A Love Letter to Shakespeare

William Shakespeare monument outside the Guildhall Art Gallery in London. (PhenomArtlover/iStock/Getty Images)

Gary D. Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars is a charming tribute to the Bard, told through the eyes of a twelve-year-old boy.

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Gary D. Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars is a charming tribute to the Bard, told through the eyes of a twelve-year-old boy.

I t’s difficult to conduct a writing class and not become inordinately distracted by books. Conversations about books, that is. In between topical discussions with my students of seven-sentence skeletons, clincher sentences, and tense agreement were sprinkled delightful musings on Eight Cousins and wonder at Story of a Soul. During our last class, though, they were appalled to learn that I’d never read Gary D. Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars — so appalled, in fact, that I got worried and ordered it from the library immediately.

Published in 2007, this Newbery Honor book is essentially a love letter to Shakespeare told through the experience of a twelve-year-old American boy. Set on Long Island during the Vietnam War, The Wednesday Wars details the seventh-grade year of Holling Hoodhood, whose teacher, Mrs. Baker, hates his guts. You see, after lunch every Wednesday, half of his class leaves for catechism class at the Catholic parish while the other half leaves for lessons at the local synagogue. But not Holling. No, our hero is the only Presbyterian in the bunch, and his teacher hates him (he thinks) because she must stay in the classroom with him instead of getting the afternoon off.

The “Wednesday Wars” commence with a month of weekly classroom cleaning during the empty afternoons, all of which end as debacles perpetrated (not maliciously) by Holling. Events threaten to continue in this vein until Mrs. Baker assigns him Shakespeare to read in the afternoon, starting with The Tempest. She tells him in no uncertain terms that he will be improving his mind with the master’s work over the course of the school year and so starts him on a life-changing course.

This story is captivating for many reasons, but at its core, it is simply an exceptionally well-written book. Schmidt uses first-person narrative, deftly avoiding trite or overly emotional sentiments throughout, to present readers with the character of Holling. Shakespeare references abound, of course (especially his curses, which enthrall young Holling), and they are used to deepen Holling’s understanding of the complex world around him, and the reader’s understanding of Holling’s life. Words and sentences are well-chosen and well-ordered, leaving the reader with a clear impression of each scene and every character’s emotions. Equally important is what goes unsaid, which adds tension and interest to the conflict undergirding the story.

There are at least three layers of conflict, each nestled one within the other, that shape our view of Holling’s world: Holling vs. Mrs. Baker, Hoodhood home-life pretense vs. reality, and the U.S. vs. the Communists. Holling vs. Mrs. Baker is the central conflict, one that changes over the course of the story. Set around that is the sad reality of conflict in “The Perfect House” where Holling, his sister, and his parents live behind masks. The specter of war is the omnipresent conflict in the book, and Schmidt humanizes the home-front aspects of this specter in startling, undeniably tough ways that bring its reality crashing in on the reader.

Don’t think, however, that this is an anxiety-ridden tale of an overly emotional preteen. Far from it. Many scenes are laugh-out-loud hilarious, and Holling’s dry, wry narrator voice is understatedly amusing. In Mrs. Baker’s classroom, rats may drop from the ceiling, fermenting cider may explode in the coatroom, and baseball dreams may come true on any given Wednesday. Through it all, Shakespeare’s tales of love, loss, betrayal, and friendship accompany Holling, giving him and us insight into his troubled family life, wisdom when his idols fail him, and the words to describe his first love.

The book grapples with sorrow and tragedy, but it doesn’t wallow. Schmidt gracefully leads readers through laughter, nervousness, and stunned indignation to a moving climax. But perhaps I’m overstating it, you think. After all, children’s books shouldn’t be so complex, should they? Schmidt doesn’t think so poorly of children, though, and has written a timeless book with powerful themes that showcases the beauty, tragedy, and humor of the human condition while also inspiring us to wonder.

Sarah Schutte is the podcast manager for National Review and an associate editor for National Review magazine. Originally from Dayton, Ohio, she is a children's literature aficionado and Mendelssohn 4 enthusiast.
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