Ophelia: A Tale of Woe Undone

By Jean Stites

Romantically inclined Ophelia finds herself suddenly facing the crisis of her life, and as she struggles alone with her terrible secret we can only wait to see what she'll do next, while considering the course of history that may have turned her into some sort of ticking time bomb....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jean Stites
• Release date: Feb 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476155296

Jean Stites

Jean Stites is a writer and musician from the San Francisco Bay Area who thanks you so very much for reading and wishes you an especially pleasant day.

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Ophelia

A Tale of Woe Undone

by

Jean Stites

Copyright 2012, Jean Stites.

All rights reserved.

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Thou hypocrite,

first cast out the beam out of thine own eye.

Matthew 7:5

Chapter One

Cosmic Vibration

She answers to Ophelia—named by her romantic mother after a character in Shakespeare's first true tragedy, Hamlet; although she never really had the opportunity to know her mother very well, and so probably not too much should be construed here.

However, she has read Shakespeare's play several times and especially likes her name—feeling it lends her a certain exotic style—while she often dreams of her mother, who she would’ve loved to have known better.

For instance, the main reason she read William’s play in the first place was to seek insight into Mom’s mind; while when seeking to describe herself, she'd probably shrug her shoulders and say that she's just your average specimen—medium sort of build, with a medium sort of temperament to match—medium lots of things, now that she thinks about it....

Plus, she's only recently realized that for some time now this proclivity had begun to grate—with Ophelia more and more frequently longing to amplify her life with a bit of adventure.

Of almost any sort.

Before—she'd occasionally think—it's too late....

Meanwhile—in the back of her mind, and deep down in her heart—she’d also longed for someone to share this adventure with her, which would make it, of course, better still; while the life-threatening crisis that now draws us into her story has finally brought her to the painful realization that at the core of her restlessness she’s really been hoping all along for the big adventure of Love Everlasting.

Yes, all her life—it suddenly seems—she’s just wanted something fun to do, and someone nice to play with; and although I don’t know about you, I can surely relate.

However, that part of her consciousness that seems to serve as observer and passer-of-judgment thinks that this is still no excuse for the Incredibly Big Mess she now finds herself in, and is refusing to be ignored as it insists these days on asking her just what—exactly—does she think her idea of adventure really is?

Because for my sweet Ophelia, adventure-seeking has ground to a screeching halt, while one of life’s seemingly inevitable periods of exquisitely painful introspection has now set in, because her perspective on reality’s been blown right apart by the biggest mistake she's ever made in her whole life!

I mean, she's just not sure what to believe any more....

While exactly how long the sulfurous clouds of confusion and pain generated by this metaphysical explosion will last is anyone’s guess, so stay tuned.

Yes, the smoke is still pretty thick right now....

***

And so, motivated by her current life crisis, she’s recently reread Hamlet as part of a healing effort to become more in tune with herself, only to find that she’s particularly fascinated by the way the character of Polonius deals with his daughter—Shakespeare’s similarly heartsick Ophelia.

Brevity is the soul of wit, claims much-quoted Polonius, as my dictionary now reminds me that its conception of the word wit suggests intelligence, sanity, and the ability to see the comic in most situations, so I guess William may be trying to tell us that people who talk too much may be well on their way to becoming humorless, moronic lunatics. Therefore—taking instruction from the master—I suppose one should try, as a rule, to be brief.

Although on the other hand, Hamlet calls Polonius a foolish prating knave, and so taking instruction from him may not be such a great idea after all....

You, of course, must be the judge.

However, Ophelia and I are definitely beginning to wonder....

Neither a borrower nor a lender be! declaims this theoretically wise man to his son—another piece of specious reasoning to be found in the anything-but-brief lecture that he favors his children with, right after he yells at his boy for keeping the boat waiting; so I guess we can assume that Polonius never let the kids borrow the car, while I myself suspect that he also seldom lent them an ear.

Go figure.

Also, as she reads along, my Ophelia's well aware that William's Ophelia didn’t succeed in keeping her wits about her, and so fights a superstitious urge to believe that she might be similarly prone, as her inner observer tells her to be logical—to not let her imagination get the best of her....

