Stoppard

Me, the Great Playwright, Marriage, Genius, and Curiosity

Tom Stoppard died this week and I find myself thinking about him and what he meant to me more than I expected. I’m no expert on Stoppard. I’ve only ever seen two of his plays performed, but I thought I’d honor his passing with some thoughts on what the great man and his work meant to me.

Stoppard and his bookshelf satchel

I saw Arcadia at the Folger theatre in DC during law school. We went on a whim. I knew the name Tom Stoppard, but I’d never seen any of his work, not even Rosenkranz and Guildenstern, and knew nothing about the play. I was flabbergasted. Arcadia is a mind bendingly complex, yet hilarious, work about modern scholars engaging with the romantic and mathematical mysteries of the people who lived 200 years ago It’s widely considered a work of genius, because it is. Insane erudition. Ideas upon ideas. Cleverness, humor. Stoppard’s ability to explore complexity with such playfulness absolutely blew me away.

I was in love. My date (who is now my wife) was less impressed with the pyrotechnics. Not enough humanity, too much philosophy was her essential critique. I didn’t know it then, but this difference would continue to divide us on the art we love. That isn’t a flaw in our relationship, it’s an advantage. She sees humanity first; I chase ideas. She loves character; I love plot. I see things better because she sees things differently. Stoppard was married three times, which in my opinion is two too many. I wonder if he ever had the kind of love and partnership I do. I hope so, but I fear not.

I had opportunities to see Coasts of Utopia when it was on Broadway, but I didn’t go. The kids were young and the days felt impossible, so I demurred. I will regret that for the rest of my life unless some brave soul revives it. I hereby swear to you, loyal reader, that if a living genius ever again puts on an epic play about the history of revolutionary Russian intellectuals I will move heaven and earth to go. It’s tragic that Stoppard’s death makes a revival of this play more likely, but it does, and on my honor, I will go.

I made up for missing Coast of Utopia by seeing his final, and probably most personal work, Leopoldstadt, the story of the rise and fall of a Jewish family in Vienna (much like Stoppard’s own). It was a deeply moving experience. People around me, many older and Jewish, shook with tears. I and the friend I went with came out of the experience essentially unable to speak. We walked to the train together largely in silence. Processing. I’m not sure there is a greater complement you can give a play than leave it thunderstruck and that is how I felt about Leopoldstadt.

What really inspired me about Stoppard was not his genius. That you’re born with, or you aren’t. It was his relentless curiosity that I return to. Shakespeare, mathematics, Russian anarchists. His learning was boundless and inspiring. The ability to turn curiosity into masterpieces like Arcadia, that’s a natural gift few have, but to do the reading to get the raw materials for Coast of Utopia, to have the inspiration to even begin to do the work, that is available to all of us. I hope I can honor Stoppard’s memory by leaning further into my own curiosity, soaking up all this life has to give before it’s gone.