Daniel: Most people think of William Shakespeare as this lofty, untouchable genius in a stuffy collar, churning out perfect sonnets. The truth? He was a sharp-elbowed businessman who got into public spats, may have been a secret Catholic in a dangerously Protestant England, and used his first big money to buy his family a coat of arms. He was more hustler than poet. Sophia: A hustler? I love that. It makes him sound less like a marble statue in a museum and more like someone you'd see pitching on Shark Tank. "I've invented a new art form called the tragicomedy, and for a small investment in the Globe Theatre..." Daniel: It's not that far off! And it's this more grounded, complex view of the man that we get from our guide today, CLIFFSCOMPLETE Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It’s a fantastic resource that peels back the layers on both the play and the playwright. Sophia: Okay, so we're not just talking about "wherefore art thou." We're getting into the behind-the-scenes drama. Daniel: Exactly. And what's fascinating about The Tempest is that it's one of only two plays Shakespeare wrote with a totally original plot. He wasn't just adapting old stories from history books. He was responding directly to the wild, viral news of his day—like real-life accounts of a shipwreck in the mysterious 'New World.' Sophia: So he was basically doomscrolling the 17th-century equivalent of Twitter and got an idea for a play? That’s incredibly relatable. Daniel: In a way, yes! He was a man of his moment. And to understand the magic of The Tempest, you first have to understand the man and the chaotic world that made him.

Sophia: Alright, so if he wasn't just a poet locked in an attic, who was this guy? What was actually driving him? Was it just about the art? Daniel: I think it was deeply personal, and it starts with his father, John Shakespeare. This isn't just some quaint backstory; it's a story of ambition, public humiliation, and redemption. John was a big deal in their hometown of Stratford-upon-Avon. He was a successful glover, a moneylender, and he climbed the social ladder, eventually becoming the town's bailiff—basically the mayor. He was on top of the world. Sophia: Okay, so William grew up in a prominent, well-to-do family. That tracks. Daniel: For a while. But then, around 1576, when William was about twelve, it all fell apart. John Shakespeare suddenly fell into deep financial trouble. He was hit with heavy fines, got dragged into lawsuits, and lost his seat on the town council. He just vanished from public life. Sophia: What happened? Bad investments? Daniel: Scholars have theories, but a compelling one is that it was about religion. The Shakespeares may have been closet Catholics at a time when that was not only illegal but dangerous. Some evidence suggests John was fined for not attending Protestant church services. So, he might have been ruined by religious discrimination. Imagine being a kid and watching your father, the mayor, become a social outcast. Sophia: Wow, so it was a classic 'I'll show them all' story. The family's reputation was on his shoulders. That adds a whole new layer to his ambition. It wasn't just for himself; it was to restore the family name. Daniel: Precisely. And that's exactly what he did. As soon as he made it big in London as a playwright, one of the first things he did was petition the Herald's Office to get that coat of arms his father had tried and failed to secure years earlier. In 1596, it was granted. He bought his family the status of "gentleman." He literally purchased his family's honor back. Sophia: That is some serious motivation. It also explains why he might have been so competitive. I read that he wasn't exactly popular with the university-educated writers of his day. Daniel: Oh, they couldn't stand him. They were called the "University Wits"—these formally educated, slightly snobbish playwrights who thought they owned the London stage. And then comes Shakespeare, this guy from the countryside who, as his rival Ben Jonson famously quipped, knew "small Latin and less Greek." He didn't go to university. Sophia: So he was basically a college dropout who was out-writing all the Ivy Leaguers. I can see why they'd be annoyed. Daniel: They were furious. The most famous attack came from a writer named Robert Greene. On his deathbed, he wrote a pamphlet warning his fellow university-educated playwrights about this "upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers." He accused Shakespeare of being an actor trying to write plays, and famously parodied a line from one of Shakespeare's own plays, calling him a "tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide." Sophia: That is some epic 16th-century shade. He's calling him a poser and a beast, all in one line. Daniel: It's the ultimate backhanded compliment, isn't it? It proves that by 1592, Shakespeare was already so successful and so well-known that his rivals felt the need to publicly attack him. He wasn't just some anonymous writer; he was a brand, a threat. This is the man—driven, ambitious, navigating a world of plagues that constantly shut down the theaters, and fighting for his place at the top. Sophia: And it's this man, with all that baggage and ambition, who sits down to write his final solo play. That changes how I think about The Tempest entirely. It’s not just a fairy tale. Daniel: Not at all. And this man, shaped by his own story of loss and restoration, writes a play about a man, Prospero, who loses everything—his power, his home, his identity—and then uses immense, almost terrifying, power to get it all back. The play becomes a reflection of the man's own life.

