Hamlet - 1
Most people think of poetry or novels when they hear the word "literature," but in truth, the most influential form is the play. That's because plays are the root of all storytelling. To present a story in any form beyond plain text, you need what's called a script. Theater, musicals, dramas, films... every kind of performance requires one, and the origin of all those scripts is the play.
"You're writing a play...?"
"Yeah."
"Aren't you a novelist?"
"Well, there's this thing called a Lesedrama."
"What's that...?"
"It exists. Stuff like that."
A play is the purest form of story. Exposition, stage directions, scenes, dialogue... in a play, the narrative is stripped down to only the essentials needed to express it. That's why a play is literature in its own right, not subservient to performance arts like theater or musicals. A play written without assuming it will be staged—a Lesedrama, they called it. Goethe's Faust is a prime example.
"Still, it might be better to write one that can actually be performed."
Performance culture in this world was highly advanced, but the foundational "dramatic literature" hadn't developed much. The culprit was something called performance magic, a flashy spectacle. Scripts here were little more than directorial notes to show off performance magic. Lately, adaptations of novels seemed popular, but honestly, they didn't get great reviews. Just because you toss someone into a strange land doesn't mean they'll empathize with a girl named Alice.
I don't know many plays—
Unlike novels, I could only recall a few dozen plays from my past life. But that was enough. Those few dozen were the masterpieces that dominated my previous world's culture.
...
If you ask book lovers to name their favorite author, you'll get a variety of answers. Russian literature fans might say Dostoevsky, social critics George Orwell, epic fantasy lovers Tolkien. But if you ask for the greatest writer of all—one name—whether you're a bookworm or someone who's never cracked a spine, there's only one that comes to mind first.
"Is that the new play you've been writing, young master?"
"Yeah."
"Hamlet... that's the title."
William Shakespeare. Anyone who's lived on Earth in my past life has heard the name at least once.
"I had no idea you were interested in plays, young master. You've always only asked for novels."
"Figured I'd give it a try from now on."
Shakespeare was English literature itself. He perfected the English language. The British constitution. The god of English letters. The poet of the world... The titles heaped on Shakespeare sound so grandiose they border on parody. There was even a saying: If Don Quixote is history's greatest work, Shakespeare is its greatest author.
And the Hamlet I planned to plagiarize was considered the finest of his four great tragedies.
"Shall I bring some reference plays for your research?"
"Nah, I'm leaving the details to the experts."
"Pardon?"
"Who writes plays best? Playwrights, right?"
If it were just me plagiarizing a novel, it'd be a slog like translating Don Quixote. But now I had talented students. I'd borrow their skills again this time.
...
The fan fiction contest for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The grand prize winner was a playwright. They adapted it into a script called Jekyll and Hyde and took top honors. That student's name was—
"Ian Plummer."
"Yes!"
"Let's go together."
"Yes!"
Ian Plummer. He was the youngest son of a quite influential noble family. I recalled the Plummer count leading a conservative faction in the noble house of parliament. His dad was the type Ian griped about endlessly, calling him a senile old man who wouldn't listen at dinners. Though Ian himself lived freely, indulging in art and culture.
"I'm writing a play this time, and I need your help."
"I'll show you what I can do!"
"Love the confidence. Rolls Camel will be joining us too, so let's make it great together."
"...The stutterer?"
Ian frowned slightly before smoothing his expression. He must've realized badmouthing a fellow collaborator would leave a bad impression on me.
"Yes. She stutters, but her language sense is... genius level. I think she'll be a huge help."
"I see..."
Ian Plummer's eyes sparkled. Noble pride aside, he was a reader who loved art. He knew to show respect to talented creators. He seemed a bit put off by the stuttering now, but once they worked together, they'd probably hit it off. Maybe.
...
"Y-you! Stutterer! As if you know anything about performance!"
"H-honestly, I-Ian, your dialogue is t-terrible..."
"In plays, you have to consider the actors' presence! It's not just slamming in good lines without pacing!"
"B-but my lines are better..."
Hmm. Excellent. This was how writers should be.
"Homerus! What do you think?"
"H-Homerus, m-my lines are better, right?"
"I like both?"
Rolls Camel's polished dialogue was close to classical poetry. Shakespeare himself coined countless new words as a poet, so her poetic language and sensibility could elevate Hamlet's artistry and sensitivity to the max.
Meanwhile, Ian Plummer's version was sleek and intuitive. His pacing—building tension and release—drew involuntary admiration. Shakespeare's works transcended eras with universality and wit, making this essential too.
"Why not use both?"
"Pardon?"
"This isn't a novel—it's a play. Since the goal is performance, multiple versions are fine."
A Lesedrama might be different, but this was meant for the stage. Of course we could tweak as needed. Plays were inherently organic literature, revised fluidly by circumstance or locale. Shakespeare's works even had multiple quarto editions in my past life.
"We could perform both and let the audience decide."
And from my perspective, more versions were better. Hamlet itself was stolen from my past life, but a work's appeal wasn't just the story. Reading Hamlet reborn through their hands would be delightful—like Alice reimagined in Rolls Camel's prose. Savoring one work in multiple flavors was the joy of adaptation too.
"Sounds fun, doesn't it?"
...
For the Hamlet premiere, I got help from Ms. Kindersley. In the end, it was set for the Hayden Theater Company—the empire's top troupe. The venue was the same as the Alice's Adventures in Wonderland show.
I'd come with my family to watch.
"Ahem, what performance at my age? You kids should've gone alone—instead you drag me here, such a hassle..."
Father grumbled as he sat, while Mother smiled gracefully at him. Eric was making a fuss beside me.
"Ugh, a play written by Homerus himself! My two favorite things: Homerus's works and Hayden Theater! Got it, you ungrateful brother?"
"I'm Homerus."
"You're just so lacking in humanity. How does a guy like you write such masterpieces...?"
"Well."
"Genius is something else."
I wished I were a genius too. Then I could've self-sustained by churning out dozens of works myself. Too bad that talent eluded me. All I could do was plagiarize. Luckily, unlike me, talented people existed, and I could borrow theirs.
"The performance will begin shortly. Guests with silence, illusion, or amplification magic tools, please entrust them to the staff at the entrance. We appreciate your cooperation for a pleasant viewing experience."
"It's starting soon. Who even carries those magic tools around?"
"Dunno. Royals or tower mages maybe. Or vain merchants."
A few people stood and headed to the entrance. Guess someone actually had one. They all sat back down, lights dimmed, and the world went dark.
[Bernardo: Who's there?]
And so the performance began.