“To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub.”
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Act 3 Scene 1 William Shakespeare
Should you have your main character speak a soliloquy? This literary device adds depth and richness for the reader by “getting inside the character’s head.” An author can follow that old piece of writing advice, to show not tell, by using a soliloquy in their story.
Soliloquy is the act of speaking alone or to oneself. The classical Latin definition of soliloquy comes from solus, or alone, and loqui, to speak. It is a passage in a drama in which a character expresses his thoughts or feelings aloud, while alone upon the stage, or with the other actors keeping silent. The audience hears the character during the soliloquy, but the speech is not directed to them or other characters in the play. The soliloquy is a monologue of the character’s internal dialogue of thoughts and feelings, but is spoken aloud, while a monologue is a character’s speech that is directed to the audience or another character. Soliloquy moves the story along, summing up what occurred thus far, reveals or analyzes other characters’ motives, or foreshadowing events to come. A soliloquy allows the audience to identify with a character and gives the playwright an opportunity to explore themes within the drama.
Literature, history, culture and religion are replete with soliloquies. Shakespeare wrote some of the best-known soliloquies, in which various characters speak to themselves within the plays. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, contains the most famous soliloquy in English literature. Hamlet asked himself, “To be or not to be: that is the question…” as he considered suicide. Anselm, Bishop of Canterbury, struggled with the existence of God in his 1077 AD Monologium, when he proclaimed “It is easy then for one to say to himself…to ruminate…” in his internal dialogue. In the Old Testament, the prophet Job voices in his opening soliloquy about his suffering over the loss of his children, health and land, “Oh, that I were as in the months past, as in the days when God watched over me.” The words are spoken with the stylistic structure of a literary composition. Saint Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, in 386-400 AD, conducted a dialogue between himself and “Reason” concerning the nature of evil, and on order, faith and the ego in his Soliloquies. Peter Abelard, 12th Century philosopher and poet, in Soliloquiem, contemplates the relation of Christian faith and philosophy when he reveals that he, “…cannot doubt my own existence and will not trust my senses.” Thomas A ’Kempis, the 15th Century German monk, wrote that The Soliloquy of the Soul was “…a discourse with myself and the mind which longs to meditate on things both inner and Divine.” Classical literature, for instance, uses soliloquy in dramas. Medea’s protagonist wrestles with her decision to murder her children in order to avenge her husband’s infidelity. “Farewell my resolve…what shall I do?” In Molly Bloom’s Soliloquy, the final chapter of the novel Ulysses, Molly rues her marriage to Leopold Bloom, the main character, “…I thought well as him well as another…” Jean Valjean utters his Soliloquy, in the novel Les Miserables, to unburden himself from his suffering and guilt with the words “…What have I done, Become a thief in the night…” Abraham Lincoln’s 1834 poem, The Suicide’s Soliloquy, recounts his struggles with mental anguish “…this heart I’ll rush a dagger through…” In Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, the heroine delivers a long soliloquy before her suicide in which she laments about her adultery and relinquishing her children to their father. “Why not put out the light” she questions, “…when it’s sickening to look at it all?”
Linguist Yoko Hasagawa discusses the ways soliloquy allows the mind to form a better understanding of the person’s mental abilities. She writes that language is necessary to manage ideas within the mind. A soliloquy has speech patterns such as accent, pronunciation and voice. Soliloquy can be written, spoken, or internal. Peter Brooks’ research into the melodramatic mind found that emphatic verbal gestures and outbursts of emotion are evident within soliloquies. Brian Stock examined how soliloquy aids the narrative identity whereby an individual constructs a continually developing story of the self with characters, plot, and imagery. Furthermore, Stock researched the narrative self and the exploration of theoretical issues in Augustine’s The Soliloquys, in the sections De Ordine, or On Order, and De Libero Arbitrio, or On the Choice of Free Will. The 19th Century poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, makes use of a type of voice, call and response, a literary device, within his soliloquies. Stream of consciousness, audience, purpose, and motivation, in both verbal and written soliloquies, may create foreshadowing, or hints about what will occur later in the story or drama. Self-dialogue can be classified as silent, or inner speech, and speech that is possible for others to hear as private speech.
