Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well… is not actually the line.
That’s right, one of the most iconic lines in one of the most famous scenes from one
of the English language’s most influential plays… is not what most of us think it is.
The actual line is “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest,
of most excellent fancy.” And this is just one of many Shakespearean quotes that we are
all completely misquoting. For example, the witches in Macbeth don’t say “bubble,
bubble, toil and trouble”, it’s “double, double.” And don’t even get me started
on “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” That’s not a misquote per se, but if I have
to see one more community theatre production where Juliet is looking off her balcony like
this, reinforcing the misconception that wherefore means WHERE
and not, essentially, WHY, I think I’m going to lose it.
Hi, I’m Justin Dodd, here to help set the story straight on all of the things in history
that may have gotten a little bent. If you have a topic you want us to cover in a future
episode, leave it in the comments below. Today, we’re talking misconceptions about famous
books and authors. And speaking of Shakespeare, is that guy even who we think it is? Okay,
calm down—one thing at a time. Let’s do it! Roll the intro.
For being one of the most famous horror stories of all time, there are a ton of misconceptions
about Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The most glaring one is, of course, that Frankenstein
is not the name of the monster, but rather of his creator, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. That’s
an easy one. But already we’ve run into another misconception: Dr. Victor Frankenstein
is not a doctor. Nowhere in the book does it ever say that he’s a doctor of anything.
In fact, in Mary Shelley’s original novel, he’s a student. This misconception is due,
in part, to the many iterations that came later, where Victor Frankenstein is portrayed
as being Dr. Frankenstein, including my personal favorite interpretation, Young Frankenstein.
So the monster is just the monster, and Frankenstein is just Mr. Frankenstein, no M.D. Got it. Luckily,
we’re all on the same page about our favorite hunchbacked lab assistant, Igor, right? Well,
I have some bad news. Igor is not an original character in the story of Frankenstein. Victor
Frankenstein did have an assistant in a theatrical adaptation of the novel that premiered in
1823, but his name was Fritz. The character appeared again in the original 1931 film adaptation,
which may be why so many people identify him with the Frankenstein story, but again, his
name wasn't Igor. So where did that name come from? Well, in the sequels to that original
film there was an Ygor—spelled with a Y, incidentally—but he was neither a hunchback
nor a lab assistant. He was an insane blacksmith who survived an attempted hanging.
Don't ask.
In the novel? There was no assistant at all. No Igor, no Fritz, no creepy blacksmith.
The elusive Igor, although mostly (and incorrectly) associated with Frankenstein, is now considered to be
a stock henchman character for the gothic villain archetype in general. He’s even been depicted
as being Dracula’s assistant in some iterations of that story.
Of course, the real monster of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is the society that villainized
him. *applause* Thank you, thank you, I’m very smart.
It’s one of the first things discussed when talking about Jane Austen’s legacy: Her
name never appeared on her books during her lifetime. And this is true: her first published
novel, Sense and Sensibility, was credited simply “By a Lady”. After its success, Austen’s
subsequent novels were credited to “the author of Sense and Sensibility” and eventually
it became “by the author of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice.” This was due to
a couple of factors, but the main being what you might expect: 19th-century sexism. It
wasn't considered proper for women to put a career, such as writing, above domestic
duties like motherhood. And beyond the social pressures, male relatives generally had to
represent women in legal matters. As a result, female authors often chose to publish anonymously.
But most people don’t know that it was actually very common for books to be published without
a credited author at the time, regardless of gender. James Raven, a professor of Modern
History at the University of Essex, in his research into anonymity in the 18th century,
found that between 1750 and 1790, around 80% of novels were published anonymously. And
even without her name ever appearing on any of her novels, apparently the secret of Austen’s
identity wasn’t very well kept. In the book Jane Austen, Her Life and Letters, which details
the life of the author as told by her family members, it’s revealed that among the aristocracy,
it was fairly well known who the real author of Pride & Prejudice was. The Prince Regent
of England even invited Austen specifically to his library to… hang out, I guess.
Novella and chill, maybe?
Her anonymity goes hand in hand with the pervasive notion that Austen was a shy, simple woman.
But this may be more of a posthumous fabrication than
it is an accurate representation of Austen’s life. In Valerie Grosvenor Myer’s biography,
it’s stated that, after Austen’s death in 1817, her family was quick to
It’s a pretty interesting conspiracy theory. The author and poet behind some of the greatest
written works of all time is not who we think it is. Bill Shakespeare was just the ghost
writer for some other, anonymous writer. Potentially royalty, potentially a woman, but definitely
NOT a simple actor from Stratford upon Avon.
While there are definitely a handful of people who believe these stories, it’s a misconception
that Shakespeare’s identity is at the center of some great historical debate. The vast
majority of theatre historians and Shakespearian experts consider this theory farfetched and
hardly credible. Myself included. I'm not an expert per se, but I do have an undergraduate degree
in theatre, so, do with that what you will.