While she’s always paid very close attention to this observer’s ideas about these things, which usually seem so much more rational and less frightened than the part of her that’s dealing in a somehow more immediate way with the outside world....

However, that’s not to say that she always takes her own advice; and before this point in her life that we’re jumping into—during her more and more frequent longings for adventure—she’d occasionally felt herself teetering on an edge of impulsiveness—her inner observer coming a little bit closer to panic when suspecting that the dangerously bored and lonely outer Ophelia might just be capable of doing something very, very risky....

And then she met Him—and in this particular case I don't mean God—who pushed her, she sees now in retrospect, right over the edge.

Sweet Jesus!

***

Well stay tuned again, because we have another character to meet before we get to that: Ophelia's cat, Frederick—a fairly recent acquisition from the local pound, named neither after Mr. Flintstone, nor Frederick the Great, or even Frederic Chopin—her personal icon of the piano.

No, like her romantic mother, our heroine named her little one after someone even more intimately significant—her cousin and best friend, Freddie—recently lost companion of happier times—someone she really did know very well, so maybe much should be construed here, as you’ll again have to be the judge, while I try to provide the necessary information.

And so I ask you now to picture the two of them—last Tuesday, after school—hanging out on the grassy hillside outside the back door of her apartment building—lounging there together in the deliciously brilliant spring sunshine, oozing with companionable contentment, while purring in harmony with one another both literally and telepathically....

"Frederick, where would I be without you?" she’ll occasionally say or think to that familiar feline, who’s never far from home.

While of course—being an elementary school music teacher—Ophelia knows all about Frederick the Flintstone, but she's seldom heard of Frederick the Great, although she does have something very much in common with him—her passionate love of music.

Yes, Frederick the Great King of Prussia's modest empire was a passable flute player, flutist, or flautist round about 1750, when one of his most famous subjects—Johann Sebastian Bach—was dying due to the aftermath of failed eye surgery.

Plus, a couple of years before this tragedy—for reasons I’ve yet to discover—Bach composed his famous Musical Offering and sent it off to Frederick as a gift....

You know, Ophelia's just crazy about Bach, and I imagine if she were real in the way that you and I are real, I could probably just call her up and ask her why he did it; but instead I’ll have to go in search of clues from the residents of my bookshelf and cyberspace, as their voices combine into a ghostly chorus, so generously offering me the benefit of their own educational experiences.

Meanwhile, let's hope that F-the-G knew what he had, since J.S. was not the semi-divine musical figure back then that he’s become today. To his friends and employers he was just a really great juggler of sound from a clan already famous for juggling.

Yes, they were all musicians—those Bachs before and after him—like father, like son. An artistically effective family affair which worked so well that the whole planet still gets to share in the payoff.

Plus, not only do we have his marvelous mind-expanding music, but of course there’s also the trickle-down effect.

For instance, Ophelia always makes a point of telling kids that when Ludwig van Beethoven was in the mood for enlightening entertainment he'd often turn to the divine intricacies of Bach, and that eight-year-old Mozart took some lessons while on tour in London from his son—Johann Christian—who'd made poppa proud by snagging the much-coveted job of royal piano teacher.

While legend further has it that when grownup Wolfgang finally laid his eyes on the original manuscripts of J.S. Bach he wouldn’t leave the building until he’d looked at all of them....

And so Ophelia and I are therefore oh-so-grateful as well to Felix Mendelssohn for rekindling the public's interest in Bach by organizing the 1829 performance of the St. Matthew Passion, which was all about Jesus Christ—born a Jew like Mendelssohn's dad, who'd eventually surprise a few people when he turned his children away from the legacy of their famous philosopher grandfather by converting them all into a bunch of Lutherans.

Although—as I listen to all the ghostly voices metaphorically whispering to me from my bookshelf and cyberspace—I'm given the impression that Dad was simply doing whatever he felt it took for him to flourish along with the rapidly expanding banking industry that was beginning to control his predominantly Christian community—inherited, of course, from and by people like Frederick the Great, who might often appear to even the most casual of observers to be ticking time-bombs—primed by the assumption of divine mandate—capable of spontaneously blowing your life up, and frequently triggered by a mere difference of opinion over the nature of God Almighty....

