Reading Fiona Templeton’s Delirium of Interpretation, I didn’t quite know what to make of it – I do not believe I have recently read a work that so forcefully put me, as a reader, at such a great cultural distance from the work, its origins, and its meaning. I had a great deal of difficulty imagining what the play would look like on the stage, as so much seemed dependent on the character of actors and the whims of the dramaturge.1 The stage directions are gnomic — ‘this will all make sense in 4 dimensions, in reference to the sculpture’ (87) — and the marginal references to source material distract rather than illuminate, eliminating rather than supporting textual authority. In short, it was not at all what I expected – it irritates and provokes: as it should.
- Indeed, I’ve rarely read a play so much in need of dramaturgical interference. [↩]