The Caretaker
In 2019, I set out to read one Shakespeare play a month. It’s not that I’m a huge fan of the Bard (like, at all), but it had been a long time since I had immersed myself in literature that made me work the way that older literature demands. Untangling those assemblages of words kept me focused. It was a fun little undertaking…I may do something similar in 2024. (Suggestions?)
But, honestly, at times I inwardly rolled my eyes. While I think Shakespeare’s tragedies translate to modern life better than the comedies, sometimes I had to take a step back because: 1) Why were all these people so easily fooled by “disguises”? (I mean, really, no one’s engaging in CIA-level disguise here.) 2) Why are people falling madly in love without little context or actual knowledge of each other? (Tell it to us straight, Shakespeare: We’re talking lust, not love, right?) 3) Why are some characters so childishly mean in a neener-neener kind of way that wouldn’t be tolerated today (well, except maybe in our current political arena)? Anyway, it all felt kind of silly at times.
We like to proclaim things “Shakespearean” when they address broad themes like love, friendship, fate, power. The Caretaker, the newest novel by Ron Rash, is a great example. A novel in five sections (or acts, if you will) that nods the most, plot-wise, at Romeo and Juliet, The Caretaker chronicles the taboo marriage of Naomi and Jacob as well as the Greek chorus of townspeople and family that opines on its appropriateness. But the real moral crux and conundrum sits with Blackburn Gant (the caretaker in question), who’s an outward “nobody,” yet is the character who most summons nuance and restraint.
None of the publicity for this book is calling in the “Shakespeare” big guns. There’s no need. Is The Caretaker proof that true drama for our time (The Caretaker is set in 1950s Appalachia) might feel quiet and subtle…and therefore wickedly insidious? That a realistic dramatic arc is less “in your face!” and more profound? Yes. And maybe it demonstrates that Shakespeare doesn’t own these themes — and never did — but that the most skilled of our writers can do something relevant with them for their readers.
originally published on instagram