The Collected Works of W. B. Yeats, Volume VIII: The Irish Dramatic Movement is part of a fourteen-volume series under the general editorship of eminent Yeats scholars Richard J. Finneran and George Mills Harper. This complete edition includes virtually all of the Nobel laureate's published work, in authoritative texts and with extensive explanatory notes.
Edited by the distinguished Yeats scholars Mary FitzGerald and Richard J. Finneran, The Irish Dramatic Movement gathers together -- for the first time -- all of the poet's time-honored essays on drama and the groundbreaking movement that led to the enduring Irish theater of today.
Although the reputation of W. B. Yeats as one of the preeminent writers of the twentieth century rests primarily on his poetry, drama and the theatre were among his abiding concerns. Indeed, in 1917 he wrote, "I need a theatre; I believe myself to be a dramatist." Here in this volume is the collection of all his major dramatic criticism for the years 1899-1919, including previously uncollected material.
A practicing dramatist himself, Yeats had strong convictions about the goals of the Irish theater and the appropriate plays to be produced. The essays in this collection address many topics, from the turbulent early years of what became the Abbey Theatre to the controversies over the plays of John Millington Synge and the relationship between drama and nationalism. Also evident are Yeats's judgments on numerous plays, playwrights, and productions, both in Irish and in English.
FitzGerald and Finneran's volume includes an Introduction and a History of the Text, as well as copious but unobtrusive annotation. The Irish Dramatic Movement is an essential volume for both readers of Yeats and students of the early years of twentieth-century theater.
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About the Author
The late Richard J. Finneran was general editor, with George Mills Harper, of The Collected Works of W. B. Yeats for many years; series editor of The Poems in the Cornell Yeats; and editor of Yeats: An Annual of Critical and Textual Studies, among other works. He held the Hodges Chair of Excellence at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville; was a past president of the South Atlantic Modern Language Association; and served as executive director of the Society for Textual Scholarship.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Could e bit better but still pretty emotion d I can feel the characters greif and I adore stories like that Reflections.
(Hello, readers! I know switching search results can be confusing. Just an explanation: prologue-chapter8 is in the 'white berry' results! Idk, to me it seems like some people are just starting to read it from chapter 9. So if you haven't, go to 'white berry' for the first part of Winterberry's Struggle!) <br> "Oh, no," Winterpaw groaned. "This is a disaster! Owlblizzard /and/ Ripplestar both died without appointing another deputy or leader! I hope there won't be another fight for leadership." Dustpaw nodded his head in agreement, wincing as Oceanheart dabbed at his cuts in wet moss and smeared doc leaves over them. <br> "Don't fret," Oceanheart reassured, "StarClan will tell me who the next leader would be." The apprentices had never thought of it before. <br> "Thanks, Oceanheart. May I please go out to say a last farewell to Ripplestar?" He nodded. <br> "I'll go with her," Dustpaw mewed. <p> Ripplestar's body was stone-hard and cold. Crystalsky hovered over him, tears dripping off her face and falling onto her mate's dead body. Winterpaw felt emotional herself. <br> "I-I can't. I can never say goodbye forever like this to anybody. I'm sorry... I need to get my mind off this," Winterpaw stammered, voice trembling. Dustpaw dipped his head in understandment. <br> "Would you like to go on a walk or a hunt?" <p> Dustpaw and Winterpaw sat at the edge of the stream, a small pile of scrawny prey between them. <br> "What was that all about?" Winterpaw asked, breaking the silence. Dustpaw twitched his ear. <br> "Huh?" <br> "Y'know, almost killing me and then saying you loved me?" <br> "Oh," he responded, ducking in embarassment. "I didn't think you heard that. You were concious?" <br> "I was," she muttered, annoyed. "But I hardly /was/ concious when cats tried to explain what happened. Didn't do a good job of it, either." <br>"Well," he began, "Hazelpaw came back to camp saying that you crossed the border, and that if we wanted you back we'd have to give them territory. After Ripplestar said no, she came to me and said that she tricked you into doing it. Then Hazelpaw said that she was going to join ScorchClan, and she wanted me to come. I think she expected me to agree with her like I always did, but... I refused. She beat me up for it, until I agreed. I had a plan to save you. That's why I offered to be the one to kill you. I had to really pretend like I was gonna do it or else they would have a hint that I might be planning something. I'm sorry... I really do love you, though." Winterpaw wasn't sure if she could love him back after all he's done. Suddenly, the crunch of snow sounded behind them. Foxpaw. <br> "I came to find you, Winterpaw," he sounded hurt. "I guess you already have company." With that, the crimson tom dashed away, not looking back. <br> "Wait, Foxpaw!" She called after him desperately. But he was gone. <br> "Toms," she grumped to herself. "I'll never understand them. Foxpaw's too sensitive and you're too... I dunno. You almost killed me." She stormed off back to camp, leaving the prey behind. -Reflections♦