: the torture scene of Prometheus, the myth of Oedipus, and also Borges’ The House of Asterion. The ending of The Old Man and the Sea and the battle of guerillas in For Whom the Bell Tolls. I clearly remember the night of 2006, when I was reading The Hound of the Baskervilles, when everyone around was already asleep, and I was trembling in total fear. I also remember crying in loneliness after reading The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.