Which I suspect might've made them also appear to the more enlightened of their subjects to be somewhat self-righteous, intolerant mutations of the kind of human someone like Jesus would actually bless with a divine mandate.

Because as to what the Son of Man might be looking for when it comes to leadership material—if I read them right—the ghostly voices have convinced me that candidates would definitely need to agree that doing unto the rest of creation as you’d want done unto you is the only thing that makes any sense when one views the universe in its proper perspective, which of course doesn't usually include being blown up over anything.

Amen.

You know, those voices have also made me come to suspect that my universe truly is just one big blob of cosmic vibration; and if so, I sure wish I could ask some certified genius like Jesus himself if it therefore makes sense on a brainwave sort of level that our thoughts actually generate something like spiritual energy—radiating out of us to blend with the rest of creation, as we all decide together what kind of world we’re going to live in?

And then, does this energy we might be sending out inevitably return to us like a divinely thrown boomerang, as some sort of karmic circle seeks to complete itself?

Yes, I guess I now have two more big fat questions that my busy brain’s begun working away at—possibly forever, as though calculating the value of pi—adding to the metaphorical blinking icons already crowding my mental desktop, competing for my attention; while the older I get, the more crowded it seems that desktop becomes....

Ah, such is life! I imagine a commiserating sage might say.

Plus, I’d better be on red alert for being intellectually out of my depth here, and you’ll definitely have to be the judge in this case. Believe me, although I’ve given the nature of the universe a good bit of thought, there’s only one thing I’m sure of, and it’s that all opinions concerning humanity’s big fat questions ought to be respected—even when one respectfully disagrees.

Because for one thing, if it’s also true that we all create our own idea of reality due to conclusions drawn from our individual snowflake-like collections of experience, then I guess my universe must therefore be—perhaps substantially—different from yours; while since we’re both humans, I feel there’s certainly a very good chance that neither of us has a true grip on our own reality either....

While of course, these heavy questions are the kind of thing that can drag a person into a terrifying vortex of metaphysical confusion, if you’re not careful, when navigating the dangerous waters of life on Planet Earth; and these days—all of a sudden—my tortured Ophelia can personally and painfully relate to the metaphysical confusion that still plagues people like Mendelssohn’s father, as she finds her terrified self up against a somewhat similar wall of intolerance, which of course is not the sort of adventure that she had in mind at all!

"What in God’s name am I going to do?" she moans to the universe while scratching Frederick’s ears.

Well, neither of us is sure what’s going to happen next....

Yes, we’ve both got plenty of thinking to do.

Chapter Two

Adventuresome Risk-Taking

Tip from Ophelia: if you want kids to remember who Bach was, you can usually get off to a good start by telling them that he had at least seventeen children. That’ll get their attention. Then she swiftly moves on to the legendary story about when he was orphaned and had to go live with his big brother who—God knows why—wouldn’t let that little genius look at the really neat music book.

Now this enlivened a spirit of adventuresome risk-taking within little J.S., and so he began to sneak downstairs in the dark to the cabinet where this book was kept locked behind a door made of iron grillwork....

Yes, he’d reach in there through the grillwork with his small hands, roll that paper book up tight enough to let it slip through the bars, run back up to his bed, and copy the music all night long.

Finally, mean big brother caught him at it and took his precious copy away, but—so they say—it didn't matter, because the boy was such a certified genius that he had all that music up there in his head anyway—just from staring at it night after night....

Kids: one!

Evil grown-ups: zip!

And if you think this story a bit far-fetched—as though the boy couldn’t possibly be that smart—just remember that teenaged Mozart’s idea of fun was to pirate the secret music of the Vatican. Apparently he could listen to something, write it down, and only have to go back once to check for mistakes....

And so Ophelia almost always tells the Bach story because kids love it when abusive adults get theirs, and then they love her by extension; while by capturing their hearts she hopes to truly capture their attention—allowing her to proceed with her lifelong mission to teach them to speak the universal language of music.

