Rating: 
Summary: It's Apparent...
Review: ...that Vergil, Homer, Dante, Chaucer, Marlowe, and Spenser were all just waiting for someone to come along and invent Falstaff. Before him, there was no personality. ;) Anyway, it's plainly obvious that Mr. Bloom loves Shakespeare--and who, as a serious reader, doesn't? The Bard is surely the finest writer in the English letters and one of the towers of the Western canon...but I don't think he 'invented' the human. One can easily find vast contributions to psychology and intellectual attitude within plays such as Hamlet and Othello (to name just a few), but to push these contribution to hyperbolic limits and claim that one man--Shakespeare, a man standing upon the shoulders of many literary giants--singlehandedly invented the human conception of self is a bit outlandish. Besides that, this is a fairly interesting discussion of Shakespeare's works, but nowhere near a definitive piece of critcism. For that, try Isaac Asimov's guide to Shakespeare, which contains none of the ivory tower musing that pollutes much of this book.
Rating:
Summary: It's Apparent...
Review: ...that Vergil, Homer, Dante, Chaucer, Marlowe, and Spenser were all just waiting for someone to come along and invent Falstaff. Before him, there was no personality. ;) Anyway, it's plainly obvious that Mr. Bloom loves Shakespeare--and who, as a serious reader, doesn't? The Bard is surely the finest writer in the English letters and one of the towers of the Western canon...but I don't think he 'invented' the human. One can easily find vast contributions to psychology and intellectual attitude within plays such as Hamlet and Othello (to name just a few), but to push these contribution to hyperbolic limits and claim that one man--Shakespeare, a man standing upon the shoulders of many literary giants--singlehandedly invented the human conception of self is a bit outlandish. Besides that, this is a fairly interesting discussion of Shakespeare's works, but nowhere near a definitive piece of critcism. For that, try Isaac Asimov's guide to Shakespeare, which contains none of the ivory tower musing that pollutes much of this book.
Rating: 
Summary: Important and self-important
Review: Bloom's long, rambling discourse on Shakespeare's plays is sometimes insightful, often pompous, and always readable. His self-styled brand of criticism allows him to trumpet huge, occasionally fascinating propositions, without ever REALLY backing them up (except with various paraphrases of "Isn't this obvious?")...his title proposition is not the least of these ill-supported theses. He repeats himself to a ludicrous degree (we are afforded the same observations on Hamlet and Falstaff in just about every chapter in the book), and commits himself to writing entire chapters on plays that he seems willing to discard. Still, we feel throughout as if we are in the presence of a great mind and a piercing eye; Bloom's enthusiasm for these works is infectious. And he delivers courageous blows to a variety of pillars that are in need of some major re-evaluation. We have the sense, by the end, that this will stand as a hallmark of Shakespeare criticism for centuries to come.
Rating:
Summary: Bloom on Shakespeare
Review: Bloom's Shakepeare: The Invention of the Human is eloquent, frequently brilliant, provocative, ambitious, playful, educational, entertaining, yet flawed. Several of his major premises are unproven, and since these logical prerequisites are key to his central thesis, his whole edifice is shaky at best. For instance, he presumes, with no evidence, that Shakespeare wrote Ur-Hamlet, and this presumption is fundamental to his later review of the play. Other weaknesses come through as well. He repeats through virtually every play review his deification of Hamlet and Falstaff. He goes too far too often with little or no evidence. Yet to be fair, Bloom's book is clearly a labor of love. Even with its limitations this is an excellent book that is worth reading.
Rating: 
Summary: Invaluable companion to Shakespeare
Review: Don't worry that this book is a gagillion pages long - it isn't meant to be read cover to cover. Each of Shakespeare's plays receives it's own chapter of commentary.What is important is to read the introduction. Bloom bemoans the decay of the intellectual tradition. He celebrates Shakespeare (rightly so) for his own sake and not as merely interesting historically. To Bloom, Shakespeare is the greatest writer of all time. His shocking central theory is: Shakespeare INVENTED personality. Not simply how we look at personality - he created it as a concept.
Rating:
Summary: Why is everyone threatened by Harold Bloom?
