![]() ![]() But what he refuses to do is stop and explain. Bloom will challenge just about every notion you have about the play and he's probably right. This incredibly small book is just stuffed to the gills with incredibly thought provoking observations about Hamlet and Hamlet (and of course about Falstaff, but enough already). And what he does is ride the fire truck at the front of the Shakespeare parade like some overly chubby Homecoming queen tossing out tootsie rolls and lollipops to the unwashed multitudes and then moving right on down the road without ever stopping. But I also realize that Bloom is kinda full of shit, and if he wasn't Harold Bloom he could never get away with what he does in print. I revel in Bloom's bardolatry like some ignorant celebrant exposed to the mysteries of a sacred passion that he really doesn't understand. Except my wife, of course, but I don't have time to get into that right now. In fact, I'm tempted to say that Harold Bloom knows more than just about everyone in the known universe. Harold Bloom says that Hamlet knows more than we do, and he's probably right because Harold Bloom knows more than we do. ![]()
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