The Tempest

The Tempest is a comedy that William Shakespeare wrote around 1610. This play is about a magician who was once banished to live on an island as a result of treachery, and how the magician avenges the wrongs committed against him. The Tempest is best known as Shakespeare’s last play (if you’re nitpicky, it’s the last play he wrote entirely by himself), and is important as Shakespeare’s goodbye to the theater. One of the most interesting thoughts you might hear about this play is that Prospero, the main character, is a sort of semi-autobiographical character for Shakespeare. From this perspective, the details of the plot become secondary; we should really pay attention to the story of a master craftsman coming to the realization that it’s time to give up his art. Prospero’s story about leaving behind his magic can also be viewed as Shakespeare’s own feelings about giving up his art – writing plays. This sad but beautiful theme makes this a romantic play (in the heroic quest sense, though there is a fair bit of necking implied).

As we discuss in “In a Nutshell,” The Tempest was the last play that William Shakespeare ever wrote, and Prospero’s decision to move to Naples and break his magic staff is similar to Shakespeare’s decision to let go of his art. We could argue that Shakespeare is one of the most popular figures in the entire universe – we’d even bet money that astronauts never forget to bring some Shakespeare with them to outer space. So the fact that we get to watch this genius take a bow and say adieu through this play makes us care big-time. It’s like watching a comet that only comes around every three hundred years – we hang on Shakespeare's every word, listening for last drops of wisdom.

If Shakespeare is like Prospero, then playwriting is similar to being a lonely magician on an island. Writing is like performing magic. But not just pull-a-bunny-out-of-a-hat magic – we’re talking storm-inducing, ship-splitting magic. And if giving up playwriting is akin to giving up magic, making peace with your sworn enemy, and moving to Naples (where there are lots of people), then we might infer that the life of an artist is a lonely one.

So just what does it mean to be an artist? Do you have to be alone, separated from society in order to be a good one? And for the love of seaweed, why do we, the audience, have the power to release Prospero with our applause at the end of the play? We thought Prospero was the one at the wheel, the one with all the ammo. What does it mean that the most powerful character is at the mercy of his audience? Work on those queries for us, Shmoopster, and let us know what you think.