The field of psychology perceives soliloquy as originating from culture or illness, expressed as a communication and linguistic disorder. Schizophrenic patients often have bedtime soliloquies, episodes of creative, artistic speech and song, thus the art versus illness debate, according to Michael B. Scherr’s Soliloquy or Psychosis: A Cultural Look at Schizophrenia. Such patients express both inner and private speech during the bedtime soliloquies. Since the patient’s private speech is at times able to be heard by others, and is often spoken in a type of code or language that only the person understands, those listening perceive the soliloquies as nonsensical or disordered and proof of the patient’s mental status. On the other hand, various soliloquies originate in bedtime settings or late at night in works of literature. When Juliet speaks to the moon, the night, the wind, to the sky and to unseen horses, in Romeo and Juliet, debate centers on the treatment of soliloquy as a symptom using the psychodrama technique of the same name. Soliloquy, the treatment, occurs when group members speak to themselves, but loudly enough for members to hear, during a group therapy session, the same as the dramatic device found in Shakespearean plays and other works of literature. Terms for soliloquy, such as introspection and soul-searching, are common in contemporary culture.
Soliloquy is not limited to those with normal speech. Deaf people speak soliloquies in sign language. All cultures and languages have soliloquy, although an alternate word may be used. Other communicative and expressive methods employ soliloquy. Music, art, dance are a few examples. Prayers and meditations often can be expressed in soliloquy. Soliloquy can take the form of self-talk to manage negative emotions, to conquer an addiction, to face stressful situations or to learn new tasks.
Adler, Ben. “Streams of Consciousness.” Columbia Journalism Review. Columbia Journalism Review, 1 May, 2013. Web. 13 August 2014.
Brooks, Peter. The Melodramatic Imagination: Balzac, Henry James, Melodrama, and the Mode of Excess. New Haven: Yale UP, 1995. Print.
Conklin, Abari, Suzanne, et al. Norton Anthology of World Literature. New York: Norton, 2012. Print.
Hasegawa, Yoko. “Soliloquy in Japanese and English.” Studies in Language 35.1: 1-40. (2001). Print.
Kenny, Anthony. A New History of Western Philosophy. New York: Oxford UP, 2012. Print.
Larker, Peter. Wordsworth and Coleridge: Promising Losses. Nineteenth-Century Major Lives and Letters ed. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Print. Wordsworth Library Collection.
Scherr, Michael B. “Soliloquy or Psychosis : A Cultural Look at Schizophrenia” Oikos.org, n.d. Web. 12 Aug. 2014.
Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. London: Wordsworth Editions, 2007. Print. Wordsworth Library Collection.
Stock, Brian. Augustine’s Inner Dialogue: The Philosophical Soliloquy in Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2010. Print.
Zimmerman, Katherine and Peter Brugger. “Signed soliloquy: Visible private speech.” Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education. 18.2: 261-270. (2010).
I carry my books with me everywhere I go, I leave, I return, I follow where the road takes me. I ignore the signs. I write my own directions. I advance on my journey. I decide to stay awhile. I can’t wait to leave. I run away. I travel to the ocean. I hunt for a place to hide. I climb the mountain for a better view. I speak to no one. I stutter with a stranger until I turn them into a friend. I speed past my enemy so he can’t carry me away. I don’t allow her to accept my rejection. I unpack my suitcase filled with dirty clothes. I pack it with my clean things. I find space inside my bag for sweet candy. I guard my letter of introduction into that club for talented females. I pick up a child or two along the way. I hike beside a funny angel who makes me giggle and laugh and lean on her. I pause to read a guide-book in several foreign languages. I write on lined, ruled paper left abandoned by a student. I fold it neatly in half, into tiny squares for a bookmark. I hurl volumes at the mean girls. I stab devils with strong words and sharp-pointed pencils. I decide the right time to turn off the tarry, mucky highway when I want to. I, I, I, I, I. I am ready to rest, to wash, to talk now. My reason is to have contact with you and everyone and all of us. Done, finished, over with walking, falling, holding the sack of junk and bits of rags made out of rough scratchy fabric. And here is a beautiful place to stay. Kay Castaneda
Part One: TELL STORIES
I began writing this blog post because someone asked me a very rude question. The subject itself wasn’t the problem; the person’s tone of voice and the look on their face was the giveaway to their sarcasm. I’ll name this person Jealous Envious Maude. Don’t be offended if your name is Maude. It’s not about you. Maude really tried to push my buttons that day when she engaged me in a conversation about my book. I had recently published my new novel, Emmie of Indianapolis. She avoided me when I spread the news to family and friends. She’s not nice enough to be called a friend. She’s in the category of not quite an enemy because she loves to start trouble.
