"There's special providence in the fall of a sparrow"

Why does Hamlet change?

When he makes this remark, he is fresh off successfully out-scheming Claudius and saving his own skin with an elaborate ruse. It's true he's also been overthinking things to the point of inaction, but why go so far in the other direction? Now he's disregarding his own heartsickness and Horatio's advice to skip the duel with Laertes.

I actually liked the Polonius-stabbing, Ophelia-destroying, excuse-making Hamlet better than this drip who equates clear signs of danger with mere "augury" and contemplates little birdies.

Oh well, is that our enigmatic Hamlet again? Can't settle on a reasonable medium, has to seesaw between extremes?

Wait, what the heck did I just write?

What I meant to say was, why does Hamlet become so fatalistic? Is he tired of fighting?

From the time Hamlet returns from England (or perhaps from the time he meets Fortinbras' army) he knows he will die. Well this is overly simplistic: he knows that there is not difference between death and living; the physical state becomes one and the same. That is, until it happens. But I think he relishes in his death - not just because he takes so long to do it, but that whole "if only I wasn't dying, I could tell you the mysteries of the universe." Because of course he had no time before he died, right? But you can't fault Hamlet for this. Well, you can't fault Hamlet for anything because anything he is guilty of (excepting the death of Polonius), so are you (so long as you are human)

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Originally Posted by Charles Darnay

From the time Hamlet returns from England (or perhaps from the time he meets Fortinbras' army) he knows he will die. Well this is overly simplistic: he knows that there is not difference between death and living; the physical state becomes one and the same. That is, until it happens. But I think he relishes in his death - not just because he takes so long to do it, but that whole "if only I wasn't dying, I could tell you the mysteries of the universe." Because of course he had no time before he died, right? But you can't fault Hamlet for this. Well, you can't fault Hamlet for anything because anything he is guilty of (excepting the death of Polonius), so are you (so long as you are human)

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Ugh, he's becoming less attractive to me all the time. I'm okay with Keats's Ode on Melancholy -- "beauty that must die" -- but beauty that relishes its imminent death? Ugh ugh ugh.

I’d argue that there were already fatalistic elements in the play’s earlier acts, as in the famous speech in which the actor king states that fate and human will oppose each other:

“But, orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.”

The view that the prince changed in his return to Denmark seems accurate to me nonetheless, as his stance turned then from that of doubt to one of transcendence and indifference towards his own extinction – contrasting with the fundamental question he posed to himself in his third soliloquy. While the intense evasiveness he displayed through most of the first four acts of the book aids in highlighting the true nature of his perturbations, the subtle emergence of his new personality may serve as a valuable hint as to how whatever was disturbing him came to find its consummation in his mind. Taking the speech I quoted as a reference, one could argue that the legitimacy of human emotion and thought is a central factor in his crisis, which is in accordance with his condemnation of Gertrude’s new relationship in respect for the distant figure of the deceased father, with the hostile treatment received by Ophelia without any apparent motive, with the ironical way many of the characters were inexorably mocked by him, as well as with his own self-criticism and disbelief. Since the phantom’s presence seems to disappear from his meditations from the scene in the cemetery onwards, the literary critic Harold C. Goddard have defended the thesis that the play represents the prince’s mind’s restraint by the paternal influence and its liberation, albeit too late to permit him a long life to rejoice in his own autonomy. I find this interpretation rather enlightening, chiefly if one considers King Hamlet’s influence over his son as one with his uneasiness concerning the validity of human passion: the phantom’s call for revenge upon the living may have fed his son’s nihilistic skepticism towards human nature, already strengthened by his mother’s new engagement, leading him to the despair inspired by that fatalistic contingence represented by that “brief accident” which turns both pain and joy into feelings of the same sort. Having returned without such worries, it’s implicit that in some way he has transcended his turmoil, that his self-knowledge has finally proportioned him a life of legit wisdom. Talking once with my friend about the play, we traced a parallel between the prince’s transformation and Nietzsche’s concept of amor fati, developed in his works through the acceptance of the eternal return. Instead of relishing in his imminent death, my personal opinion is that he accepts it, for he is then already complete and don’t need anything else – thence the meaning of “the readiness is all”. However, being so complex a character in a play so experimental as his, he is ever prone to new interpretations and seldom two readers seem to agree about the utmost nature of his personality. Perhaps no other work by Shakespeare has passed through so many different readings through the numerous generations of critics; yet it remains one of the most central works of the literary tradition. I think such an incredible achievement was obtained largely due to the excellence of the prince as a character. His later experimental plays, lacking the astonishing characterization which made Hamlet what it is, suffered greatly from their problematic structure in my opinion.