Plus, she has a lot of affinity with this particular anecdote, because she herself was orphaned shortly after birth. Lucky for her, she fell into the arms of a loving grandfather, and wasn’t raised by someone who thought they were doing her a favor.

I mean, let’s hope that Big Brother had the brains to pay attention once in a while to what little J.S. had to say, since he was living with one of the greatest minds humanity’s ever produced.

Amen.

Still, one important lesson here should actually be of comfort during times of stress to those of us who aren’t certified geniuses, as we learn that even the most artistically effective of families can still put the dys in dysfunction.

Go figure.

Well anyway, by this point—with the skillful Ophelia telling the story—nearly every child in the room will at least remember that Bach was an important musician, and probably one or two might actually be ready to beat up Big Brother.

Then—after pausing for effect—she tells those kids that he grew up to make some of the most incredible music mankind’s ever heard—filling the air with it immediately....

And then over the years she’s watched a lot of her students become similarly enchanted by that music—occasionally sighing a triumphant sigh—at one with her judgmental observer, while feeling that maybe there really is something of the thrill of adventure in there after all. She sure does get excited when she listens to Bach—maybe even more than Frederick the Great....

Which suddenly redraws my attention to my blinking mental icon that’s still wondering what F-the-G did for Bach that moved him to write his Musical Offering?

Plus, this now also makes me realize that maybe I've cluttered up your mental desktop as well with this annoyingly open question; and so I guess I’d better go in search of the answer—no longer only for myself, but also so I can get back to you and tidy up my mess.

God’s in the details, as they say....

***

Now it’s very important to Ophelia that her students experience the music of J.S. because she worries that they won’t just randomly run into it someday—the way they might’ve already heard Mendelssohn’s at the end of someone's wedding, generating its plethora of positivity as the newlyweds headed back down the aisle....

While perhaps not so coincidentally, she was actually thinking about this musical tribute to love triumphant as she showered on this ominously expectant morning when we’re jumping into her life.

Yes, standing there in the steamy light of dawn—suddenly transfixed—she had to admit to herself that she’d give a lot to be hearing it at her own wedding right about now, adventure—and maybe even a little bit of her self-respect—aside.

Synchronistically, Felix wrote this classic favorite to enhance A Midsummer Night's Dream—another play by William Shakespeare—an entertaining fact which now makes some layer of consciousness within my busy brain surprise me by suddenly wondering if Bach knew about William? By the time J.S. landed on this planet Shakespeare was long gone, but, like Bach, his was a ball that would continue to roll.

For instance, I'll bet at least half of those kids in Ophelia's classes could tell you something about Romeo and Juliet—another tragedy that she finds curiously fascinating at this traumatic point in her life—having pretty much abandoned the notion of true love as being hopelessly naïve, now that she’s dealing with the results of her own adventuresome risk-taking in the dark....

How could it have happened?

She used to be such a believer....

You know, one of the residents of my bookshelf thinks that little Bach's midnight raids on the musical icebox—all that copying away in the moonlight—was the root cause of the eye-strain that eventually killed him.

Was it worth it?

I'm guessing he'd say yes.

Well, my painfully confused Ophelia’s asking herself much the same question right now as our story commences, and her mental jury’s still out....

However—being the nurturing, positive, teacher-type that she is—I'm happy to say that so far she’s also precariously leaning toward yes, as she tries to conjure up a clear vision of her terrifyingly uncertain future; while over on the kitchen wall—as she makes her morning tea, with Frederick the Cat watching her and the first songbirds of spring from the windowsill—Grampa's old clock is tick, tick, ticking away....

While it's not like the old days on the farm, where her heart was so much lighter and she'd often feel possessed to sing along.....

How did it happen?

Jesus Christ!

Meanwhile—as many of you might also remember—she knows that Shakespeare's Ophelia was musical as well.

Yes, she sings her way through a good bit of the play—at least, that is, after she goes crazy....

Stay tuned!

Plus, before we leave this chapter, perhaps we should once again take a moment to ponder why my Ophelia's mom chose to name her baby after a tragic would-be princess, and to wonder as well if this maternal choice has therefore in any significant way affected her personality—perhaps on some purely subliminal level that she may be totally unaware of—even though their time together was short and, for the most part, intellectually superficial?

