Revisiting Shakespeare: What if the Bard Were a Woman?

Ah, the illustrious bard—William Shakespeare. Surely, his name rings a bell; if not, one must wonder in which realm of oblivion you have dwelled. The term “bard” traditionally denotes “a poet, especially one reciting epics and tied to a particular oral tradition,” as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary—hardly a source one can dispute. I felt it necessary to clarify this definition, for to me, the word almost sounds like a curse word. Maybe I'm mistaken, or perhaps I’m just a little eccentric. It must be the latter. Regardless, in this post, I’ll be diving into the intriguing idea of reimagining Shakespeare—myth and legend—as a woman. An exquisite concept, if I do say so myself!

Like God, Shakespeare is omnipresent. 

His influence seeps into the very foundation of our world, shaping modern culture, informing academic principles, and embedding itself into the core of literary thought. After the Bible, Shakespeare’s works are the most quoted texts in the English-speaking world. Characters in Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park (1814) acknowledge this ubiquitous presence: “But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman’s constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct.” Another character agrees, noting that Shakespeare’s passages are “quoted by everybody; they are in half the books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions.” 

Shakespeare has evolved into a universal poet—a cultural cornerstone and a national treasure for Britons. Despite the centuries that divide us from his era, his works remain remarkably fresh, relevant, and indispensable. His words are quoted by public figures, politicians, writers, and even ordinary people who often unknowingly invoke his language, as his influence permeates our speech subconsciously. The enigma surrounding Shakespeare’s life—what little we know of it—only adds to his mythos. As Charles Dickens wrote in 1847, “The life of Shakespeare is a fine mystery, and I tremble every day lest something turn up.” This mystery evokes both awe and reverence, lending his persona a timelessness that persists.

But what if Shakespeare, the unparalleled genius of the stage, had been a woman? It is a rather intriguing question that invites us to reconsider the rigid gender structures of his era and imagine the impossible. 

In his works, Shakespeare shows an uncanny ability to explore the lives of his female characters, almost as if he had a personal insight into the intricacies of the female experience. In Much Ado About Nothing, Beatrice cries out in frustration, “O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace,” voicing the anger of being trapped by the limitations her gender poses. Similarly, in Macbeth, Lady Macbeth famously implores the spirits to "unsex” her in her iconic soliloquy, yearning to strip away the softness expected of women. She desires to be free from societal constraints, allowing her to pursue her ruthless ambitions without hesitation or remorse. “Fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood;” she pleads, “Stop up the access and passage to remorse.” These aren’t merely rebellious outbursts—they’re raw expressions of a deep frustration that still feels all too familiar in modern times.

If Shakespeare had been a woman, the portrayal of Lady Macbeth could have taken on an entirely different meaning. Rather than being seen as a symbol of an uncommon feminine desire for power, her ambition could have been framed as a response to the societal limitations imposed on women. She wouldn’t have been reduced to a fragile, helpless figure simply because of her gender, as if incapable of handling the news of a murder when she herself orchestrated King Duncan's death. As Macduff suggests, “The repetition in a woman’s ear / Would murder as it fell.” This entire perspective would highlight how her pursuit of power stems from the constraints of her time, not from personal moral failure, and emphasize the injustice of a system that punishes women for seeking more—therefore exploring her ambition as a natural extension of her intellect, with her downfall shaped by societal pressures.

Continuing this exploration, we notice that Shakespeare’s female characters frequently challenge the established societal norms that seek to subdue or silence them. For instance, consider Rosalind in As You Like It, who adopts a male disguise to navigate a world wherein liberty and authority are predominantly allocated to men. She boldly proclaims, “We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside—As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances.” A modern feminist take on this character would be the 2016 production of As You Like It by the Royal Shakespeare Company, Rosalind’s cross-dressing is not just a comedic tool but a direct commentary on how women are forced to disguise themselves to gain access to the freedom and power enjoyed by men. Such reinterpretations frame Rosalind’s wit and adaptability as acts of rebellion against a patriarchal system, showcasing her capacity to survive and thrive in a world that otherwise oppresses her.

A woman Shakespeare would essentially offer a reflection on the imperative to embrace masculinity not only for survival but also as a critique of a patriarchal society that equates freedom and power with male characteristics. Likewise, Isabella in Measure for Measure confronts the threat of sexual exploitation by the corrupt judge Angelo, poignantly questioning, “To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me?” She then proceeds to curse the men who wield the power, expressing both judgment and absolution with the same tongue of theirs. Now, if the bard were a woman, the narrative would likely have highlighted the emotional and psychological impact of sexual coercion to a greater extent. 

