The Book Club Chronicles: Part Nine: The Midsummer Night’s Dream

By Joan H. Parks

As the ladies study A Midsummer Night’s Dream, they discover yet again the complexities of Shakespeare’s play. They discover that under the glorious poetry, A Midsummer Night’s Dream has a complicated structure. The plot, what there is of it is about lovers: lovers being parted by tyrannical fathers, lovers being won in combat, lovers being wooed, lovers moaning about unrequited love, fairy lovers squabbling and disturbing all life around them. Then there are the famous mechanicals who are a counterpoint to the over-the-top love stories. Penelope a very old lady has been invited into the book club. She inadvertently stirs up an old hurt and her own past comes back to haunt and entertain her. Clarissa, known as the kid, for she is merely in her mid-fifties, is conflicted about Steve who has returned to her. What is his place in her heretofore simple life? Hovering over them are Shakespeare’s imaginary characters who challenges their intellects, as well as their emotions. They, as always, wrestle with their own love stories, late life marriages, as they struggle to make sense of this beloved play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663255006

Joan H. Parks

Joan H Parks lives in Chicago, IL, and after a career in clinical research refreshed her life by becoming a fiction writer. Her undergraduate degree was from the University of Rochester in Non-Western Civilizations, her MBA from the University of Chicago. She studies poetry, including Yeats and the Canterbury Tales (in Middle English); has an interest in the ancient world which she has gratified by studying at the Oriental Institute of The University of Chicago; is an aficionado of The Tales of Genji, which she rereads every year or so. Her family regards these activities with amusement, for she also listens to Willie Nelson and Dierks Bentley. She can be contacted at joanhparks.com

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Copyright © 2023 Joan H. Parks.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-5501-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5500-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023914595

iUniverse rev. date:  08/04/2023

Direct quotes from A Midsummer Night’s Dream from the Folger Library paperback edition, Simon and Schuster Paperback, 2016

The Shakespeare Globe DVD of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is available for anyone with an internet connection

CONTENTS

Prologue: Penelope

Prologue: Clarissa

Chapter 1     Clarissa Joins the Governinrg Board

Chapter 2     Claire Fumes

Chapter 3     Clarissa Wonders

Chapter 4     Katherine Attempts to Remember

Chapter 5     The First Meeting

Chapter 6     Steve walks Clarissa Home

Chapter 7     Annie Talks to Bill

Chapter 8     The Second Meeting -About Structure

Chapter 9     Katherine Wonders

Chapter 10   Clarissa and Steve and the Mechanicals

Chapter 11   Third meeting - Hermia

Chapter 12   Claire Rants to Henry

Chapter 13   Mark and Katherine run lines as Oberon and Titania

Chapter 14   The Book Club Studies Act II

Chapter 15   Penelope Remembers

Chapter 16   Claire and Annie Walk and Talk

Chapter 17   Annie has lunch with Penelope

Chapter 18   Claire Confesses to Henry

Chapter 19   The Book Club Meets Again - The Young Lovers

Chapter 20   Penelope Round #3

Chapter 21   Mark and Katherine Perform Helena and Demetrius

Chapter 22   Clarissa Thinks about Age

Chapter 23   The Coven Convenes

Chapter 24   The Book Club Meets - Bottom and Titania

Chapter 25   Claire Remembers

Chapter 26   Penelope Round #4

Chapter 27   Clarissa Wavers Over Her Big Decision

Chapter 28   Act III - The Lovers thrash about in the forest

Chapter 29   Annie Thinks About Endings

Chapter 30   Titania, Bottom and Oberon

Chapter 31   Another Discussion on Act IV

Chapter 32   Penelope and Annie lunch

Chapter 33   Henry and Claire

Chapter 34   Penelope Round #5

Chapter 35   The Lunatic and The Lover

Chapter 36   Clarissa is Conflicted

Chapter 37   The Nasty Audience

Chapter 38   Henry Surprises Claire

Chapter 39   Puck and Oberon and Titania End the Play

Chapter 40   Clarissa Finally Talks to Steve

Epilogue: Clarissa

Epilogue: Penelope

PROLOGUE

PENELOPE

W ho the hell does Penelope think she is?

