FOREWORD

by John Lithgow

I have a lucky history with Shakespeare, and I’ll tell you why. When I was a boy, my father produced all of Shakespeare’s plays at an outdoor summer festival in Yellow Springs, Ohio. He presented seven of them each season over the course of five years. Every summer my sister, my brother, and I would hang around the festival stage with our best friends. It was our version of summer camp. We befriended the grown-up actors and watched them rehearse. Sometimes we even played the kids’ parts in the plays. My brother was one of Brutus’s serving boys in Julius Caesar, my sister was a doomed prince in Richard III, and I was the fairy Mustardseed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Because of this early immersion, I knew a lot about Shakespeare long before he became a homework assignment for my tenth-grade English class. I knew him as a man of the theater, a great storyteller, an entertainer. From the stage, I heard the crowds laugh and cry. At curtain calls, I heard their loud applause. As Mustardseed, I watched a company of actors experience the pure joy of playing Shakespeare’s antic characters. I was just a child in the tiniest of roles, but I shared that joy with them.

Not surprisingly, my favorite scenes in those days were the most physical and theatrical. I loved the comic swordplay between Viola and Sir Andrew in Twelfth Night and the gory beheading at the end of Macbeth. No fewer than six times, I watched a memorable production of Much Ado About Nothing. Every time I eagerly awaited the entrance of Dogberry and his clownish night watchmen.

This was why I was so lucky. In my eyes, Shakespeare was glorious fun. His plays were the best stories of my childhood. I never completely understood the language of his dialogue (its wit, beauty, and power would finally hit me with blazing clarity in my mid-teens). But despite my young years, I had no trouble at all with Shakespeare’s colorful characters and complex interlocking plots. His stories kept me on the edge of my seat for hours at a time, and I adored them.

Needless to say, not every child goes to Shakespeare summer camp. Few know the names of his most famous plays. Even fewer get a chance to see them performed, let alone perform in them. If they confront Shakespeare at all, it tends to happen in their high school years, by which time they have grown to dread him. This is why E. Nesbit’s Shakespeare Retold is so welcome.

E. Nesbit has been called “the first modern writer for children.” When they were published, books like The Railway Children and the many tales of the Bastable family were revolutionary in their utter lack of condescension toward the young. While occasionally dipping into the realm of the fantastical, she delighted in the adventures of real-life kids in real-life situations. In this regard, her literary descendants include C. S. Lewis, P. L. Travers, and J. K. Rowling. And although her books first appeared over a hundred years ago, her language is so clear and unadorned that they could have been written yesterday.

Who better than E. Nesbit to tell children the stories of Shakespeare’s plays? There are seven of them here and her rendering of each flows like the engrossing storytelling of the Brothers Grimm. She doesn’t neglect Shakespeare’s language altogether. She deftly, almost teasingly throws in poetic phrases that make children want to hear even more. And just as seductive is the artwork of the book’s illustrator, Antonio Javier Caparo. With a nod to Maxfield Parrish, his vivid images help children place these stories where they truly belong: in beautiful productions onstage, live in front of an audience.

As I said, I was lucky. I received an early education in Shakespeare without ever realizing I was being educated. By means of graceful prose and a knack for great storytelling, E. Nesbit has offered the same gift to young people.