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Originally Posted by namenlose

I’d argue that there were already fatalistic elements in the play’s earlier acts, as in the famous speech in which the actor king states that fate and human will oppose each other:

“But, orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.”

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I have always kept Hamlet (the character) at a distance from the metatheatrical "tricks" of the play. The above speech may echo the themes of the play proper, but this is more Shakespeare having fun with us (I think) than any insight into Hamlet the character.

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The view that the prince changed in his return to Denmark seems accurate to me nonetheless, as his stance turned then from that of doubt to one of transcendence and indifference towards his own extinction – contrasting with the fundamental question he posed to himself in his third soliloquy. While the intense evasiveness he displayed through most of the first four acts of the book aids in highlighting the true nature of his perturbations, the subtle emergence of his new personality may serve as a valuable hint as to how whatever was disturbing him came to find its consummation in his mind. Taking the speech I quoted as a reference, one could argue that the legitimacy of human emotion and thought is a central factor in his crisis, which is in accordance with his condemnation of Gertrude’s new relationship in respect for the distant figure of the deceased father, with the hostile treatment received by Ophelia without any apparent motive, with the ironical way many of the characters were inexorably mocked by him, as well as with his own self-criticism and disbelief. Since the phantom’s presence seems to disappear from his meditations from the scene in the cemetery onwards, the literary critic Harold C. Goddard have defended the thesis that the play represents the prince’s mind’s restraint by the paternal influence and its liberation, albeit too late to permit him a long life to rejoice in his own autonomy. I find this interpretation rather enlightening, chiefly if one considers King Hamlet’s influence over his son as one with his uneasiness concerning the validity of human passion: the phantom’s call for revenge upon the living may have fed his son’s nihilistic skepticism towards human nature, already strengthened by his mother’s new engagement, leading him to the despair inspired by that fatalistic contingence represented by that “brief accident” which turns both pain and joy into feelings of the same sort. Having returned without such worries, it’s implicit that in some way he has transcended his turmoil, that his self-knowledge has finally proportioned him a life of legit wisdom. Talking once with my friend about the play, we traced a parallel between the prince’s transformation and Nietzsche’s concept of amor fati, developed in his works through the acceptance of the eternal return. Instead of relishing in his imminent death, my personal opinion is that he accepts it, for he is then already complete and don’t need anything else – thence the meaning of “the readiness is all”. However, being so complex a character in a play so experimental as his, he is ever prone to new interpretations and seldom two readers seem to agree about the utmost nature of his personality. Perhaps no other work by Shakespeare has passed through so many different readings through the numerous generations of critics; yet it remains one of the most central works of the literary tradition. I think such an incredible achievement was obtained largely due to the excellence of the prince as a character.

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Well put.

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His later experimental plays, lacking the astonishing characterization which made Hamlet what it is, suffered greatly from their problematic structure in my opinion.

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Hamlet is monumental and a pivotal point in Shakespeare's cannon, but I would not discount the later plays. King Lear expands on the elements of Hamlet, and while there is no Hamlet figure, the nihilism of the play is unsurpassed. Likewise, both Coriolanus and to a greater extent, The Winter's Tale experiment with language and story structure in intricate ways that surpass Hamlet.

Hamlet was the height of Shakespeare's characterization, but not the height of his career as a playwright, nor the height of his experimentation.

