Enter the body

Review by Booklist Review

From the perspectives of three young women of Shakespeare comes Enter the Body, in which McCullough (Blood Water Paint, 2018) gives Ophelia, Juliet, and Cordelia voices and agency beneath the stage of yet another deadly Titus Andronicus production. At times reminiscent of Frieda Hughes' "My Mother," about Sylvia Plath, Body turns Shakespeare on his head while honoring his talent as the girls retells their stories on their own terms. Each speaking character cleverly receives a distinct verse style befitting their original characterizations: Cordelia's adherence to iambic pentameter, Ophelia's sparing use of words, and Juliet's loquacious and energetic lines drive the undercurrent of character description just as much as their actions and choices do. While readers familiar with the original works will get the most out of this striking combination of formats in the shape of a novel, Shakespeare novices will appreciate the masterful command of prose, script, and verse alongside the classic stories from unexpected perspectives. A great choice for better understanding of the source materials in the classroom or for pure enjoyment that gives the brain a light workout, Enter the Body will appeal especially to fans of Lisa Klein's Ophelia (2006), Michelle Ray's Falling for Hamlet (2011), and Margarita Engle's The Lightning Dreamer (2013). This truly outstanding offering will leave readers pining for a continuation with Shakespeare's adult women taking up the pen.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Focusing primarily on Cordelia, Juliet, and Ophelia, McCullough (Great or Nothing) excavates the inner lives of William Shakespeare's most famous tragic heroines in this absorbing experimental novel in verse. Beneath the trap door of a theater, the characters--portrayed as ghosts--share their secrets and traumas with one another while waiting to be resurrected to embody their assigned roles and die on stage each night. The author addresses the absent mothers and lack of education the women faced throughout their lives, as well as their roles as scapegoats for the poor behavior of their stories' male leads, through assorted methods. Wrenching poetic monologues ("Mother found/ less love than I/ in the House of Capulet"), script pages of illuminating dialogue ("I have a question?" Juliet asks Cordelia, who responds, "Oh. We're talking now?"), and prose that briefly foregrounds a larger contemporary world beyond the trap door ("the audience stretches, unwraps candy, checks their phones") provide searing, if occasionally pedantic, commentary on the women's portrayal as docile figures. Via varied signature poetic styles and cadences, such as Cordelia's traditional iambic pentameter and Juliet's short staccato bursts, the women question their desires and sexual identities, and together process their individual traumas. Ages 14--up. Agent: Jim McCarthy, Dystel, Goderich & Bourret. (Mar.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 7 Up--Beneath a stage trapdoor, Juliet, Ophelia, and Cordelia gather with the silent and mysterious Lavinia nearby; many others linger in the shadows around the room. As Shakespeare's most famous and beloved dead girls begin to recount their lives, the probing questions they ask of each other encourage them to delve into their own motivations, beliefs, choices, and lack thereof. They begin imagining what would and wouldn't have changed if they'd been given agency over certain decisions and the ability to speak their minds, to be more than just props for their fathers' aspirations. This exploration of their own limitations in the original stories parallels the relationships between fathers and daughters, Shakespeare and his creations, and the ways young women are often used to serve many purposes except their own. Constant shifts among modern, distinctive first-person voices of the girls told in changing poetic formats swirl with the more distant prose sections; previous familiarity with the basic stories of Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, and King Lear will give readers access to some of the deeper references but even those completely new to Shakespeare will have no trouble following the outline of the stories. All readers will emerge with a more thorough understanding of these girls' stories along with a deep sense of grief for the independence their fathers (and ultimately Shakespeare) denied them. The classroom connections here are endless. VERDICT This work elevates and reenergizes the canon; it's an absolute must-read regardless of readers' knowledge or opinion of Shakespeare.--Allie Stevens

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Horn Book Review

