Stranded in the Shakespearean Sonnet
Sarah Clinch
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As I lift the glasses from my slippery, drenched nose to slick the sweat from the
convex lens, the sun shoots through in a pinpoint of light to ignite the cotton sleeve of my
blouse in a flash of fire. The pilot, the passengers, and God himself share the curses I
exhale to the blank landscape around me; slapping out the sunburst before it tore its way
through my skin as well as the already tattered textile, I then replace the spectacles over
the bridge spanning my eyes. Panning the panoptic spectacle once again bears no more
fruit than the last hundred times, but then I catch the glimpse of a hard-edged something
half buried near the surf. Relishing in the realization of a companion in the desolation, I
find the strength to drag myself to the no-man’s-land between high tide and low tide,
soon to be sank once more once old Poseidon’s mood shifted yet again. Though my leg
complained freely, the shrapnel still lodged immovable between tibia and fibula, resolve
conquered reserve and I pulled the sodden script, weighted from saturation by the wet,
sandy paste, into my desperate embrace. Minutes later, after the jaunty, yet limping,
three-legged crab walk back from the shore, I caress the cover, brushing the island’s
sandy gift wrapping away to reveal my new friend’s name. Shakespeare smiled at me; I
smiled back. Finally, someone who will hear my story, and will tell me tales of heroic
adventure, true love, and tragic loss for as long as the sun burnt down upon me. The hard
cover bent back easily, the broken spine giving way further from my eager touch, and as I
glance down upon the pages, my mouth wordlessly exclaims. “This poor book truly has
suffered as painful a wound as I,” passed through my swollen and broken, painfully
thirsting lips. Pages upon pages torn from the tome, as mercilessly as the act of God
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which had thrown me unto this forsaken island, revealed loss made more poignant as I
realized this selfsame classic embodied loss of loss: true tragedy.
The tear shed onto what was left of the gutted companion I feared foreshadowed
my own fate trickled down and onto the sand, unable to mingle with the saltwater already
saturating from cover to much-lighter cover. The pages spared in full from the massacre
were not many; yet, as I flipped through the grainy leaves hoping to salvage hope,
“Sonnet 1” through “Sonnet 154” reassured me and drew me into an escape from the
island paradise fate had cruelly drawn me to. After reading through William
Shakespeare’s structured poetry, I gratefully acknowledge the Fates’ gracious exception
to the hell they thrust upon me, because while the complete works of the Bard would
have more than busied and distracted me through my sentence, the sonnets proved allencompassing of his themes present throughout his plays. Even though I lacked Othello
and Hamlet and the famous young lovers to keep me company through the long, searing
days and tepid, lonely nights, Shakespeare’s characterless (though arguably characterfull) sonnets, specifically “Sonnet 64,” “Sonnet 146” and “Sonnet 116” (respectively to
the aforementioned plays), spoke more in much fewer lines of the same truths uttered by
these great men and women of history.
The Moor suffers the fate of a true tragic hero through the succumbing to his
tragic flaw: jealousy. Spurred by his foil and ensign, Iago, Othello begins to suspect his
newlywed wife and newly-appointed officer of betrayal through an affair. The
snowballing of events culminates in a loss tragically befitting of the genre; yet, rather
than condemning Othello because of his ethnic background, Shakespeare plays the play
out in a more colorblind climax (which in fact addresses and embosses the issue of race,
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another idea for another time), owing the Moor’s fate to his jealous obsession with his
peers. Lacking the dialogue of Othello on this island, I lack the company of other
individuals and their life stories; however, I can experience the same truths and themes
through “Sonnet 64” as I could had fate chosen to bless me further with more of
Shakespeare’s words. Poring over the precious pages, I can identify with the loss Othello
brought upon himself through the decay, bringing about nothingness, visited upon the
state of things by “Time’s fell hand” (1) within “Sonnet 64.” As Shakespeare describes
how “sometime lofty towers” (3) topple to the ground, I cannot help but think of Othello
in his tragic fall from power and trust after destroying his friendships, his marriage, and
his reputation through his jealousy, though the sonnet could be describing any tragic hero
in his fall from his graces. A more closely related line to the Moor’s character witnesses
strong “brass eternal slave to mortal rage” (4), which mirrors Othello in his madness,
enslaved by his jealous obsession over his wife and officer. The poor man, manipulated
by his ensign Iago, does not realize that his antagonist’s “hungry ocean” (5) of greed fully
gained “advantage on the kingdom of the shore” (6), the kingdom of Othello’s military
status, foiling the Moor and committing him to his demise and death. Truly, each line of
“Sonnet 64” directly reflects the events and themes coursing through Othello. Further, in
addition to echoing the play, “Sonnet 64” aids in giving advice to the characters, going
beyond the play itself by offering a solution to the problems explored by Shakespeare.
