A thrilling production of “Othello” this winter at the Folger Theatre reminded me just how propulsive that tragedy is. Shorn of the philosophical musings of “Hamlet” or the comic business of “King Lear,” Shakespeare’s story of the Moor and the envious villain who destroys him moves as swiftly as poison through the blood.
But who is Iago really? What motivates this duplicitous soldier who warns against the green-eyed monster even while drawing his commander into its jaws? Scholars and theatergoers have debated that question at least since Coleridge stood aghast at his “motiveless Malignity.” And the fact that Iago doesn’t die at the end — unusual among Shakespeare’s villains — gives the play an added touch of menace. Imagine: He’s still out there somewhere, manipulating other minds toward self-destruction.
Well, grab your handkerchief — don’t tell me you lost it! — because Iago is back and more deadly than ever. David Snodin, who worked on BBC’s monumental Shakespeare series in the late 1970s and ’80s, picks up the story a few weeks after the curtain falls on Othello’s bloody bed. A replacement governor has just arrived on Cyprus from Venice, and his first order of business is to confront “the extraordinary devil” awaiting execution in a 500-year-old castle high in the mountains. He and his retinue approach the craggy summit as if their prisoner were some kind of biological weapon. But when the guards open the cell perched thousands of feet over the rocky coastline, Iago has vanished into air.
Yes, it’s a classic chase story: “The Fugitive” with swords and jerkins, double, double toil and trouble. The novel pulls us through one just-missed-him confrontation after another, leaving a slick trail of blood, sleeping throats cut and chests pierced. Cyprus is already inflamed with panicked rumors about what happened to Othello and his lovely wife; the nervous rulers of Venice suspect Iago is a Turkish traitor. With the empire imperiled, nothing is more important than finding this insidious killer. But we don’t really see him for a couple of hundred pages, which is wise, considering that Iago is no Rosencrantz or Guildenstern plucked from the margins of literature. Snodin needs time to create his own story with enough leverage to remake Shakespeare’s villain.
The novel comes to us in two strands belonging, you might say, to “two households, both alike in dignity.” One concentrates on Annibale Malipiero, the chief inquisitor of the Serene Republic of Venice, which is a fancy title for head torturer. But he’s a kinder, gentler torturer, worn out by the depravity of his fellow man. In fact, Malipiero is looking forward to retirement in a few months, but the case of Iago reignites his curiosity. He takes control of the investigation into this semi-mythical figure who “can invade and kill you before you even know you are sick.” He’s willing to risk his career and eventually his life on a secret project to “delve deeper into Iago’s soul” to discover what led to “Iago’s horrible wrongdoings.”
These books offer keen insights into leadership and management challenges, which on a day-to-day basis can bring their own dramas, twisting plot lines and, in this city, political intrigue.
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