You know, I really do like the movie Inglourious Basterds. My opinion of it wavered when my primary fellow-film-viewer/mentor expressed his dislike for it, but it was reaffirmed when I watched it twice some time after that with two different groups (that both liked it) , in two different places, and then managed to purchase it for $5. Looked like a good omen to me. The reasons I like it are not the subject of this posting and may be discussed elsewhere, but rather the reason anyone likes anything really.
Who's to say what's good or bad? I was listening to Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" on the radio today while making Christmas cookies, and while I have no aversion to the story itself (and am, in fact, rather fond of the Disney version) Charles Dickens is my literary mortal enemy. His nauseastingly excessive, paid-by-the-word verbosity is my main complaint, yet he is considered a god in the fiction classics pantheon. And by whom I wonder?
A similar thought has been bubbling in my head ever since I read Hamlet for the first time. Being extraordinarily invested in the works of the English canon of literature, I of course am a fan of Shakespeare, but not so much of Hamlet. Supposedly, it's the greatest work of Shakespeare, some say in the whole body of English literature, perhaps in all literature itself. But again, says who? I'm not saying that Hamlet is not great, because compared to most drama it is high above ordinary. But so are all of Shakespeares plays, all compared to other dramas, not to each other. The varying degrees and rankings of the plays within Shakespeare whole corps of work is of little interest to me in the realm of critical study because I find such a thing is a product of personal preference. Of course there are a great number or people of do not like Shakespeare, but I think that it would be safe to say that those type of people don't like any plays more than they do Shakespeare, or perhaps any other reading materials. (I have high school freshmen and perhaps some very strange adults in mind.) Just as I loathe Charles Dickens but acknowledge his fame and [some of] his stories as skilled, I think that most people, those who dislike him included, concede to Shakespeare's skill as a writer. But I digress.
This thought came to me attached to Hamlet's line "What's Hecuba to him, and he to Hecuba?" Here, Hamlet is pondering just how an actor who knows virtually nothing of Hecuba, was not emotionally or physically attached to her in any way, can summon up the passion to mourn so movingly for her. Meanwhile, he, Hamlet, has had his father murdered by his usurping Uncle who has stolen not only the crown and wife of his father, but the crown and his mother from him, and the ghost of his dead, wronged father came to have him swear to get revenge, and yet despite all this he can't bring himself to do anything about it. Depite my general dislike for the rest of the play (acknowledgement for the skill of the form and whatnot aside), I decided that this was the one part of the play I liked. Why? "I can no other answer make, but" that it has something to do with greek mythology, which is a subject that interests me to no end. Beyond that, I cannot be held responsible for the explanation of my likes and dislikes, or the mysterious meandering of my thoughts any more than you could. Basically, I like what I like and I think what I think and sometimes I don't really know why, but I do think that can be said of a great number of people too.
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