The question echoed across the lobby. The embarrassed looks, the tense quiet and the silence that became more and more loaded with significance confirmed that I was the pebble that disturbed the serene pond. The doorman was busy putting groceries in a cart. One of the maintenance men quietly swished his mop on the floor. The mail was trundled in on a cart. A car pulled into the driveway, Lyft or Uber?

Shush, she’s heard you.

Should I ignore them? I could. I wouldn’t though. I was done with apologizing. And being nice.

Good morning, ladies. I sashayed over in my most provocative style, and hoped that my smile was knowing but mysterious. Was this what Mae West would do? I must google to make sure I have my styles correct. If I am not accurate, I will lose face in this enclave of Hyde Park, where intellectual jousting is a blood sport.

I’m done with mourning. I’m done with being respectable.

I’m all about fun these days. Stirring things up. Before the end.

And, why not?

PROLOGUE

CLARISSA

W ith so much to learn, it’s as if I were back in graduate school.

I was used to a solitary life, yet I couldn’t resist inviting Steve to live with me, even though I kept thinking maybe I was making a huge mistake, that he would break my heart again. And I wondered if I could live with a man.

Somehow, I managed, or Steve managed, or we managed.

But his grown children? They were polite. Well- brought up polite. But I didn’t know what to make of them anymore than they knew what to make of me.

This new life scares me.

CHAPTER 1

CLARISSA JOINS THE

GOVERNINRG BOARD

T he three ladies looked up with welcoming smiles as I sat down in the fourth seat. Piccolo Mondo was our neighborhood hang out, lunch with our lady or academic friends, supper mostly with other couples. We knew the waiters, the menu and the ambience. As befits an academic enclave, the tables were widely spaced for intense conversations.

Claire, our leader, had disciplined dark hair which no grey would dare deface; her equally cowed scarf was tied over a crisp blouse. She bestowed a genuine smile on me. Annie, as always, looked a little vague, her white curls just barely in order; as usual she was clad in a pair of trousers, a soft sweater and unique jewelry purchased for her by her husband, Bill. Katherine, dear Katherine with her red hair, sparkly brown eyes, white skin ready to blush at every thought, sipped her martini, and waved a bright silk clad arm at me. They all saw me coming, their eyes on my cowboy boots which were new, burgundy, tooled elaborately and totally cool. My burgundy sweater matched exactly. I was a little nervous; this being the first time I was included in the decision making for the Book Club.

I, aware that asking for help from these experienced mothers and grandmothers was not only smart, but wise, said. I’ve got a problem. I’m trying not to step in deep doo-doo but I fear I am.

Two pairs of brown eyes (Claire and Katherine) and one pair of green eyes (Annie) swiveled to look at me, their eyebrows raised.

Steve has two grown sons. He’s close to them, calls them, asks about their lives, they call him. All that. I paused, about to get to the heart of it, But I don’t know how to talk to them. I thought it would be like talking to my students, which I have been doing for years, but it isn’t. There’s something I’m missing and I don’t know what it is. Can you help?

Annie asked, How old are they and what are they doing with their lives.

Mid-twenties. The older one has a degree in HVAC, is chief engineer at a big building, is saving to buy a three flat for investment. The younger one has a degree in music, is a percussionist and is making his way in the music world. He works part time for his dad’s construction business when the gigs are scarce.

Claire asked, What did Steve tell you about their growing up?

Not much beyond his going to every baseball game, every teacher conference, every band concert.

The three ladies glanced at each other, a swift inaudible conversation that I could not decipher. Clearly, I had said something significant. But he doesn’t brag like I have heard some older faculty males brag about the educational achievements of their offspring, which seems to me to be the same as bragging about being elected to elite academic societies. Steve sounds different but I don’t understand the difference.

Katherine, sipped on her martini, put it down, shook her red curls, then looked at her olive, licked it, and roused herself to say, Clarissa – this can’t be looked at intellectually. It’s pure emotion.

