Insisting teenagers read Shakespeare is a sure-fire way to turn them off his works forever. And besides, such pedantry would have the man himself chuckling in his grave.
The plays of William Shakespeare are traditionally divided into comedies, tragedies and histories. Attempts to impose him on New Zealand secondary school students involve a bit of all three.
A draft of Te Mātaiaho/The New Zealand Curriculum was released at the end of March. There is much to consider and praise in the draft, but today we’re going to be looking at the work of the English playwright and poet William Shakespeare.
At Years 11-13, stipulates the curriculum, a teacher has to “create opportunities for students to succeed in the English learning area”. You might know this as “teach English”. As part of this mission, for Years 12 and 13, it says texts must include a work by Shakespeare and a text from the 19th century.
Why?
According to University of Auckland education professor Elizabeth Rata, one of the authors of the draft, it’s part of providing a “knowledge-rich curriculum”.
Hopefully, there’ll be a bit of the curriculum where students learn to spot tautology and stating the obvious. A curriculum with knowledge in it? No one’s going to argue with that. But they might argue with the notion that this must include William Shakespeare, the only author named and famed in the draft.
There’s no room to move with compulsory Shakespeare. You can’t get around him.
And that’s the problem. Shakespeare has become a bogeyman, the mere mention of whose name can drain the colour from a student’s face. He is the insurmountable, daunting, Olympian pinnacle of writing. And like Adolf Hitler or Donald Trump, he has become too big to be seen clearly.
So teachers must spend as much time convincing pupils he’s worth reading – “Hey kids, Shakespeare was, like, the Ed Sheeran of his day,” or “He was so influential, you could say he was the first influencer” – as they must spend engaging with the texts (or “reading”, as it used to be called). That patronising strategy alone is enough to provoke an allergic reaction in any self-respecting teenager.
Another principle spelled out in the curriculum is that, “Every child throughout the country has the right to the very best English language and literature.”
And when they say “the very best” they mean Shakespeare. How one writer (or century) could bear this burden is difficult to see.
Better together
Making one writer compulsory doesn’t expand anyone’s horizons, as good education should; it limits them by imposing a narrow definition of greatness and shutting out alternatives.
It shows a misunderstanding of how great literature works its magic. It is not the output of one writer but of a continuum of great writers of all times, genders, and geography, from Gilgamesh to Gordimer to Gee.
The curriculum is vague on whether complete plays will be taught. Teaching Shakespeare can and often does mean reading a few hunks of verse hacked off the body of a play, making it impossible to appreciate structure and unity or simply to experience the satisfaction of enjoying a complete work of art and a story well told.
This may be connected to the trend for university literature courses to focus on short stories and excerpts, rather than complete works. Obviously, we can’t expect a generation raised on TikTok and reels to suddenly adjust their attention spans for a three-hour play. But it would be courteous to give them the opportunity.
Out damned plays
So here’s how to get rid of the Shakespeare problem. Get rid of Shakespeare. Declare a moratorium. Sequester him. Retire Jersey 2B.
In order to expose students to the special qualities of centuries-old literature, other writers from Shakespeare’s time are more accessible and as relevant. Many are unfamiliar, only because Shakespeare has been allowed – indeed, made – to dominate. Why not Thomas Wyatt, Walter Raleigh and John Donne starting for the poets, and rascally Christopher Marlowe – gay, a spy, murdered in a pub fight at 29 – for the theatrically inclined?
It’s not clear why Shakespeare has come in for this reverent attention in New Zealand in 2025, but the most plausible reason – and certainly the effect – is to reinforce some traditionalist view of what literature, reading and good writing are all about.
Yes, you can have your diverse, post-colonial, indigenous fare, but only after you’ve finished your Shakespeare.
Ironically, his apotheosis is relatively recent. In his own time and up to the 18th century – ie, for a large chunk of the time that has elapsed since his death – he was seen as just one of many prolific playwrights in what was certainly a golden age for drama.
Which is not to deny his greatness. We call English the language of Shakespeare, not the language of Marlowe. But this single-minded and monocular focus limits the idea of what great literature is. Apparently, it is Shakespeare. End of story.
Obviously, that’s the draft authors’ opinion and one to which they are entitled. It’s also mine, but it’s still just an opinion and it shouldn’t be presented as anything else to young people in the process of developing their own tastes.
There is a risk that they will think that if they’ve cracked the GOAT (greatest of all time), they’ve nailed literature. Move along. Nothing else to read here.
If alternatives were promoted, curiosity might be aroused and a sense of exploration and discovery lasting a lifetime might be instilled.
Prioritising Shakespeare for this niche shows a lack of imagination – and imagination should really be a KPI that is encouraged and celebrated in any curriculum. In fact, the list of possible texts that has been issued alongside the draft curriculum is comprehensive, inspirational and does indeed risk giving students a hint of the breadth of English writing, including diverse local content. But none of those texts is compulsory. Just that one guy.
While magnificent and inspiring, Shakespeare’s language is also complex, full of archaisms and requires much referring back to glossaries and stop-start reading before anyone can begin to talk about what it means.
It’s alienating and counter-productive to force it on anyone. Instead of being a key that opens a door to the richness of the English language, Shakespeare is a switch guaranteed to turn off adolescent interest.
These obstacles make it almost impossible to see him clearly. Young minds shut down and there is a domino effect to the rest of literature, both in the so-called canon and beyond.
Also, as any parent knows, a sure way to inspire a teenager’s interest in something is to put it off limits. “Shakespeare’s great. Absolutely amazing. But I don’t think you’re ready to handle him yet. Give it a few years.” It’s a strategy as old as Eve.
What would Shakespeare think of all this? In Love’s Labour’s Lost and Hamlet he satirises the very pedantry that the notion implies. He didn’t see himself as writing for the ages. He personally made no effort to preserve his plays in printed form. He wrote for the stage and the few hours that performance took. It’s one reason two of his plays have been lost.
Worship of Shakespeare has a name – bardolatry, coined by his arch critic George Bernard Shaw. Like any religion, it should not be forced on children. They should be left to make up their own minds when they are old enough to decide for themselves.