Sophia: Okay, so let's step onto this island. The setup is that Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, gets betrayed by his own brother, Antonio. Antonio conspires with the King of Naples, and they put Prospero and his toddler daughter, Miranda, on a rickety boat and cast them out to sea to die. Daniel: A truly brutal betrayal. But they don't die. They wash up on a remote, enchanted island. And for the next twelve years, Prospero, who was always more interested in his books of magic than in ruling his dukedom, hones his craft. He becomes an incredibly powerful sorcerer. Sophia: And he's not alone on this island, right? This is where we meet the spirits, Ariel and Caliban. Daniel: Correct. And their stories are the key to understanding the moral complexity of the play. When Prospero arrived, the island was under the control of a witch named Sycorax. She had imprisoned a delicate, airy spirit named Ariel inside a cloven pine tree for refusing to do her "earthy and abhorred commands." Ariel was trapped there, groaning in agony for twelve years. Sophia: That sounds awful. So Prospero is the hero who saves him? Daniel: He is. He uses his magic to free Ariel from the tree. But freedom comes with a price. Ariel is now indebted to Prospero and becomes his magical servant, his eyes and ears on the island. He's the one who whips up the titular tempest that shipwrecks Prospero's enemies on the shore. Sophia: Alright, so far, so good. Prospero seems like a benevolent master. He frees the tortured spirit. But then there's Caliban. Daniel: Ah, Caliban. He is the son of the witch Sycorax. When Prospero and Miranda first arrived, Caliban was the only human-like inhabitant. He claims the island is his by inheritance. At first, Prospero treats him with kindness. He teaches him language, they share knowledge. Sophia: But it doesn't stay that way. What goes wrong? Daniel: According to Prospero, Caliban attempted to violate Miranda's honor. As a result, Prospero enslaves him, forcing him to do menial tasks like hauling wood and calling him a "born devil" on whom "nurture can never stick." Sophia: Hold on. This is where it gets really tricky for me. He frees one magical creature just to enslave another? And the justification is an attempted assault, which we only hear about from Prospero's side. From Caliban's perspective, this man shows up, takes his island, and then enslaves him. Daniel: And that is the central, explosive debate that has made this play resonate for centuries, especially in post-colonial criticism. Is Prospero a righteous, wronged man restoring order? Or is he a European colonizer, imposing his will on a native inhabitant, justifying his tyranny with claims of moral superiority? Sophia: Exactly! Because Caliban has this incredible, heartbreaking line. When Prospero berates him, Caliban spits back: "You taught me language, and my profit on't is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you for learning me your language!" That's such a powerful indictment. It's the voice of the oppressed using the master's tools to resist. Daniel: It's one of the most potent lines in all of Shakespeare. It completely complicates our view of Prospero. He's not just a victim anymore. He's a ruler, a jailer, a man who controls every aspect of this island. He's created a magical surveillance state. He sees and hears everything through Ariel. He's essentially running a giant, elaborate experiment on his enemies, who are now wandering, lost, on his island. Sophia: It's like his own personal Truman Show. He's the creator, director, and producer, and everyone else is just an actor in his revenge plot, whether they know it or not. He even orchestrates a romance between his daughter Miranda and the King's son, Ferdinand. Daniel: He does. It's all part of his "project." He tests Ferdinand's love, he magically torments his enemies with apparitions of banquets that disappear, he uses Ariel to appear as a terrifying harpy and accuse them of their sins. He is in total control. Sophia: Which brings us back to the big question. With all this power—the power to control, to punish, to create illusions—is he a hero we should root for, or a tyrant we should fear?

Daniel: And that's the genius of the play, and why it feels so modern. The island is a laboratory for power. Prospero's struggle to reclaim his dukedom on this magical island mirrors Shakespeare's own very real struggle for status and security back in London. Both men, in their own ways, acquired immense power. Sophia: One through magic, the other through words. Daniel: Exactly. And the ultimate question the play asks is: once you have your enemies at your mercy, once you have the absolute power to crush them, what do you do? Do you choose vengeance, or do you choose something else? For most of the play, Prospero is bent on revenge. But at the climax, Ariel tells him that his enemies are penitent, and that if he were human, his "affections would become tender." Sophia: A spirit has to remind a man how to be human. That’s a powerful moment. Daniel: It's the turning point. Prospero reflects on this and makes his choice. He delivers one of the most beautiful speeches in English literature, where he decides to give up his magic. He says he'll break his staff and drown his book. And he concludes with the line that is the moral heart of the entire play: "The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance." Sophia: He forgives them. After everything they did to him, he chooses to forgive them. He even forgives his treacherous brother, Antonio, who shows no remorse at all. Daniel: He does. He chooses to break the cycle. He recognizes that continuing the fight, even when justified, would ultimately consume him. To truly be free, he has to let go of his power and his anger. He chooses to be a Duke again, not a magician. He chooses humanity. Sophia: It makes you wonder what you'd do with that kind of power. It's easy to talk about forgiveness from a distance, but when you've been deeply wronged, it's a monumental choice. Daniel: It is. And that's what makes the play timeless. It’s not just about a magical island; it’s about the island within each of us where we wrestle with our own desires for power, justice, and revenge. We'd love to hear what you think. Is Prospero a hero, a villain, or something in between? Find us on our socials and join the conversation. We read everything. Sophia: It's a question worth wrestling with. A fantastic, complicated, and beautiful end to a career. Daniel: This is Aibrary, signing off.