Through “increasing store with loss, and loss with store” (8), a chiastic phrase which
suggests that loss leads to an increase of appreciation for what possessions still remain,
and that building possessions leads to a greater loss in the long run, “Sonnet 64” warns
Othello that he should not dwell on whether Desdemona and Cassio cheat him, but
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should instead appreciate them and trust they are as decent as they seem outwardly. The
sonnet also alerts Iago to the dangers inherent within his plan to overthrow Othello, for
by carrying out his manipulative plot, he endangers his own “store” with absolute “loss,”
both of his reputation and of his life. With the fading light of day upon me, I have
realized that I do not require the full text or fellowship of Othello, for “Sonnet 64” clearly
lays out similar themes, and even transcends the drama by offering a way out of the
tragedy: simple appreciation for what one has. I guess I must also heed Shakespeare’s
timeless words. I have to appreciate that I have not lost my life, as has everyone else from
the flight (at least, to my knowledge). I have to also appreciate this small token of literary
mercy from whoever bestows such graces upon the less fortunate; this one possession has
given me what little comfort it can, that I so desperately need, in these tribulations I am
suffering. The light depleted, I will attempt to get whatever sleep the cool sand can offer,
and with the dawn I hope to glean new gems from Shakespeare’s sonnets.
With the breaching day comes new enlightenment; I turn once again to my
tarnished sonnets, astonished that the sand did not wear away the words. I know someone
smiles on me. Why else would I be able to occupy my time thus, learning and
memorizing each sonnet, finding the intricate threads which tie to each famous drama in
his collection? I turn the pages at random now, reading them out of order brings chaos
into clarity, for rather than viewing them chronologically as written, I can instead find
new truths by building the sonnets upon each other in a new way. “Sonnet 146” snagged
my eyes from the first syllables; “poor soul” (“Sonnet 146” 1) it cries, grief through
empathy swallows the actual meaning, my own meaning thrust upon it to convey
sympathy as a penned letter would to a downtrodden relative. I eagerly read on, hoping
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Shakespeare would speak to me still further, acknowledging my plea for relief and raising
me out of this bright, sunbathed hell. Realizing Shakespeare only speaks to me through
my delirious, tragic sense of entitlement to rescue, I begin to connect my reading and
rereading to another tragic hero, perhaps the most famous of all who encompass the
genre. The Prince of Denmark himself seems to receive these words of compassion and
chastisement. The sonnet rebukes Hamlet for his desires, which place him at center stage,
in the spotlight (as it were), or, as the sonnet indicates, at “the centre of my sinful earth”
(1). While the protagonist should stand tall in the middle of the action of the play, the
sonnet presages the tragedy to befall the protagonist, making the center of the play
ground zero of the tragic action, by admonishing Hamlet. The sonnet goes on to ask the
Prince “why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly
gay?” (3-4). Counter to the sonnet, Hamlet’s without, his “outward walls,” seems to
suffer more than his “within:” through his ruminating and maneuvering, his inner self
proves the perpetrator rather than the victim; however, paying attention to one over the
other still reflects the sonnet’s suggestion and demonstrates how the Prince reaches
emotional, psychological and physical bankruptcy through favoring his mind over his
body. Hamlet spends his time and energy on his revenge; had he taken a more miserly
measure against obsession and reimbursed his situation with a more focused awareness,
perhaps he could have changed his fate. Hamlet’s poor choices, leading toward his
downfall, reconcile “Sonnet 64,” as it states that “within be fed, without be rich no more”
(12). Clearly, as Hamlet’s inner dialogue consumes his mind, he fails to recognize the
danger to his person by outward forces (most notably Claudius, though on a larger scale
Fortinbras). The last lines of the sonnet prove the most chilling when seen in light of the
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tragedy of Hamlet. The young heir of Denmark “feeds on [the] Death” of his father,
fueling his revenge, until the population of the play, including the protagonist himself,
falls prey to the grave Death Hamlet consumes and then expels in retribution. “Death
once dead, there’s no more dying then” (14), as the play ends with the tragic sweep of
fateful mortality; the Angel of Death kills not only the firstborn but all who significantly
impacted the plot or protagonist. Through “Sonnet 64,” a crunched, metaphorical version
of Hamlet still entertains me. Thinking about the tragedy of the Prince of Denmark, I am
reminded to not only enjoy these sonnets by the light of day, but also to take care to
sustain myself with the little freshwater and food I have available; should rescue come, I
need to maintain my health in waiting. Another long day gone, but another sonnet awaits
my dissection once dawn breaks. I lay my head on the cool sand, one hand draped
protectively over my now dear friend, against the elements of wind, water and sand,
awaiting the next chance to excavate explanation from the Bard’s genius.
