The full title of Harold Bloom’s ‘Cleopatra’ is ‘Cleopatra. I Am Fire and Air’, which is, of course, a reference to the speech in which she clasps an asp to her bosom in ‘Antony and Cleopatra’, and it is with Shakespeare’s representation of Cleopatra that Bloom is exclusively concerned.
Thus the historical Cleopatra gets relatively short shrift and Bernard Shaw’s ‘Caesar and Cleopatra’ does not merit even a single mention. This is somewhat ironic given the fact that the publishing blurb tells us that Cleopatra “has been played by the greatest actresses of their time, from Elizabeth Taylor to Vivien Leigh to Janet Suzman to Judi Dench”, when Leigh is far better remembered for her 1946 incarnation of the Shavian Cleopatra on film, than for her stage appearances in the Shakespearean role.
Incidentally, although Suzman had a distinguished career on stage, television and in film I don’t think many would regard her as the greatest actress of her time although her inclusion in this exalted company and on the book’s cover is understandable given the fact that Bloom begins his book with the sentence, “I fell in love in 1974 with the Cleopatra of Janet Suzman”.
I, too, saw Suzman as Cleopatra in that year, although at the time the woman embodying “astonishing sexual power” for me was not her but Valerie Leon in the Hai Karate ads. I guess it’s a case of whatever floats your barge …
There’s no disputing, however, that Bloom is a great critic, not least of Shakespeare, and it would be extremely odd if his book did not incandescently illuminate Shakespeare’s Cleopatra. Bloom’s understanding of ‘Antony and Cleopatra’ and indeed of the entire Shakespearean canon means that the reader is provided with rich food for thought.
Examination of Cleopatra’s “exalted apotheosis of self-immolation” is, for example, preceded by a learned disquisition on Shakespearean deaths on (Hamlet, Lear, Desdemona, Othello, Emilia) and off (Falstaff, Gloucester, Cordelia, Goneril, Reagan, Lady Macbeth, Macbeth) stage, albeit only for Bloom to admit that “That tragic Shakespearean procession has no particular pattern that I can discern”.
The really frustrating thing about this book, however, is the imbalance between text and exegesis. Yes, there has to be quotation but when it is indulged in to this extent the reader may well feel short-changed. Thus in most chapters great gobbets of Shakespeare are merely garlanded by Bloom’s prose. In Chapter 6, to take an extreme example, that means – by my calculations – just 16 sentences of Bloom addressing 87 lines of Shakespeare.
In short, what one has here is a first-class essay masquerading as a book.