Or maybe we should take a moment to wonder whether the preceding statement was just so much heavily sophisticated b.s. and move on.

Chapter Three

Good and Ticked Off

And so Ophelia—cat-lover and musician—had long been craving a bit of adventure, almost in spite of herself, and has now gotten in very deep because of it; while in some respects I hope most can empathize.

All alone with her self-inflicted torment, she’s wise enough to notice that she occasionally talks to Frederick the Cat in exactly the same familiar way she used to talk to Frederick the Cousin; while she’s also occasionally unnerved by the expression on this pussycat's face, as he seems to stare right through her—almost as though he understands her thoughts and moods better than she does—much the same way she felt Freddie used to do....

While as a matter of fact, just lately this really weird idea’s been popping into the back of her mind—where she immediately pushes it away with a how-could-I-be-so-silly, dismissive wave of the hand and toss of the head.

What a crazy idea....

Where could it possibly have come from?

But nevertheless, occasionally she still notices herself seriously considering the notion that Frederick the Cat might just be the reincarnation of his namesake—recently lost, when now she needs him so badly....

I mean, she's thinking that maybe—having missed the most crucial point in her life—her best friend really has come back as this cat to cheer her up by way of apology, or to keep an eye on her!

Or perhaps just the notion that Frederick could be you-know-who is enough....

Plus, you've probably figured out by now what it was that this oldest of her friends missed, which is that Ophelia finds herself pregnant and deserted by a heartbreaking liar, with no one to hold her hand.

It's true....

Yes, when He found out, it only took him three weeks to panic and skip town; and while loading the last of his stuff into the car and avoiding her eyes, he promised he’d send money just as soon as he could....

And then he told her that he still had deep feelings for her, and that he knew he was wrong, but he just couldn’t handle it!

Handle what, specifically, he couldn’t quite explain....

"Everything!" he’d moaned—holding his spinning head in his hands.

While right now she doesn’t know where he is, and she’s not about to humiliate herself by asking his friends, or especially his family!

For one thing, she thinks, she shouldn’t put them in the middle of it, where they might even feel pressure to lie for him.

‘After all, what did they do?’ she thinks, as her inner observer wonders if she might just be looking for noble excuses for this avoidance.

Besides, they probably don’t know either....

And then, so what if she found him, or he came back? It really wouldn’t change anything….

Yes it would!

She’d have somebody there in case she falls on the goddamn floor!

"Jesus Christ!" she moans in supplication, looking around the room for Frederick....

Where is he?

Oh yes—over there, cuddling her coat....

Thank goodness.

Meanwhile, there’s nobody she can tell—maybe Freddie’s mom....

No, not even her.

And she’s not sure why. Besides, she feels he’ll show back up soon, and then maybe somehow it really could be the same again....

"God have mercy!" she prays.

While at this point, Ophelia tells herself that because he fled in a panic he couldn’t even begin to explain, therefore she can’t possibly understand it either....

"It’s hell for

Reviews for Ophelia

[ceeceelaws-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is a clever novel about a young woman who is harboring a secret that is torturing her. I have to admit that giving a review on this book was a little difficult, as I did not want to submit a spoiler. That being said, the author has found a unique way to make powerful figures of classical music, history, and Shakespearean literature even more interesting than before. Being a fan of all three, I thoroughly enjoyed the way she interlaced each character with our heroine and her story. It was an emotional journey that ended on a good note.I received this book in exchange for an honest review.

[lexiesmom-1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I received this book for free in exchange for providing an honest review. So be it.Had I wanted to read about Shakespeare, musical history, theology, or psychology I would have elected to read books on those subjects. Go figure!The sooty of Ophelia, an unmarried school teacher who is abandoned by her boyfriend gets lost in the author's history lessons. I'm sorry to say that I did not enjoy this book. Amen.

[sportzmomof5 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I was given this book in exchange for an honest review.*I did not care for this book. It kind of read like someone's diary where the just go on and on and on. I am going to say that it might also be that it is just not my taste of writing. I will never tell someone not to buy the book, because I don't know your taste, but this was written for a small audience.