Stephen Greenblatt delivers a polished and highly readable biography – ostensibly of Christopher Marlowe, but marketed under the banner of “Shakespeare’s greatest rival.” Already in the title, the imbalance is obvious: Shakespeare is named, Marlowe is hidden. The man who blazed like a comet across the Elizabethan stage is reduced to a foil, forever defined by someone else’s fame. Clever sales strategy, perhaps – but intellectually a disservice.
What is more striking than what Greenblatt writes is what he does not write. Page after eloquent page avoids the single most urgent and dangerous question: Could the works attributed to Shakespeare actually have been written by Marlowe? Not a hint, not a whisper, not even a cautious footnote. The silence is deafening – and entirely deliberate.
The result is a biography that flatters Marlowe while chaining him to Shakespeare’s shadow, a narrative that dazzles but never dares. One cannot help asking: What is the point of devoting a book to Marlowe if the one question that gives his life its deepest resonance is simply erased from the discussion?
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