LEAR: The King of Queens?

For centuries scholars have tried to figure out what made William Shakespeare (and his numerous legendary characters) tick, and as such the canon of Shakespeare has been studied, interpreted, reinterpreted, deconstructed, and took apart and put back together again like some kind of literary Humpty Dumpty. Few of Shakespeare’s creations stir as much discussion as the titular monarch of “King Lear”; as tortured as Hamlet and as conniving as Richard III, Lear is one of literature’s great enigmas. It is in recent decades that feminist studies threw in a hand at debunking the myth of King Lear. Now, in our twenty-first century anno domini, the battle of the sexes is now laid bare on the table: a proud octogenarian on the verge of madness versus three daughters who may be willing to lie, cheat, and murder for control of his kingdom. Place your bets, folks.

The stage is set in the opening scene: King Lear, more accustomed to the all-or-nothing officialty of the public court (it is a man’s world, after all, and this man is the king) than the emotional gray areas that women (and most men) find solace, is scheduled to pass the torch and divide his kingdom amongst his three daughters.

This does not go as planned.

Case in point: after daughters Regan and Goneril tell Lear exactly what he wants to hear (what need has Lear for the truth?), they are given his blessings. However, unlike her power-hungry sisters, youngest daughter Cordleia has the audacity to tell the truth: “I love your majesty according to my bond; nor more nor less.” One thing that has been agreed upon by scholars is that of Lear’s three daughters, only Cordelia maintains the honor befitting the monarchy, and even Lear fails to see that.

As per the Shakespeare tradition, things immediately get violently out of hand. Lear’s one-hundred knights still loyal to him regress to drunkenness and malfeasance. Plots are hatched. Cold heartlessness reigns in his stead.

Lear’s descent into madness can superficially traced to his age (though the dementia common to one of his years obviously did him no favors), and yet his inability to understand anything other than a regal world with no place for “water-drops” has desensitized him. He has no use for compassion or nurturing. These “feminine” attributes that Lear has denied for decades have distanced himself from his daughters, and he finds himself unawares and off-guard when the Machiavellian plots of Goneril and Regan take shape. Unfortunately, there is little (nay, nothing) that Lear can do to prevent the onslaught, for his years of chauvinism and male pride have made the damage irreparable.

An evening lost in the storm, joined by his Fool (who displays his own brand of twisted wisdom) and “madman” Tom o’ Bedlam (actually deposed one-time heir Edgar, who has not fared much better than Lear, but that’s another story), Lear finally learns, though now too little and too late), the error of his ways. The back-stabbing that surrounds him will cost him two daughters, and soon a third. Lear’s reconciliation with Cordelia is short-lived and too bittersweet for Lear’s old heart. She is hanged, and a grief-stricken Lear soon follows her to the grave, with hopes that the next generation of the monarchy should fare better.

“King Lear” is arguably William Shakespeare’s most existential and depressing offering, and it is a valid argument, to be sure. As with much of Shakespeare’s oeuvre, one could spend years, if not a lifetime, putting the pieces together of a tragedy as epic as “King Lear”, but the feminine presence in the text is undeniable. King Lear learned the error of his ways, and suffered for it, but alas, such is the nature of tragedy.