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I have always kept Hamlet (the character) at a distance from the metatheatrical "tricks" of the play. The above speech may echo the themes of the play proper, but this is more Shakespeare having fun with us (I think) than any insight into Hamlet the character.

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It’s an interesting way of reading the play. Some favor the hypothesis that Hamlet edited “the mouse-trap” according to his own views, which they believe to have occurred during his conversation with one of the actors. Although I judge this to be an interesting idea, there is not enough textual evidence to confirm its authenticity. As you point out, it may only be one of Shakespeare’s tricks, though a very effective one in synthesizing the themes of the play.

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Hamlet is monumental and a pivotal point in Shakespeare's cannon, but I would not discount the later plays. King Lear expands on the elements of Hamlet, and while there is no Hamlet figure, the nihilism of the play is unsurpassed. Likewise, both Coriolanus and to a greater extent, The Winter's Tale experiment with language and story structure in intricate ways that surpass Hamlet.

Hamlet was the height of Shakespeare's characterization, but not the height of his career as a playwright, nor the height of his experimentation.

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I think Hamlet is possibly his best, though I would not put King Lear any lower either. As for Winter’s Tale and Coriolanus, I have failed in appreciating them as much as I have appreciated my favorite Shakespeare’s plays. I admire the first for its intensity and for the way it portrays Leonte’s jealousy as intrinsically related to the void he feels in himself, but I could never finish it without feeling that something was missing, being it in overall presentation or in its generic consistency. Coriolanus, although a good work, seemed to me a rather limited expression of his tragic talent. Neither its characters nor its plot conquered my affection, even if its tone captivated me at times as an interesting and subtle deviation from the genre of tragedy. My taste may change in the years to come, which could bring myself to a fuller appreciation of both plays, but I doubt I would ever judge them as aesthetically compelling as any of the four great tragedies. Even so, I might reread them as soon as I have the time. One never knows what new impressions a text can provoke upon further readings :D

Overall, I agree that Coriolanus is not his "best" work, but I bought it up for his quality of experimentation. It is the Shakespearean equivalent of a Picasso painting, whereas something like Julius Caesar would be a Victorian. Coriolanus plays with the concept of perspective in a way we do not get in Shakespeare. As many angles as Hamlet has, Hamlet is the focal point. No one is siding with, or glorifying Claudius or Laertes in the play.

Coriolanus is not like this. Nor is he the Richard III, Iago, Edmund, or Macbeth figure: the delightful villains who win us over because they are so darn charming. In fact, Coriolanus is a play peopled by people: not the "magnified conscience of man" that we are used to in Shakespeare's great characters, but people who all have their motives, and who all have the follies, and who we cannot say "you are good, and you are evil."

Hamlet may be the "modern man" in Shakespeare's world, but Coriolanus is the most modern work - the precursor to the rise of the novel.

The Winter's Tale is the only play that rivals Hamlet for my affections. If you ever find yourself rereading it consider the "tragicomic irony" - how hidden within the tragic tones of the first part are comic undertones that serve to foreshadow the eventual "comedy"; whereas in Pastoral Bohemia, there are tones of tragedy that underscore the comedy. Add to that the beauty of the ending, the fact that it is the only Shakespearean comedy where someone dies (two people) during the course of the play, and you have the makings of the greatest play.

I found the way Shakespeare provided a solution to the tragic events in Winter’s Tale to be a remarkable development of his art as a dramatist in his later years. I’d also concur with your point that part of the book’s appeal comes from the tragicomic undertones that are weaved between the lines, which are particularly strengthened by the lyrical brilliance of the language. My favorite scene remains Act IV scene iv due to the enchanting beauty of Perdita’s and Florizel’s declaration of mutual love, interrupted by Polixenes’ intromission. However, as much as I may like certain aspects of the play, I’m still not pleased by its internal structure. The plot jumps around too much and I feel its format is not satisfactory enough in handling the long period of time comprehended by the story. I might enjoy it more after reading it again notwithstanding, as there are many subtle qualities displayed under the work’s surface. I must also thank you for your views on both works. I will take them into consideration on further readings, though my impressions may remain still different in certain points.