In this inventive novel that includes elements of verse and script (including some prose in the form of stage directions), McCullough (We Are the Ashes, We Are the Fire, rev. 7/21) reimagines the fates of several of Shakespeareâe(tm)s famous female teen protagonists. In Part One, readers are introduced to Juliet, Ophelia, Cordelia, and Lavinia, who dwell as spectral embodiments in a purgatorial âeoetrap room,âe the space âeoebeneath all the stages, anywhere.âe Lavinia, whose tongue is cut out by attackers in one of Shakespeareâe(tm)s first plays, serves as a silent symbol of women who have lost the ability to control their own narratives. Each of the other girls recounts her original plot in verse, up to a pivotal point in the story, in a signature narrative style. Julietâe(tm)s verse is free and ­passionate, Opheliaâe(tm)s dreamy and verdant, Cordeliaâe(tm)s precise and pragmatic. In Part Two, the girls engage in lively dialogue in play form, anachronistically debating one anotherâe(tm)s motives, feelings, assumptions, and faults, finally coming to the ­question: âeoeWhat if we dared to tell our versions?âe In Part Three, each imagines what would have happened had one crucial aspect of her story been changed, with, for example, spirited Juliet claiming a full happy ending by remaining alive and marrying Romeo. This shifting, experimental format will surprise and challenge readersâe(tm) ideas of ­storytelling and âeoeclassicâe literature. By innovatively mining feminist themes of autonomy, exploitation, and patriarchy, McCullough boldly ­reconceptualizes ­Shakespeareâe(tm)s version of the female point of view for a new generation of Bard enthusiasts. Jennifer Hubert SwanMarch/April 2023 p.72 (c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Beneath a theater stage, a group of girls gather. Girls from some of Shakespeare's most famous plays appear here as ghosts, sharing the traumas they have endured as the Bard's works are retold from the perspectives of these lost women. The focus is primarily on Juliet, Ophelia, and Cordelia; they are joined by Lavinia, the daughter of Titus Andronicus, as well as other women. One by one, they allow readers and each other into their worlds of pain resulting from living within the patriarchy. What happens when they are given a chance to retell their stories? McCullough is undeniably skilled with verse, and she utilizes a fascinating structure for the book, with poetry that is intercut with descriptions of the setting written in the style of theatrical directions. These evoke the feeling of being in the audience. These interludes are then intercut with dialogue among the protagonists, discussing the narrative elements of their own tales. But the metatext is at times more compelling than the emotional truths. There is no denying that the important messages here are shared without compromise, especially when touching on sexual and familial violence, but the story struggles at times with making each character's voice distinct. Nevertheless, their potent anger at the cruel injustices they have suffered at the hands of men is important and comes across clearly even as character development is occasionally sacrificed. A theatrical experiment with meaning. (content warning, dramatis personae, author's note, timeline) (Fiction. 14-18) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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[Trap Room] (The trap room beneath all the stages, anywhere. The ghost light is perpetually on, but it illuminates very little. Which makes it easier to keep to oneself. That woman with blood on her hands, for example, always wanders into the same corner, every time she crashes through that great stage of fools to this space beneath. Muttering to herself, but never to anyone else. The one in the nightgown with strangle marks around her neck---clutching a handkerchief like it'll save her from these men, these men---she usually heads to a corner too, after the fall. But only because she doesn't know what else to do. It's a room, but there are infinite corners. Enough for everyone to avoid the zealot in singed armor who reeks of the fire that burned her. Or the wild--eyed queen who looks as though she died a dozen deaths before she drank the poison that brought her here. The sisters who killed one another definitely need their own corners. They crash through, again and again, these women, while the boards above their heads creak with the trodding of the ones who live, or die in glory. It gets to be monotonous. But now comes a girl the others aren't accustomed to. It's not that she hasn't been down here before. In fact, she arrived before the rest of them, a violent splotch of ink from the quill of the Bard so young he hadn't yet mastered his instrument. She is the first draft to his later masterpieces; without her they don't exist. And yet they can be forgiven for not remembering her; the moment they see her, they do their level bests to shove her from their minds. You would too. Only I won't let you. The jolt this first--draft girl receives when her body crumples to the ground is the least of her concerns. Those concerns are pretty evenly tied between the blood that gushes from her mouth, and also from the end of each arm, where hands should be. But hands are not. She doesn't even bother uncrumpling. What would be the point? But there's one woman under this stage compelled to help her, one who has known violence herself and is young enough to remember, while old enough to imagine herself maternal, even if she never survives to bear a child. This maternal one---in a flimsy nightgown that is by design transparent when stage