Maude approached me with that glassy-eyed grin that makes people tell her they’re on the way to the bathroom when she comes near. I didn’t have time to make up an excuse. It had to be something you firmly believed in while you told her a lie. For example, you could say that you had to go lie down in your car because your migraine was the worst it’s ever been, and if it didn’t go away in three minutes, you were going to the emergency room for a shot of morphine. That day, she caught me without a lie prepared.
I was in the break room eating brownies with James, our maintenance man, who is my favorite person at work because he’s never in a bad mood or gives anybody the evil eye. Maude made her presence known by huffing and blowing out air just like the Big Bad Wolf. She always has to hog the conversation. Neither James or I wanted to stop eating brownies. Maude always takes away everyone’s appetite just by standing over them or when she interrupts someone. That would be every single time she gets near. James said he had to repair a hole in the roof. Since I was busy swallowing the last bite of brownie and had my mouth full, I wasn’t able to speak. Maude asked me how my book writing was going as if she didn’t know the book was finished, published and for sale.
“I am done Maude” I told her.
“Oh, I was not aware you were through with it yet!”
Her true message was she didn’t think I could finish writing it, that I wasn’t smart enough or could barely write my name. Maude puts everyone down. They just brush her off and go back to their work. I can’t do that very well because I’m too nice. My first thought when she insults me is to do things that I really wouldn’t do. Pinch her arm, pull her hair and maybe bite her the way I bit a little brat kid in first grade who said my hair was dirty. It was certainly not! Forgive me Lord for these feelings. The last straw was when Maude gloated while asking me to tell her what a writer does.
“Isn’t writing easy? All you have to do is sit down at the computer. Anyone can write a book, even a child. Did you hear about the scientists who put a monkey in front of a computer and he wrote Shakespeare sonnets, better than him in fact!”
“Listen Maude,” I said, “I will tell you what a writer does. A writer is a person who tells stories, stories no one has ever heard. Writers explain history but don’t rewrite it. They are people who describe Grandma Celia so well until the reader feels Grandma is truly their own. Writers paint pictures of far-off places, places you will never get a chance to go. Writers argue politics, religion and solve society’s problems all within 490 pages. Writers invent characters so unique that they make you feel new emotions or remember long-dead things. Good, bad, ugly, beautiful, all colors, all sizes and personalities; writers give them to you, the reader. Writers make you think or reinforce your own ideas, or they may convince you to change your point of view. Writers introduce readers to other writers and books they’ve never heard of. So many things Maude. So many things. In fact, Maude, a writer is never done. A writer spots people on the highway who would make a perfect model for their next heroine or their next villain. Writers hear words spoken by strangers that would be exactly, or almost, what their new book’s characters would say. The work a writer does to produce a book is really never finished. They may think of ways to rewrite a scene or draw a more exact vision of a waterfall or a cave. Writers might not be satisfied how they described a ranch house where their hero lives. It’s endless, Maude, what writers do. It’s indescribable and unfamiliar except to another writer. You could never do that Maude. You could never write a book because you are too busy yakking and running your mouth, insulting your coworkers and those around you that characters would never speak to you the way they speak to a writer. You would never hear them if by chance they spoke to you, insisting they be placed inside a story. I could discuss the writing process with you if you’re interested. I could tell you about the places I visited that would be a perfect location for my next book’s setting. Writing is difficult, grueling labor, Jealous Envious Maude. But they do it anyway because they love it. That is what writers do.”