Annie and Claire nodded in agreement. Here I was again, swimming deep in unfamiliar waters. I must have looked perplexed, because Katherine patted my hand and continued, If Steve was anything like my Geoff, when that baby was born, he cuddled him on his chest, glad after nine long months to finally touch him. He soothed him through colic. Watched his first steps with outrageous pride. He read them stories, went to games, concerts, drove them to college. He was intent on fulfilling his responsibilities, not from some chilly sense of duty but from a place of love. It was his kid, and later both were his kids.

At my confused look, Katherine wrinkled her brow, and then said. Look at Bruce Springsteen on YouTube – at his live concerts through the years.

Claire rolled her eyes, but dear Annie was always the peacemaker, I wondered if she was a middle child., That’s brilliant Katherine. Yes, look at his live concerts. They are pure emotion, like a church revival. The audience loves him, and he is totally comfortable with that adulation, and totally comfortable mingling with them.

Katherine swept back her hair, fingers tangling in her curls, and expounded: Men are just as emotional as women, maybe more so, but the spoken code is different, the physical demonstrations are different. Study Springsteen. Besides which you can talk about the percussionist who looks like an accountant with the kid who is a musician. Weinberg, I think his name is, Max Weinberg. Ask the kid for his opinion.

Annie agreed. Always ask them for their opinions. For the percussionist, ask what music he listens to. Get it and play it at a low volume. That way you can maybe stand it.

Claire added, Forget that you are a teacher and a high academic. It doesn’t matter to them, and may even set their backs up.

Katherine leaned forward, her martini close at hand, It’s like a first date, don’t spill too soon. Watch and say as little as possible.

I was breathless from the insights. Who knew?

Annie, with a misty look, said. Bill was the same, yet being a surgeon, he couldn’t always be there at the teacher conferences, but he tried valiantly. Even when we had our differences, he was always a good dad.

My ex, until he had a new family and forgot about my kids, was much the same. Claire frowned at the memory. And now with Henry, he’s always available by phone. They’re grown with their own families, but still, he’s available. Is Steve’s ex still alive and around?

She’s remarried. A fellow teacher. I haven’t met her. I replied.

You will. The three ladies were unanimous.

I don’t know what’s more difficult to negotiate, a dead first wife, or a remarried first wife. Claire sipped her water. Just be very very careful, Clarissa. With his sons, tread lightly.

Thanks. I understand a little better what I am dealing with. If I’ve learned anything from Shakespeare it’s not to blurt out my first emotional thought. We’ve seen how that turns out!

Claire cocked an ironic eyebrow at me, Now that we have solved your step-mother, or better said, since his sons are far too old to regard you as a step mother, your mate’s offspring problem, shall we go on to discuss which play to study next in our book club?

First we have to order our lunches. Annie corrected her and raised a beckoning finger. A waiter responded and we ordered: Katherine a salad with chicken and walnuts along with another martini; Claire spaghetti and meat balls; Annie, after dithering, asked for chicken cooked in marsala wine; and I, ravioli knowing that either Steve or I would eat the extra.

Before we discuss what we will study next, Annie said, I met somebody that I think will be a good addition to our group. I’m so sorry to violate our rules, but I forgot and invited her to the first meeting. She’s recently moved back to Hyde Park into our building.

Seeing the wary expressions on Claire’s and Katherine’s faces, Annie began to falter. I’ve had lunch with her a few times, she’s amusing and well read. Before consulting everyone else, I asked her to join us.

Claire looked sternly at Annie. "Don’t you remember at the beginning when one member had a nervous breakdown, another went into an alcoholic rant in your own apartment, and we had to lock the door to prevent other such ludicrous events?

I’m sure it will be OK, Annie. Katherine tried to be supportive, but she looked dubious, and her voice reflected it. What’s her name?

Penelope. Busy smearing butter on her Italian bread, Annie didn’t notice the look on Claire’s face. Rather an unusual name, except for screen goddess’s or for those who read Homer.

Um. Just moved into our building? Claire gingerly inquired.

Yes. Several months ago. While you and Henry were gone on your cruise. Annie bit on the bread.

I could see Claire fighting down her rising temper. The blush started on her chest and made its way up her neck becoming more and more vivid. Claire looked ready to blow. She glared at Annie. I thought they were best friends. What was going on?

