The Story Behind the Story of I, Iago
A FEW YEARS AGO, my friend Chelsea McCarthy and I started a project to keep ourselves out of trouble during the long winters on Martha’s Vineyard. (Even resort communities have winters, and real people live through them.) We began irreverently adapting Shakespeare’s plays by creating script-in-hand performances that needed one day (or thereabouts) to rehearse and one hour (or thereabouts) to perform. With a talented group of local actors and occasional guest artists donating their time, we staged these performances free of charge at the Vineyard Playhouse. The Playhouse’s artistic director, MJ Bruder Munafo, dubbed us “Shakespeare for the Masses.”
We were a surprise hit our first season, staging seven plays between October and May. We had stage combat and love scenes and dumb-shows. (A dumb-show is a pantomime of sorts.) We had fun, and so did our audiences.
When Chelsea and I met over the summer to talk about our second season, she made a request that would have a profound impact on my life. She wanted us to do Othello, and specified she wanted Billy Meleady to play Iago.
Billy was a Boston-based Irish actor, phenomenally talented, and especially adept at villains and comedic roles. He’d worked with each of us on several plays over the past couple of years. I asked if he’d come down to play the role. I offered him our fold-out couch to sleep on. (Ayad Akhtar was coming from New York to play Othello and had dibs on the guest room.) I could not offer him any money or even travel expenses; he’d have to do it as a favor.
Billy said he’d love to play Iago. I’d sent him the script ahead of time, but when he arrived, he admitted sheepishly that he hadn’t had a chance to look at it.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “We didn’t change much, we’re basically just doing a shorter version of the original.”
“You don’t understand,” said Billy. “I haven’t read the play.”
“Othello? You haven’t read Othello?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
I repressed my wave of panic. We had one day of rehearsal, and the actor for whom we had specifically selected the play wasn’t familiar with the role.
“Why did you say you wanted to play Iago if you don’t know the part?” I asked.
“Every actor I know wants to play Iago,” he said. “There has to be a reason.”
So Billy and I stayed up until two in the morning, reading and analyzing our way through the script, playing around with different ideas, motivations, interpretations. The more we delved, the more fascinated we each became with Iago. It was a treat for me—most actors playing Iago already know what they want to do with the part, so it’s rare for a director to help shape the character so much.
We had a day of rehearsal with the cast, and then the next evening we continued our crash course in Iagosity. Lights up, on with the show: Billy was a fine Iago the first night, a brilliant Iago the second night—and then the show was over. (Shakespeare for the Masses only puts on two performances per play.)
So that was that. Billy went back to Boston, now hungry to play the part “for real.” The questions he’d raised and the ideas we’d played with haunted me. Other tantalizing questions had surfaced as well, especially regarding Iago’s relationship with his wife, Emilia (whom Chelsea had played). I could not stop thinking about this. I believe Iago loves Emilia, which makes her death a different kind of crime than any of his others.
I was also fascinated (as many people are) with Iago’s sudden silence near the end of the play. He has more lines than Othello; he talks incessantly not only to other characters but also to the audience, to whom he gleefully boasts why and how he intends to cause mischief. He uses words as both weapon and shield. All his power lies in his words. Then suddenly, having been found out, he declares he will not say another word—and he doesn’t. What changes to make him stop talking? Is it merely that he’s been unmasked? That’s such a simplistic answer for such a complicated character.
After that weekend, I took my dog for long morning walks in the autumnal woods and hardly noticed the glory of the beech trees turning gold; my attention was focused inwardly on Iago’s behavior. One morning, I had an epiphany. I remember the very step I was taking, the exact moment in space I was inhabiting, when a tumble of thoughts brought me to a standstill. Maybe that’s why he does that, I thought. And that’s why he does that! And that! And that!
I rushed home and began to write like a woman possessed.
Here is a happy little epilogue:
Cut to the following summer. My life was greatly altered: I was newly divorced, living in a small cottage I shared with my new landlords, and I was halfway through the first draft of “the Iago novel.” It was late July on Martha’s Vineyard, and Billy Meleady—whom I had not seen and barely spoken to since Othello—came down to the island for vacation. We had a few friendly meals together. To our shared surprise, a chemistry developed between us that neither of us had ever felt before, not even when we were wrestling with Iago the previous year. The attraction proved too strong to resist. To borrow from Brontë for a moment: Reader, I married him.
