Isaac Hamilton's Curiosities of Literature

Extracts from the diary of Anchovey Hammiltonne
(Hammiltonne, an ancestor of mine, is undoubtedly the most minor of all the minor Elizabethans. His plays are well preserved, in good quarto and folio versions, but have been assiduously avoided by every literature department in the western world. The only exception is in France where he is considered the finest playwright of his day for reasons that French academics are unwilling or unable to divulge.)

March 02 1594
Wente too see Kyd, who is verey ille from a poxe whiche he caught offe a spanish whore. I declared itte to be a Spanishe Tragidee. Hea muste have been verrie ille, for he smilled not at the jeste. I wente home in ille tempre, but when I repeatted the jeste to mie courtesan she laughed verrie merrielie. I entered upon her with great haste. Afterwards I beat the eidle wontonne with my shoe, at felle asleape atte once.

March 03
Johnsonne has killed anothere mann, and no tavernne will give mee creditte. I wille go to visit Will Shaekespere.

March 04
Hadde a poore meal with Will. Only fisshe was served. I coulde notte understande why, and he woulde not telle me. Afterwards we went to the taverne. I drank greatly of sack, while Will tooke but littel. He seemed moste friendly withe a certaine Ethiopeianne servinge girle, and they exchanged much affecsionne at the tabel. We were home and in bedde earlie, but a greate hungere woake me fromme sleap. I creppte like a mowse to the kitchenne, and was shoakked to sea Mr Marlowe, who I hadde thoughte deade, eatinge heartily of breadde and wrighting atte the taebel. Itte seemes that a certainne madde Jesuitte seeks to kille Mr Marlowe as a spie. Shagespeare, who was the onlie manne to warne Mr Marlowe, offered his house as a refugge, untille the daunger should passe. Mr Marlowe has beene passing his workes to Sheeksbeare to bee performede. He askede mee with greatte eagernesse if I hadde seene hisse comeddie Titusse Andronicusse. I saidde no, but a plaiy of the same name bie Sheakspere had been moste popular. He looked most greene. We dranke much ale at the kitchenne, ande I retirede so drunkenne thate I trippelly befouled Master Will's seconde beste bedde.


Fig 1: The Frontispiece for Hammiltonne's final work - A Prettie Pottle Pot of Ha'Pennie Witte or I Hate Mye Bloodie Publisshere

Misery memoir fraud gets egg on face, mothers speak out, small children weep uncontrollably

Caveat emptor! The line between fiction and biography (auto- or otherwise) is one we should not fear to cross - at any time, without warning or respect for ordinary decency. Crappy hard-childhood memoirs are (to plagiarise Tom Lehrer - I don't think he'd mind) 'the particularly fashionable form of idiocy' among the young middle-class. Most people don't actually give money to charities, but they feel they're doing their bit to counter abuse, poverty and deprivation by reading about them in books and producing, on occasion, an earnest, charitable tear.

The only losers in the 'fraudobiography' debacle are those 'who associate authenticity with artistic merit'. If I thought it would boost sales, I would not hesitate personally to lay claim to all of the positive accomplishments of the characters in my books. Alas, when the best part of the subject matter comprises 8th-century Wendish seafaring exploits, the title Dogtooth: The Autobiography might arouse more than a little suspicion.

Chairman Mao: Hero of Harriet Harman

Chairman Mao, that gregarious Asian

Was skilled in the art of persuasion.

He said "wayward Tibet,

You will be my death yet.

The best form of persuasion's invasion."

In other news, a group of Jewish schoolgirls have completely missed the point.

Harriet Harmen: Hero of the Left

The people's flag is deepest red,
It shrouded oft our martyr'd dead
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their hearts' blood dyed its ev'ry fold.
Then raise the scarlet standard high,
Within its shade we'll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here.
Look round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise,
In Moscow's vaults its hymns are sung,
Chicago swells the surging throng.
It waved above our infant might
When all ahead seemed dark as night;
It witnessed many a deed and vow,
We must not change its colour now.
It well recalls the triumphs past;
It gives the hope of peace at last:
The banner bright, the symbol plain,
Of human right and human gain.
It suits today the meek and base,
Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place,
To cringe before the rich man's frown
And haul the sacred emblem down.
With heads uncovered swear we all
To bear it onward till we fall.
Come dungeon dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our parting hymn.

Rimnasium 7

There is no way of laughing at his with your own cock