Annie finally caught on. Looking uncertain, she tried to sooth Claire, I’m really sorry that I invited her without including everyone in the decision. I won’t do it again. I promise. She stumbled to a stop, finally aware that it wasn’t just the invitation.

I watched Claire who was angry, flushed face angry.

Annie said, It would be very impolite to disinvite her at this point, but I will if is a problem. She winced at that thought.

Through tight thin lips, Claire said, We’ll work it out, Annie. Somehow.

Watching this mini drama, I wondered what had disturbed the usually controlled Claire. Annie looked at Claire, as if uncertain at what she had stirred up. She opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and had another bite of her bread. Katherine watched carefully as if trying to figure out what was going on. How odd. Annie and Katherine didn’t understand why Claire was so disturbed. I was mystified. It must be something way before my time. But even if it were before my time, why did Annie and Katherine look so surprised? Was it before their time too? Or had Claire never confided in them? Questions, questions, questions.

Our lunches arrived; forks were lifted to fill our waiting mouths: Claire viciously cut her meatballs neatly into four pieces and distributed the pieces exactly amongst the four quadrants of spaghetti, her neck still flushed. Katherine sipped eagerly at her martini and pecked at her salad like a disconsolate Cockatoo. Annie, oblivious to Claire’s deep displeasure, happily sliced the potatoes and the chicken in half and pushed the debris to the side for later home consumption. I did the same with my ravioli.

When the forks stopped beating a fast rhythm, Claire opened the discussion. Her lips still looked taut but the high color on her face had faded. Even disturbed, she had no trace of spaghetti sauce on her immaculate white shirt. Whatever had bothered her she had well in hand. I would hate to be around when she lost her temper; anywhere else, even on the rim of an active volcano would be preferable.

"It’s been suggested we study A Winter’s Tale, but no final decision has been made. Katherine, I know you’ve vetoed it in the past. Are you still of that mind?"

Yes, Claire, I’m still of that mind. As I’ve said before, it’s Mamillius, the child who dies in the first part of the play, because of that fool Leontes. Hermione comes back, but Mamillius doesn’t and I just haven’t been able to get past it. Katherine hadn’t changed her mind. "Even the ridiculousness of Cymbeline doesn’t affect me like the death of that child."

Perhaps we could frame it a different way. Claire persisted. Shakespeare was following Greek myths to a certain extent. He didn’t know all the creation myths we are aware of today. The seasons pass, someone dies and goes to the underworld – usually a fertile female – and then someone goes down to the underworld and brings her and her fertility back.

Claire, Katherine responded, we can dance around the problem with creation myths and all sorts of intellectual hijinks but Leontes succumbs to jealousy, destroys his faithful wife, causes his son to die of grief and gives the order to expose his baby daughter to the elements. It’s more a study of rampant jealousy than a creation myth. Shakespeare’s a genius at raw emotion, which is one reason we see his plays. For me, this particular rawness is too much.

What do you think might be helpful in making our decision? I asked, not in favor of A Winter’s Tale, but not as opposed as Katherine.

Katherine said slowly, "There is no way to get away from my sticking point, which is the death of that child. The children slaughtered in Macbeth were awful enough, but somehow the mayhem in Winter’s Tale seems worse to me. Katherine warned. I am not able to get past it."

I must admit I haven’t found filmed versions that are any good, Claire confessed. In the only recent film the actor based his performance of Leontes on a psychiatrist’s description of the syndrome. Claire wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ok, let’s not tackle A Winter’s Tale this time. What other play can we study?"

Katherine looked relieved. As did Annie. I, too, was relieved.

"A Midsummer Night’s Dream?" I suggested.

The clink and clank of silverware kept up its music, water was sipped and then Katherine, swirling her olive around in her martini, said, The way the youngsters fall in and out of love willy nilly, is a pointed satire on romantic love, the parallel stories of Theseus and Hippolyta, Tatiana and Oberon the same. Even Bottom and the mechanicals, have a view of romantic love.

"If I remember correctly, it was written in the same period as Romeo and Juliet. Yet, the take on romantic love is entirely different. Claire looked thoughtful. But then again, every time we study a text, we find surprises."

What a good idea, Clarissa. Annie beamed. "The language is gorgeous and it’s done so