It is precisely Shakespeare’s nuanced portrayal of women, often widely termed “feminine intuition,” that prompts the central question of this discussion: What if Shakespeare had been a woman? If that were the case, how would his perspective have differed? Most of his female characters transcend conventional roles and aren’t merely appendages to the men around them—they are multifaceted, dynamic, complex agents who navigate their own narratives, challenge social norms and often outfit the male figures in their lives.

Female directors often breathe new life into these complex characters in reinterpreting Shakespeare's works. For example, in her 2016 production of Othello, director Rokia Traoré offered an interpretation where Desdemona's voice is amplified and her agency redefined, transforming her from a passive victim to an active force in the narrative.

Overall, this brings us to consider whether the empowering depictions of women in plays like The Taming of the Shrew and Othello truly be attributed solely to the imagination of a male author? Kate’s declaration in The Taming of the Shrew, “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart Or else my heart, concealing it, will break,” outlines her determination and autonomy as a woman. Similarly, Emilia’s monologue in Othello is viewed as one of the era’s most profound feminist proclamations, where she asserts the equality of sexes before Iago kills her: “But I do think it is their husbands' faults If wives do fall.” And, “Let husbands know their wives have sense like them. They see and smell and have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have / Then let them use us well, else let them know, The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.” These instances demonstrate that women in these plays challenge societal expectations and utilize language as both a weapon and a means of liberation. Nevertheless, one may wonder about the extent to which these portrayals genuinely capture the experiences of women, given that they were crafted by a male playwright. Would Kate and Emiliana have truly voiced their repressed frustrations about gender prejudice if written by a female Shakespeare? Or would the narrative have stayed the same—offering a brief moment of justice, only for the story to return to portraying women as fragile and frail once more?

Consider Calpurnia in Julius Caesar, who occupies a notably liminal role. She’s a dutiful wife and a prophetic figure, her warnings dismissed by the male characters. Though she pleads with Caesar to stay home, her instincts are overruled by his hubris. A female Shakespeare, however, might have elevated Calpurnia from this sidelined, intuitive role to a more empowered character, whose insight and voice carried importance that could’ve potentially altered the course of events—she could’ve been transformed from a mere cautionary figure to a more central, influential role in the plot. 

So, would Shakespeare’s exploration of female autonomy have taken a different trajectory had the Bard been a woman?

Virginia Woolf tackled this question in her essay A Room of One’s Own (1929) wherein she discusses Shakespeare’s imaginary sister, Judith—equally talented as her brother but lacks the avenues to showcase her brilliance. Woolf’s answer is rather bleak: she suggests that ‘it would have been impossible, completely and entirely, for any woman to have written the plays of Shakespeare in the age of Shakespeare.’ She suggests that Judith's talents would have been stifled in a world where women were denied the right to act, write, or even pursue an education. Instead of flourishing, she would have been ridiculed, exploited, and ultimately pushed into despair. This sobering reflection underscores the oppressive limitations placed on women in Shakespeare’s era. Woolf’s thought experiment compels us to imagine how drastically different the canon might have been if Shakespeare had been a woman—or if women like Judith had been afforded the same opportunities as men.

In a similar vein, Shakespeare often portrays older women as manipulative or threatening. Hamlet suspects his mother of being complicit in his father’s murder, and Lady Macbeth exemplifies ruthless ambition. Cleopatra stands apart as one of the few mature women who retains both power and dignity. Moreover, Shakespeare's exploration of gender fluidity in Twelfth Night and As You Like It might have been even more profound if written by a woman. Viola's and Rosalind's male disguises could have offered deeper insights into the complexities of women reclaiming power in a male-dominated world, reflecting a female playwright’s personal navigation through societal constraints.

So, what’s the takeaway? Written by a woman likely means stronger, more empowered women. So, to wrap things up: while it’s tempting to imagine how Shakespeare’s works might have shifted if the Bard had been a woman, it’s crucial to appreciate the groundbreaking nature of his female characters as they are. Shakespeare’s women, though created by a man, defy the norms of their time and voice truths that still resonate. Yet, one can't help but wonder: had a woman penned these plays, how much further could they have pushed the boundaries? What untold stories and voices might have emerged from a female writer in Elizabethan England? The question remains unanswered, but endlessly thought-provoking.

And that is where the fun begins, isn’t it? What if we took the idea of a female Shakespeare and brought it into our world, rewriting the stories from his plays with today’s perspectives on gender and power? A simple creative exercise with a scene featuring a woman in his works—say, Lady Macbeth confronting her ambition or Beatrice expressing her frustration with the societal role imposed on her—might reveal how much more there could have been in these iconic stories. By imagining how these women might act in the modern world, perhaps we can uncover the underlying struggles that are still relevant today. The possibilities are endless, and it challenges us to rethink how women’s voices can be heard, not just in the past, but in our present and future as well.

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Glossary:

Illustrious - well-known, respected, and admired for past achievements.

Hubris - exaggerated pride or self-confidence.

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