Love’s Labour’s Lost by William Shakespeare, 4/5

Armed only with the ambiguous aid of some humourless footnotes and crusty endnotes, I could sense a veritable jet stream of jokes, puns and witticism blowing right over my head.  How I missed my customary “cheater’s edition,” with its modern English translations on each facing page!  Unfortunately for me and my limited understanding of Elizabethan English, the play is more dialogue- than plot-driven and, though the premise is cute and there were many funny moments, I often found myself quoting one movie-watcher’s insightful comment on A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1999): “I can’t understand a damn word they are saying…”

[Why I read it: One day last week, I had an hour to kill while waiting for a ride.  Imagine my horror when I looked in my backpack and found myself bookless (French homework obviously doesn’t count).  Like a literary knight in shining armour, my sister produced her personal copy of Love’s Labour’s Lost, thus banishing my unhappy state.]