lights hit it exactly right---approaches the bloody heap. She strokes the girl's hair, soothes the frightened creature until she looks up. The woman startles; for a moment she's not certain whether this girl is prey or predator. Perhaps she is covered in someone else's blood? She is---but not at her choosing. And her lack of hands offers irrefutable evidence that the girl herself has been on the receiving end of some significant evil. The woman brings forth her handkerchief, the one that causes her such endless trouble on the stage above; she might as well put it to productive use while she has the chance. It's a ridiculous thing, flimsy as her nightdress and no match for the ghastly amounts of blood streaming down the girl's face. But wielded by one who wishes to be of use, it somehow does what it is meant to do. The girl is still wrecked; that cannot be undone. But she is no longer a horror show. And after everything she's been through, the miracle is not that she lives, but that she does not want to be alone. She still craves company. She resists the corners. This girl, her name is Lavinia. Names are important, even if no one says them. Let's say she's nineteen. She considers her options. The woman with the handkerchief has already retreated. The women in the corners are there for a reason. There are other girls who want nothing to do with corners, though. Cordelia, seventeen, sits in the center of it all. Bedraggled, she's clearly been through some shit, but it's more important than anything that she keep it together, that you not see the struggle. And nearby, another girl. Ophelia, fifteen, is soaking wet. Absolutely drenched. There may be a few leaves in her hair. Lavinia watches these girls---calligraphy to her splotch of ink---who resist the corners. They see her, but their gazes glance off her. They are shoving her from their minds, like I said they would. In fairness, they both have a lot going on, even if they aren't missing appendages. Ophelia is not okay, but she's not trying to conceal it. She is soaking wet, after all. It's pretty hard to hide that something has gone awry. She doesn't just walk around like this, normally, with pond scum clinging to her dress. This is not usual, except for every time the water drags her down and she crashes into this purgatory. Cordelia is used to ignoring Ophelia. But now this third girl is here. Watching. Disturbing the norms of the trap room. Cordelia thought she was alone. She's used to being alone. Her own sisters are there, each in their own corners, and even they don't glance toward her. It's not that Cordelia likes it this way; it's just the only way it's ever been, even up above, and how on earth is she supposed to adjust to something new at this point? Anyway. Here they are. For a while. Time doesn't mean much in this place. They've just arrived, or maybe they've languished for an eternity, when Juliet crashes through. Juliet, age thirteen, is also not okay. This is evidenced by the dagger in her heart. She's making a big production of it too. Even Cordelia can't look away as the girl wrenches the dagger from her chest and makes a show of figuring out where to put it. Like it matters. Ophelia considers approaching her, helping her. She's not sure how, or if she's allowed, as though there are rules here. But when your world has been composed entirely of rules---rules that landed you here, in fact---it's a difficult adjustment. Lavinia flinches at the sight of the dagger. She's safe now---at least until she's called back up and it starts all over again---but logic is nothing against her memories of what a blade can do. Anyway, it's not like she could help; she doesn't have hands. Cordelia works hard to act as though the others aren't there. She has had enough of dramatic, bleeding girls to last a lifetime. Or an eternity, as it were. Once Juliet figures out the dagger situation---all she has to do is release it and it's gone, which is a lesson that might have been valuable to learn sooner, but what this eternity has no time for is regret---her gaze lands on Lavinia. And then darts away---I told you it would---and searches desperately for something else, someone else to latch on to. It's harder for Juliet to shove Lavinia from her mind. Perhaps it's their shared experience with daggers. Perhaps it's her youth. She would have nightmares, if sleep were permitted here. Ophelia allows her eye to be caught. She understands Juliet's panic and glances apologetically toward Cordelia, as though it's her fault this other girl won't acknowledge their presence. Juliet isn't bothered. It won't be the first time she's been required to wrest attention from the unwilling.) a rose by any other name You think me weak that I would plunge a blade into my heart because the boy I loved lay lifeless at my side. But love is weakness. Love is ripping out your beating heart, laid bare to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Or maybe that vulnerability is a kind of strength. Hard to say while the blood drains from my body. Excerpted from Enter the Body by Joy McCullough All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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