Review: I've read the book of course, and I've read reviews of the book in various mags and such. I'm astounded by the amount of comments that sound like this: "You don't have to agree with him; what's important is that you go back to the texts", or, "Bloom too often derides political correctness" . . . What's wrong with deriding political correctness? It clearly needs to be derided, and thank God Harold Bloom is here to do it. And, as far as not agreeing with Bloom and simply going back to the plays, I daresay that one needs to read "Invention of the Human" first before reading Shakespeare. In the dreadful cultural climate of 1998, an average reader doubtlessly brings an assortment of wrong-headed baggage to such sublime works of art. Read Bloom's new book: it will not only teach you how to read Shakespeare, but will teach you how to read, period. BTW, for all you defenders of the REAL Western Canon, out there, prepare to rejoice. To paraphrase the Bard: "Now gods, stand up for literary elitists!" --- Genius Rules ---
Rating:
Summary: Bardolatry
Review: Professor Bloom's Shakespeare is an exhilarating look at all three dozen or so of the master's plays. Bloom's writing will be a bit impenetrable for some but it is never pretentious or unnecessarily difficult. He repeats his main ideas enough so that if you missed them the first time around (as is likely given the dense nature of his prose) you will get a chance to catch up. Many reviewers seem to think Bloom's ego gets in the way of perceptive literary criticism. Bloom certainly has a large ego but it can be forgiven because it does not hinder his penetrating insights. One example on page 715: "...because of Hamlet we have learned to doubt articulateness in the realm of affection. If someone can say too readily or too eloquently how much they love us, we incline not to believe them..." This sounds like something straight out of left field but it is intriguing nonetheless. I look at it this way: Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time is a seven volume novel told in first-person by a narrator who closely resembles Proust himself and is a thinly veiled fictionalization of his own life. Egotistical? Yes. But this doesn't prevent it from being the most perceptive novel ever written about human nature, and it contains the most brilliant observations on the world outside of the narrator's own consciousness. So it is with Bloom. At first I was a bit disappointed to see so many negative reviewers blatantly misreading Bloom's work and not being honest with themselves (perhaps reading Bloom makes them feel inferior-I initially resent people who are smarter than me and Bloom has read tens of thousands more books than I ever will) but I remembered a quote by Oscar Wilde: "Diversity of opinion shows that the work is new, complex, and vital."
Rating:
Summary: Good stuff, when he's not inventing theologies
Review: The idea that Shakespeare created every mannerism I possess is presumptuous in the extreme, but then again, you don't become one of the most prominent literary critics of our time without being presumptuous. In fact, all literary criticism revolves around the burning sun of presumption, and Bloom knows how to borrow that fire better than almost anyone. Do not be fooled, this is Bloom's attempt to permanently enthrone Shakespeare above all in the pantheon of history, even above his beloved Freud. Even if he suggests Freud's analysis can lead to us Shakespeare better than anyone, he is still lifting up Shakespeare above all. The man's arms must be getting tired from constantly trying to ascend already ascended figures. He spends a lot of time on Hamlet. A lot of time. And while this may be justified by the fact that Hamlet was the best thing Shakespeare ever wrote, there are other plays that deserve just as much space. He also ignores (basically) the sonnets, which accounts for 50% of Shakespeare genius. However, in terms of Shakespeare criticism, you will be hard pressed to find someone who has spent more time pouring over the material, thinking about it, publishing about it, and generally living it day to day. Bloom's grasp of Shakespeare has reached a level so far above others that he's no longer considered the best there is. I remember a few years above, Stephen Greenblatt was supposedly the cutting-edge in Shakespeare. No one wanted to talk to me about Bloom in the English department, they were too busy divorcing and remarrying each other. The problem here is that there is hardly any usefulness outside of pure inventive thought. Using this in your thesis on Shakespeare, in today's literary zeitgeist, is going to be met with a resounding groan. Bloom is too good, and he even seems to recognize this by establishing something called the "School of Resentment," which includes anyone who buys into modern literary theory. This excludes Bloom, of course, so you see the equation. The trouble is, who is being resented; Shakespeare for being so good, or Bloom for being so quick as to see how good Shakespeare really is?
