Read Online Illyria by Elizabeth Hand - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Hand
Tags: Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Cousins, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 10-12), Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Theater, Performing Arts, Love & Romance, incest, Adolescence, Social Issues - Adolescence, Performing Arts - Theater
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William Shakespeare Friday, November 12, 3:00 See Mr. Sullivan for details
"Twelfth Night? I felt a swell of excitement, despite Rogan's disappointment. "That's the one about the twins."
"Shakespeare," said Rogan in disgust. "Who the hell does Shakespeare in high school?"
"But you like Shakespeare." I looked at him as though he'd forgotten my name. "That's why you stole my book!"
"Romeo and Juliet. I fucking hate that play."
"This isn't Romeo and Juliet. This is the one with the twins--"
"They all have twins," said Rogan. But he sounded less dismissive. "Twelfth Night is the shipwreck, right?"
I nodded, and his expression softened. He glanced around to make sure no one saw, then touched my hand. "Yeah, I remember. I always liked that one."
"Twins." My excitement deepened. "Rogan, we could be the main
64
parts! Because we really could be twins, they wouldn't have to make us up, we already look alike--"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right." He nodded thoughtfully. "That could be cool. You'd have to get your hair cut. And do something about the color..."
The bell rang. The corridor filled with students rushing to class.
"We should practice," I said. "For the audition. I'll find a copy at my house or your place. There has to be one somewhere."
"Yeah, well, good luck finding anything in that shithole," he said. "I gotta go."
That afternoon I ransacked my house for a copy of the play. We only knew the story from Madeline's old edition of Tales from Shakespeare, with Arthur Rackham's pretty, fairy-tale evocations of winsome lovers and thwarted rulers.
The copy I eventually found seemed a relic from another world entirely: a once-sturdy, extremely ugly high school edition that had once belonged to my father, with cursory annotations to the text explaining the action though not the more unsavory jokes. The book had a pukey green cover and no illustrations, save a black-and-white frontispiece of a mincing, Mephistophelean figure in a stiff ruff and pointy shoes. Malvolio, I guessed, the vain Puritanical steward who becomes the victim of a cruel practical joke. Someone--my father?-- had defaced the picture, adding glasses, a Hitler mustache, and buck-teeth.
But the text seemed complete, as far as I could tell. At least there was no mention of it having been abridged or modified for a young audience. I skipped through the opening pages to Viola's first lines.
65
Act 1, Scene 2
Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors
Viola : What country, friends, is this?
Captain : This is Illyria, lady.
Viola : And what should I do in Illyria? My brother, he is in Elysium.
'"My brother, he is in Elysium ...'"
I read the lines aloud; then went back to the beginning and read it all through, straight to the end. When I was finished, I went across the street to Fairview. Michael was downstairs, his lanky form folded into an armchair, eating a bowl of cereal and watching TV.
"Hey, Maddy," he said without glancing at me. "If you're looking for Rogan, he's not here. He went over to Derek's to practice."
"He did?"
Something in my tone made him look up. "He'll be back. Pretty soon, probably. Derek said he had to do something at five. You want me to tell him you came by?"
"No. I guess I'll just wait. If you think he'll be here." I held up the book. "We were going to practice for the play tryouts. The auditions are Friday."
Michael dug into his Cap'n Crunch. "Oh, yeah. I heard everyone's bummed it's not a musical. That new guy, Sullivan. Breaking with tradition. I didn't think Rogan was going to try out; I felt kinda bad for him. Since they weren't doing a musical. I know he really wanted to
66
sing. He would've gotten the lead, too, whatever they did. He's got such a fucking amazing voice."
A sort of darkness swept over me. I felt cold and dizzy, as though I'd arrived someplace for a big party, only to find I'd gotten the date wrong and missed it, everything had happened weeks before, and I'd never even known.
"You want something to eat?"
"Twelfth Night? I felt a swell of excitement, despite Rogan's disappointment. "That's the one about the twins."
"Shakespeare," said Rogan in disgust. "Who the hell does Shakespeare in high school?"
"But you like Shakespeare." I looked at him as though he'd forgotten my name. "That's why you stole my book!"
"Romeo and Juliet. I fucking hate that play."
"This isn't Romeo and Juliet. This is the one with the twins--"
"They all have twins," said Rogan. But he sounded less dismissive. "Twelfth Night is the shipwreck, right?"
I nodded, and his expression softened. He glanced around to make sure no one saw, then touched my hand. "Yeah, I remember. I always liked that one."
"Twins." My excitement deepened. "Rogan, we could be the main
64
parts! Because we really could be twins, they wouldn't have to make us up, we already look alike--"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right." He nodded thoughtfully. "That could be cool. You'd have to get your hair cut. And do something about the color..."
The bell rang. The corridor filled with students rushing to class.
"We should practice," I said. "For the audition. I'll find a copy at my house or your place. There has to be one somewhere."
"Yeah, well, good luck finding anything in that shithole," he said. "I gotta go."
That afternoon I ransacked my house for a copy of the play. We only knew the story from Madeline's old edition of Tales from Shakespeare, with Arthur Rackham's pretty, fairy-tale evocations of winsome lovers and thwarted rulers.
The copy I eventually found seemed a relic from another world entirely: a once-sturdy, extremely ugly high school edition that had once belonged to my father, with cursory annotations to the text explaining the action though not the more unsavory jokes. The book had a pukey green cover and no illustrations, save a black-and-white frontispiece of a mincing, Mephistophelean figure in a stiff ruff and pointy shoes. Malvolio, I guessed, the vain Puritanical steward who becomes the victim of a cruel practical joke. Someone--my father?-- had defaced the picture, adding glasses, a Hitler mustache, and buck-teeth.
But the text seemed complete, as far as I could tell. At least there was no mention of it having been abridged or modified for a young audience. I skipped through the opening pages to Viola's first lines.
65
Act 1, Scene 2
Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors
Viola : What country, friends, is this?
Captain : This is Illyria, lady.
Viola : And what should I do in Illyria? My brother, he is in Elysium.
'"My brother, he is in Elysium ...'"
I read the lines aloud; then went back to the beginning and read it all through, straight to the end. When I was finished, I went across the street to Fairview. Michael was downstairs, his lanky form folded into an armchair, eating a bowl of cereal and watching TV.
"Hey, Maddy," he said without glancing at me. "If you're looking for Rogan, he's not here. He went over to Derek's to practice."
"He did?"
Something in my tone made him look up. "He'll be back. Pretty soon, probably. Derek said he had to do something at five. You want me to tell him you came by?"
"No. I guess I'll just wait. If you think he'll be here." I held up the book. "We were going to practice for the play tryouts. The auditions are Friday."
Michael dug into his Cap'n Crunch. "Oh, yeah. I heard everyone's bummed it's not a musical. That new guy, Sullivan. Breaking with tradition. I didn't think Rogan was going to try out; I felt kinda bad for him. Since they weren't doing a musical. I know he really wanted to
66
sing. He would've gotten the lead, too, whatever they did. He's got such a fucking amazing voice."
A sort of darkness swept over me. I felt cold and dizzy, as though I'd arrived someplace for a big party, only to find I'd gotten the date wrong and missed it, everything had happened weeks before, and I'd never even known.
"You want something to eat?"
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