There is no concrete proof that anyone other than William Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare’s
plays. He did occasionally work with collaborators, but there’s no convincing evidence that
there is some mysterious other figure masquerading as William Shakespeare. The main pieces of
“evidence” are simply suspicions about his credibility. Such as, how could someone
of relatively humble background know so much about the inner workings of royal affairs?
Is it possible for one person to write so many absolute BANGERS? Could a MAN really
understand so deeply the beauty of life and love?
The lack of hard evidence hasn’t stopped the Anti-Stratfordian theory from making its
way into popular culture. The Oxfordian theory posits that the true Shakespeare is Edward
De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford. Oxfordians’ main argument relies on the parallels between
events in certain Shakespeare plays and events in De Vere’s life, reshaping these works
to be more autobiographical than simply royal dramas. This theory has some basically insurmountable
problems, though, like the fact that De Vere died in 1604, and several Shakespeare plays
were published after that date, with references within the works to historical events that
occurred in the decade after De Vere passed.
That would be taking "ghost writer" to a whole new level.
I'm sorry that was insensitive, RIP my man.
While it’s true that we don’t know everything about the life of William Shakespeare, it’s
fair to say that the Oxfordian theory is based more on interesting coincidences than any amount of hard
evidence. And while it may not hold water historically, the theory even inspired the
2011 film Anonymous. The movie, just like many
of the claims of Oxfordians, was a flop.
That joke is like 9 years too late.
In most college creative writing classes, you’ll study the genre of flash-fiction.
Very, very short stories that still contain a beginning, a middle, and an end. One of
the more famous examples is this infamous, six-word tale:
“for sale, baby shoes, never worn.”
Ernest Hemingway is often attributed as the author of this tragic combination of words.
This is, however, a misconception.
A literary agent named Petter Miller claimed to have been told the story of Hemingway coming
up with the story by “a well-established newspaper syndicator” in 1974. He then published
his claim in the 1991 book “Get Published! Get Produced!: A Literary Agent’s Tips on
How to Sell Your Writing”. Tip #1, however, was not "have a short, concise title."
His story goes that Hemingway was having lunch at Luchow’s with a handful of other writers.
He offered a bet that he could write a complete story with only six words. Each writer put
in ten dollars, and after writing down the short story on a napkin and passing it around
the table, he claimed the pot.
And it makes sense that this story would be attributed to Hemingway. One of his defining
qualities is his minimalist language. So a tragic, six-word story seems right up his
alley. But there is no evidence to suggest that Hemingway is the actual author of this
story. Miller’s story was apparently heard in 1974, but Hemingway died in 1961. In fact,
it’s likely that there is no actual author, and it’s simply an amalgamation of actual
ads from the early 20th century.
An ad appeared in the Ironwood News Record in 1906 that read: “For sale, baby carriage,
never been used. Apply at this office.”
And then, in 1910, an article in the Spokane Press mentioned an ad that read “Baby’s
hand made trousseau and baby’s bed for sale. Never been used.”
Over the next few decades, several examples of similar stories (or titles of stories)
arose. Various authors or playwrights have been credited, but ultimately, it seems that
the original author of this sad story was the cruel hand of reality itself. *applause*
Thank you, I’m also emotionally very deep.
Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes is still one of the most referenced and replicated
characters of all time. Among his many adventures, one series of actions remains constant. Sherlock
Holmes makes a perplexingly accurate observation, Watson is astonished, and Holmes responds
with the casual and rather condescending retort, “elementary, my dear Watson.” The only
problem? This string of words never appears in any of the original stories.
Holmes does use the word elementary to describe certain deductions throughout the books and
stories. In 1893, Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Crooked Man”, which was published
in “The Strand Magazine”, included the phrase “elementary” after Holmes deduced
Watson’s recent actions based on the doctor’s appearance. In 1901, the serialized version
of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” included a scene in which Holmes examines a walking
stick, and manages to deduce the size of the man’s dog. “Interesting, though elementary,”
said he.
He also, on multiple accounts, does use the phrase “my dear Watson,” sometimes even
within the same scene that he uses the term “elementary,” See 1893’s “The Crooked
Man” again, for instance. But never, not once, do the words appear together. This didn’t
stop this phrase from working its way into the zeitgeist, though. As early as 1901, a
short parody story that featured the detective Shylock Combs, included the phrase “Elementary,
my dear Potson.” The pinnacle of biting satirical word play, right there.
Over the next century, this phrase would be used countless times by countless speakers.
Various versions of Sherlock Holmes, outside of the Doyle canon of course, would eventually
wield the catchphrase like a badge of honor, such as in the 1929 film The Return of Sherlock
Holmes. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a modern fabrication.
I guess not all famous quotes can be legit. At least we’ll always have “Luke, I am
your father”. What? Why are you shaking your head? What does this mean?
Thanks for watching our recently rebooted Misconceptions! We’re so stoked to be back,
bringing you the truth about all of your favorite lies. Don’t forget to leave your suggestion
for our next episode’s topic in the comments below. And remember, don’t believe everything
you read. Well, unless it cites primary sources and is written by a credible journal, then
it’s probably fine, unless ---