Rating:
Summary: Hang the Chapters from the Trees
Review: There are few books that are willing to speak to us groundlings who love Shakespeare for reasons we cannot really articulate, except perhaps to say, "I laughed so hard I thought I would wet myself" or "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." The dearth of kind unfolding of thought in doses of scholarship that are accessible to those of us who merely trudge reminds me of Biblical scholarship which either addresses the *hang hog* debates which are quite beyond modest believers or else demands adherance to fundamentals or dogmas that stand in the way of dialogue, inquiry, and devotion. I grew up in Appalachia, and on those mountains where I grew up most families, poor or not, had a bible and a Collected Works of Shakespeare, even if they didn't have Dickens. Often the Shakespeare was a set of individual volumes. No TV. We couldn't get reception. By hazard I picked up Romeo and Juliet when I was nine. I couldn't put it down. I had no idea most of the time what I was reading, but the language was intoxicating, and the occasional glimpse of dreadful, lyrical beauty life-shattering and life-saving. How many people have I encountered on the ground or in the stratosphere of scholarship that are willing to fall flat on their faces for the mere privilege of being able to read and to discuss Shakespeare? No one, but no one, who has any feeling for the plays at all will tell you that he or she has finally got it right and here it is. But the man who won't speak his mind about he actually thinks today of his love and her/his beauty on this summer's day is a stingy man indeed. One reviewer compared Bloom's ego to his belly. I would compare his ego to his heart--if only on the basis that I was able to read every single page in the presence of someone who loved Shakespeare as much as I did on that first West Virginia day that summer of 1961. I am willing to read a book of this size, compare it to belly, heart, ego, what you will--to learn one little idea that will help carry me along this journey of reading the plays and living, by snapping fits and starts, in the world of the mind of the man who made them. If there are scholars who believe they are closer to the man's mind because they have never labored outside of their minds till even this day, they must possess too fragile to be as big as any scholar of Shakespeare requires. Bloom has provided me with at least thirty good ideas. I defy you Gods of criticism and scholarship to do the same. What Bloom lacks is cynicism, which may keep a scholar safe (in it's guise of skepticism). But if a scholar would debate the nature of Bloom's critiques seriously, I'd have to say the way we might at home that she's too smart to eat tomatoes. Can you imagine Will himself talking to Shakespeare scholars, the ones whose quips and quiddities must be measured in dreadful spoonfuls and consequently will always be unsavory? I can't. I can, however, imagine Will watching a good performance of Hamlet and being as awed by the Prince as we all are. Bloom simply gave me many news ways to keep being awed and avoid getting on top of the plays and looking down at them. I think that is what I learned from reading this book: that when the play holds the mirror up to nature, nature reflects the play as well; if substantiation of phrases, versions, comparisons to arguments of the day and imposition of theoretical constructs upon the globe itself are what you find in Shakespeare, then that is what you will reflect of the play, because it is your nature, and it is what you are. If you find preposterous, outrageous joy, infinite brooding, and the wit of Socrates (that constant unsmiled grin one senses must be hidden with every question he asks in the Republic mixed with the deviousness of his speech about Diotima in the Symposium), in this glass and globe, you will reflect it back.
Rating:
Summary: Good criticism with a weird central thesis
Review: This big Shakespeare book is very welcome and valuable as
a general companion to the plays (the sonnets are not discussed
much). It is certainly a book intended for the general
reader: it contains nary a footnote and there is no
bibliography. There is not even, alas, an index! However, aside from its use as Shakespeare companion and
tutor, this book advances a rather odd thesis that William
Shakespeare singlehandedly invented human beings as we know
them today. The average reader will very likely pause,
go back to re-read that sentence, and then scratch his head.
"What?" For the sake of perspective, it is a commonplace of social
history that the European Renaissance gave birth to our
modern conceptions of "the individual." For example,
A. L. Rowse's "The England of Elizabeth" made this point
fifty years ago: "The increasing national
self-consciousness expresses itself; but most significant
of all is the growth of words expressing self-awareness
and personality, fancy and instinct, acuteness of
observation, the psychological consequences of the sense
of individuality that is at the core of the Renaissance
experience." Well, Bloom is having none of this. Bloom tells us, rightly,
that "the age" or "the times" did nothing at all -- wrote
no plays, created no art, played no music. Of course all
this was done by people, not by "the age." But Bloom then
asserts that the entire Renaissance "sense of individuality"
was the work of William Shakespeare. This would strike many
as a rather odd thought, a side-effect of the Bardolatry
which Bloom cheerfully admits. Well, this is a complex issue and we can all decide for
ourselves, but here are a few reflections. First, Bloom never even hints that this "invention of the
human" might in fact be a re-invention of the individual
found in ancient Greece and Rome. In this sense, Bloom
wants to reconceive the Renaissance as the Naissance --
thereby once again showing his enormous blind spot: for
such an avid reader, Bloom seems to have read and
understood precious little from pagan antiquity. Second, it would seem to stand to reason that -- if Bill
Shakespeare was the unique inventor of the human -- that we
would find this miraculous event only happening in England;
the Renaissance experience in France, Germany, and Italy
would be utterly different, and their humanity would remain
"stuck" in the Middle Ages, since Shakespeare didn't get
translated very quickly. But I see no evidence at all of
this, and Bloom can't be troubled to supply any. So, my own feeling is that Bloom's grandiose claim should be
whittled back to Shakespeare's visible achievement, in
revolutionizing the representation of human beings in his
plays, of building on the masterpieces of antiquity
(Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides) and surpassing them in
certain key aspects. With this in mind, it is easy to
enjoy the rest of the book.
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