Regurgitating the dry, gritty sand from my mouth as I raise my head, blinking
against the new sun, I head directly for the small stream not too distant from the edge of
the beach. I wash out my mouth before quenching my thirst in large swallows; I laugh as
I wipe my mouth at a thought which had crossed my mind (“If a Castaway gulps from the
stream on an isolated island, do they still make a sound?”). Returning to my spot, I reach
for my guide, my comrade-at-arms, and page through the depleted contents until I
stumble across “Sonnet 118.” From the first words the immortal cries of the famous
lovers rang in my ears; their love, truly a “marriage of true minds” (“Sonnet 116” 1),
tragically fought against “impediments” which proved too strong to overcome with their
lives intact. Romeo and Juliet celebrates young love, one of the strongest relationships in
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existence, and examines the depths to which the lovers will go to preserve their love
together: to resist “impediments” (1). Romeo and Juliet, mere teenagers, resist their
families’ feud and refuse to “alter” (3) their perilous predicament; their love “is an everfixed mark” (5) that “looks on tempests” (6) of war between the Montagues and Capulets
and never wavers in the face of danger and, for Romeo, impending death at the hands of
his love’s kin. These tragic lovers find hope and direction, a desired path for their lives to
take together, guided by the adoration they share like “the star to every wandering bark”
(7). Navigated by such a blind compass as love, Romeo meets with the first of a set of
downfalls that leads to the tragedy their relationship famously embodies: his duel with
Tybalt. The murder of Juliet’s cousin marks her soul mate and condemns him as a
murderer, and he is forced to flee. The events shadowing Romeo’s grave mistake seem
tragic, for the young Montague and Capulet die as a result of their family’s mutual
hatred; however, their love is not “Time’s fool” (9), for the eternal rest they meet together
suspends time and infinitely entombs their love in a gilded casket. Romeo and Juliet, as
“Sonnet 116” suggests, bore their tribulations “even to the edge of doom” (12), their
deaths. I absently run my hand over my cheek to relieve the tickling caress; the tear I
brush aside brings me back to reality and my own grave situation. I need to remember my
loved ones and that they would never forsake me; I will be rescued. The sun reflecting off
the sand must be affecting my eyes more than I had thought; I angrily dig my fists into
my eyes, wiping away the wetness and weakness plaguing me. I look up, momentarily
forgetting my fears, at the sound faintly teasing my ears. The heat must have destroyed
my brain; I must be crazy; why else would I be hearing the thwock, thwop, thwock of a
helicopter? I clutch Shakespeare to my heart, pressing the tragedy so close osmosis
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absorbs it and I fall, depression and despair blinding me to everything. Insanity has
claimed me; I cannot be saved…
Once the media unhooked their claws from my story, ironically the next venue to
claim me was the entertainment industry. The girl who endured a plane crash and lived
for three months on a tiny Pacific island with little water, food, or encouragement to
survive, who found solace in the ripped and drowned edition of The Complete Works of
William Shakespeare, had memorized every sonnet of the Bard’s corpus in its entirety,
and could speak at length about the connections between any poem and play by
Shakespeare. While the paparazzi attention would have wooed me before I experienced
the months of pain and loneliness, I now can content myself with just a cool shower, a
soft bed, and a chair in which I can enjoy my sonnets. Revisiting my best friends nightly,
they bring me comfort through the long darkness (for now electricity has become my
second great friend, able to give me more hours to appreciate the truncated, powerful
themes of the Shakespearean sonnets, parallel to his plays). If I were ever to find myself
stranded on another desert island, I would want no other body of work by Shakespeare
than his 154 sonnets, for they give synopses (where recognizable) of the plays, and
extrapolate on the ideas to find solutions which may have saved many of the tragic
heroes. In short, I lucked out, and thank the heavens above for blessing me with my now
sand-worn and hand-worn, pillaged and raped copy of The Complete Works of William
Shakespeare.
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Works Cited
Hamlet: Prince of Denmark. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York:
Barnes & Noble, Inc., 1994. 670-713. Print.
Othello. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York: Barnes & Noble, Inc.,
1994. 818-857. Print.
Romeo and Juliet. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York: Barnes &
Noble, Inc., 1994. 245-278. Print.
“Sonnet 64.” The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York: Barnes & Noble,
Inc., 1994. 1233. Print.
“Sonnet 116.” The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York: Barnes &
Noble, Inc., 1994. 1239. Print.
“Sonnet 146.” The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York: Barnes &
Noble, Inc., 1994. 1243. Print.