One of the things that drew me to Timothy Taylor’s novel Stanley Park was the fact that, as a lifelong Vancouverite, I was very familiar with the book’s setting — the eponymous park, as well as the city of Vancouver generally. This familiarity helped make the book an enjoyable read, as I was able to both picture the scenes more vividly, and have a pre-existing knowledge of some of the issues brought up throughout the book, such as the problem of homelessness in Vancouver. Another thing that I really liked about the book was the prose used; although it became a little bit flowery at times, for the most part I really enjoyed the focus on description and imagery. I appreciated this aspect of the book especially because the plot was on the slow side, and without interesting writing it could have quickly gotten boring. While I enjoyed most of the book, however, the climax of the book – protagonist Jeremy Papier getting his own restaurant and then serving the patrons foods such as raccoon on the opening night, while claiming it was more traditional meat such as beef – bothered me. I think there can be merit in writing about amoral or disturbing things, but I disliked that the book presented Jeremy’s actions as being positive, or at least neutral, with the characters that challenged them being antagonized. All in all, I liked the book, but found parts of it difficult to stomach.

Picture a classic novel. The term may call to mind works such as Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, or Oliver Twist. These are old books that have been learned and loved for an eon, because the writing, characters, and timeless themes give them lasting appeal. Timothy Taylor’s novel Stanley Park, which tells the story of a man running a restaurant in 1990s Vancouver, probably isn’t the first thing you picture. However, there are many aspects of this book that qualify it as a classic, and perhaps the most important one is its universally applicable themes. The protagonist, Jeremy Papier, struggles with money, and how to strike a balance between attaining the resources he needs without losing integrity or giving up his dream; he rebuilds and reexamines family relationships as he deals with the repercussions of his father living in a forest in Stanley Park, and his mother’s death several years prior to the beginning of the book; he has a few key romantic interests that show different forms of romantic love and attraction; and he changes his plans and his identity time and time again as the events of the book take their toll. These themes – money, integrity, family, death, love, and identity – transcend a particular setting and time period. Taylor’s use of these themes to create a compelling story is what makes this book the classic that it is, and may keep it as a classic for a long time to come.

In 1995, Disney released a movie called Pocahontas. The film tells the story of a young Native American woman in colonial America, who falls in love with a white man named John Smith. In the years since its release, the film has come under fire for romanticizing a very dark period in history as a whole, and the story of one girl in particular. It “[whitewashes] colonial history… [and attempts] to give a generation of children the impression that the conquest of the Americas was a cheerful, cooperative effort between the enlightened Europeans and the accommodating natives” (The Guardian, 2008). It is not the first film to be criticized for glossing over history in the name of a happy ending, and it will likely not be the last – many a film has been lambasted for this issue. However, in the case of some works, this issue is present but goes uncriticized, or is even lauded as progressive. An example – or, more accurately, several examples – of this is the slew of film and stage adaptations of Shakespeare’s classic play The Taming of the Shrew. As a general rule, referring to a work as a “classic” is considered to be complimentary. A classic stands the test of time; it inspires other works; it has a pervasive set of themes that could appeal to, in theory, almost anyone. In short, it’s the best of the best. The Taming of the Shrew exemplifies these qualities. It has been around since the 1600s and is still performed and studied widely today. It has inspired other works from several direct film and stage adaptations to the 1999 teen comedy Ten Things I Hate About You. It focuses on themes of family, marriage, identity, gender, and autonomy, which are all still important topics today. However, since 1590, there has been a significant shift in society’s views towards several of these topics, as well as a large number of other works centred around these themes that embody a more contemporary perspective. With this in mind, I don’t think The Taming of the Shrew still deserves the high praise it receives, nor do I think it should be constantly edited and re-edited to make it palatable for each new, more socially aware generation. That’s not to say that it’s not worth studying. As a historical artefact, and as something to teach us about the time period and social climate it came from, it’s useful. Like anything so old, it’s worth preserving just to further our understanding of the people who wrote it. The 1590s were not nearly so well documented as the last hundred years, so any document which can lend us an insight into that time is potentially important. In this particular case, it is especially important because the person who wrote it is an influential historical figure – one whose life and values we are still trying to fully piece together. Additionally, it’s important not to sweep the more unsavoury aspects of history or historical figures under the rug in the interest of purifying the more favourable elements. William Shakespeare is a revered and respected playwright with a significant impact on Western media. He was also a man living centuries ago whose views on women, among other things, would not be acceptable today, although they were the norm at the time. Understanding these views is important to fully comprehend his plays. Now, plays are a unique media in that they demand to be repeatedly performed. Unlike a novel or a movie, which are generally made by a person or group of people and then consumed by others solely in their original form, a play requires people to actively perform it each time someone wants to see it. This means that for a play to last several centuries, there must be a group of people in each generation of that time – or at least often enough for the script not to be lost or forgotten – who are willing to attach their name and face and creative input to the message the play maintains. However, the very concept of a comedy where the supposed victory is a woman being abused and broken for daring to have a voice is, by today’s standards, reprehensible. It calls to mind the likes of Punch and Judy or Family Guy – not exactly what you’d call classics, but rather, shows dependent on low brow humour for cheap laughs. In many cases, a play may be edited a little bit to accommodate the modern viewpoint, which is typically fine – the play is preserved but becomes inoffensive. I believe this is generally what people are attempting when they alter the text of The Taming of the Shrew to make it more politically correct. However, where The Taming of the Shrew differs from other plays in this respect is that the element people are typically changing – that Petruchio abusing Kate into submission is viewed as a victory; that being able to control women through any means necessary is a positive outcome – is the crux of the whole play. As in the story of Pocahontas, it’s important to recognize this play’s place in history, and to avoid glorifying or glossing over the horrific realities of our past in the interest of making the story fit our present views. It seems odd and a little insensitive to praise this play – or to keep performing so-called direct adaptations that alter the perspective and important plot points to make it more palatable to a modern audience. Doing this achieves perhaps the same thing that forgetting about the play completely does: it blunts the unsavoury edges, sweeps the unacceptable parts of history under the rug to help us sleep at night. As a general rule, if something is so offensive you have to dramatically alter it to passably present it in what is supposed to be its base format, that may be a sign it’s time to retire it. So how do we recognize The Taming of the Shrew for all the things that have made it a classic for so long without pardoning the rather archaic message it perpetuates, or romanticizing the horrific events it portrays? First of all, I think it’s important to study the original text – as well as the various reiterations of it throughout the last few centuries – rather than focus on creating more and more modernized versions. Second of all, I think it’s important to look at the context around the play – its meaning and reception when it was written, and the social climate at the time – and analyze the things that make it a classic with that historical perspective in mind, while separately evaluating whether it is deserving of prestige today. If the play is performed, I think it should be prefaced with a discussion of the context around the original play, and our understanding today of the themes and perspectives portrayed therein. All in all, I think there are several aspects of The Taming of the Shrew that qualify it as a classic to this day. Its long history, its revelations about how still-relevant themes were viewed during Elizabethan times, and its influence on Western literature and media, are all reasons that we still study it today. However, I think that we need to respect the history around this work without putting it up on a pedestal or altering the message to fit our current perspectives. Unlike Disney in 1995, we shouldn’t erase the negative parts of our history – instead we should study them, understand them, learn from them, and move forward from them.