Dramatis Personae
A Character Reference, of Sorts
WHEN CREATING THE CHARACTERS in I, Iago, I relied on information in the original Othello text. Although the play appears to be about innocent people being tragically duped and destroyed by a villain, a closer look reveals that there are few real innocents in this story. Here is a brief introduction to some of the major characters. (I have elected not to introduce Iago or Emilia here—that would give too much away.)
Othello
The heroic, trusting, good-natured, passionate general of the Venetian forces. He elopes with his beloved Desdemona. He is cruelly, fatally duped by his ensign Iago, who single-handedly brings about Othello’s downfall through cunning and deceit.
On the Other Hand
Othello betrays his patron, Brabantio, by running off with his only child. Later, despite the absence of any proof, Othello is so gullible that over the course of one scene, Iago convinces him that his bride might be having an affair; and only a few hours later, Othello has histrionically vowed to murder both his bride and her supposed lover. (He makes this vow before he sees the infamous handkerchief—so he vows to kill her without any “ocular proof” at all.)
Cassio
Othello’s innocent, honorable young lieutenant who becomes the dupe in Iago’s scheme to drive Othello mad with jealousy. Cassio beat out Iago for the position of lieutenant, which accounts for Iago’s hatred of him.
On the Other Hand
An alcoholic, Cassio becomes extremely violent when drunk. He has a prostitute mistress who dotes on him, but whom he mocks and belittles behind her back. Although he has less military experience than Iago does, Othello has made Cassio lieutenant at about the same time that Cassio helps Othello to carry out his affair with Desdemona. Is that timing really a coincidence?
Desdemona
The spirited young daughter of Senator Brabantio; she elopes with Othello and goes with him to Cyprus, where her husband murders her because he believes she is having an affair with Cassio.
On the Other Hand
She carries out a secret affair with a man her father knows, trusts, and likes. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet. There is no need for her to keep her feelings secret from her father—they love each other, and he has indulged her disinterest of Venetian youths. She shouldn’t marry Othello because he isn’t a member of the Venetian patriciate, but given the understanding, supportive nature of her father regarding affairs of her heart, she might at least have discussed the situation with him first. Her father literally dies of grief after his daughter goes to Cyprus.
Roderigo
A wealthy, hapless Venetian, hopelessly in love with Desdemona. Iago steals from him and puts him in harm’s way to carry out his plans against Cassio, then cold-heartedly murders him when the plan to kill Cassio goes awry.
On the Other Hand
The play opens with Roderigo and Iago commiserating—possibly the only moment Iago is ever sincere with another character. At the start of the play, Roderigo already has a trusting enough relationship with Iago that he continually puts himself, and his money, in Iago’s hands. He would (he claims) have drowned himself for grief, had Iago not distracted him with other plans. Even when he begins to suspect those “other plans” are not in his interest, he tries to kill an innocent man in the hope of winning the married woman for whom he lusts.
Questions for Discussion
1. Have you (or anyone you’ve known) ever acted out of anger that you believed was justified—and then realized you were in error? If so, how did you handle the realization?
2. What is the worst lie you have ever told? Was it a lie of omission or commission? What were the consequences of the lie? How did you feel at the time you were lying, and how do you feel about it now, thinking back on it?
3. Is there such a thing as “a little white lie?” Who and what defines it? What is the worst kind of lie? Why?
4. Do people’s behaviors in dire circumstances reveal the truth about their character, or a warped version of their character?
5. Are people’s tendencies toward honesty or deceit more informed by nature or by nurture—by innate character or by circumstance?
6. If your partner were cheating on you or if someone you love were being deceitful, would you rather know about it or remain completely oblivious? Why?
7. At what point in the story do you feel Iago loses his way?
8. If you know the play Othello: Which of the characters in I, Iago feel most familiar to you, and which ones feel most like deviations from the original play? What do you most enjoy or miss in this interpretation?
9. If you do not know the play Othello: Does the novel make you curious to see it? Why or why not? What characters are you most curious to see in their original form?