80Book Reviews moves to our students? All "risings" are not the same. All tumescence is not male. Waves swell, as do breezes, bruises, and abrasions. Does a term used once in such and such a way imply poetic creation? Given a loose conceptualization of metaphoric expression, it surely might. And, then, will they — the waves, breezes, bruises — suggest priapic erection? Suppose our assumptions require an affirmative, if wary, response. Are we entitled, then, in our taxonomy of synonyms to say that (since A = B, B must also = A) images of onanism are metaphoric expressions of ocean waves, country breezes, and black eyes? In our lexicon, tumescence (A) is associated with genitalia (B) and both are figures of creative activity (C). But does it now also follow that as a poet writes, images of A and/or of B are invariably before the poet's mind? I have questions, too (but no room left to pursue them), about Schoenfeldt's use of the "resistance" theory, which holds that critics (Chana Bloch and Janis Lull, for instance) resist the drift of their own recognition of the erotic aspect of a poem because they are uncomfortable with its supposed sexual content. On balance, there is much in this volume worthy of admiration and reflection. Although I have doubts about certain editorial claims and efforts on the part of certain contributors to make them good, Harvey and Maus have attempted something worth doing, namely to elucidate the relevance of recent "philosophical" and "theoretical" writing to criticism of seventeenth-century poetry. The topic deserves attention. But the performance here is marred by a sense that the answers were given before the inquiry began. University of California — Riverside Anna K. Nardo, The Ludic Self in Seventeenth-Century English Literature. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991. 263 pp. $49.50 cloth, $16.95 paper. by Sharon Cadman Seelig Anna K. Nardo argues that play, "especially in its relation to seriousness," was an important issue of the first half of the seventeenth century, a time with an extraordinary array of selfconscious literary players. While literary works, like games, are more Book Reviews81 or less inherently playful, Nardo considers play as a way of defining and creating the self, a response to crisis and transition, and therefore a very fruitful way to examine a number of important seventeenthcentury writers — Donne, Herbert, Marvell, Burton, and Browne — within the context of history and psychology. Nardo asserts that "What transformed medieval man, adapted to a hierarchical order that changed imperceptibly, to modern man, adapted to a world in constant flux ... is surprisingly simple: a prolonged youth of play," a period that fostered "the ability to evaluate changing situations and to adapt to the moment's demands," and so created "a mobile self adapted to a complex world that changes unpredictably" (p. 38). Play, as Nardo notes, is both individual and political; it may be seen as an escape valve which acts in effect to preserve order (as James's encouragement of sports has been seen by Peter Stallybrass and Leah Marcus, for example); or it may be seen as potentially revolutionary, as Nardo sees the death of Charles as an instance in which "play broke out of ritual into history" (p. 44). But for Nardo, the writers whom she treats "neither tried to retreat to an earlier, less confusing time, nor fomented rebellion, nor went mad. They played to find a locus for the self" (p. 45). Donne, Herbert, Marvell, Burton, and Browne, then, are all examples of writers who played purposefully, whose play grows out of individual needs, social and historical situations, whose play is both culturally and aesthetically significant. Nardo begins with a perceptive and useful discussion of Hamlet, whom she takes as a fictional paradigm for the other, later players she examines. Caught between his mother's rejection of him in her marriage to Claudius and her insistence that he show her love, Hamlet is a case of the classic double bind. Able to avoid madness only by playing mad, Hamlet in turn sets a double bind for Claudius, insisting that the play within a play is either purely a fiction, a mode of entertainment, or, alternatively...
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