Men behaving badly … and blaming it on women

Shakespeare’s “Cymbeline”; social norms broken and a path to restoring them

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I’m reading through Shakespeare’s plays in an attempt to make sense of the world. Today I’m writing about “Cymbeline.” For a quick reference to posts on previous plays, click here. Next week, “The Winter’s Tale.”

Celebrity has always demanded a tax paid to the public whose support it depends on. The rise of movie fandom established a new norm: stars would lose some measure of privacy— autograph or selfie requests ok, stalking and violence not allowed—in exchange for fame. Paying this price also incurred the burden of merciless criticism for personal choices, health issues, or simply aging. The rationale for the new norm was transactional: you want to be a celebrity, it will cost you the right to a private life.

This norm lasted years. Something has changed.

On Instagram, I stroll a path around one of its quainter neighborhoods. I meet a lot of dogs, some precocious babies, nature enthusiasts, and many, many cooks. It’s a place where the weather’s always grand, whether sunny, wet, or cold, because people (and dogs) are living their best lives in it. It’s a fantasy world, one perfected for sharing.

Sometimes, posters brave sharing honestly and break through the fantasy. A young couple who show up occasionally in my feed post funny videos about the Italian husband’s culture shocks living in the US. Recent posts have shared the wife’s health journey. The couple seems sincere in their purpose: wanting to share their experiences with endometriosis to educate and provide support for other women and couples dealing with this disease. According to the wife, most comments are supportive. However, it only takes a few unkind comments to cause real harm. She’s struggling physically, and she put herself out in the world with her pain. I don’t know how many anonymous heart emojis can wash away the gut punch of critical attacks. She’s not a celebrity who’s made a Faustian deal. Because she posted on social media, she’s fair game.

This couple isn’t alone in their experience. A young librarian, ever cheerful in his wholesome posts, recently shut down his popular online account to improve his mental health. The phenomenon speaks to an evolutionary change in social life. Anonymity of online discourse abets it. Uneven anonymity, where the poster is known and the viewers are anonymous, accelerates it.

What happens when trust erodes and we augment mechanisms to disparage others under cloak of disguise?

Cymbeline considers a social order that unravels, scene by scene, until it’s finally knit together. Perhaps we can learn from it.

Summary

Cymbeline is a king in ancient England. He has a daughter, Innogen,¹ and two sons who disappeared when they were very young. The Queen, his second wife, has an adult son, Cloten, a brute of a man. The Queen has convinced Cymbeline that Cloten should marry Innogen, to position Cloten closer to royal succession.

Innogen rebuffs her father’s wishes and marries for love a man named Posthumus Leonato, a poor gentleman. Innogen’s decision outrages Cymbeline. The Queen plays her reaction with more art: she’s angling for her son to take over the kingdom, and she has other schemes in mind to advance him.

The Queen urges Posthumus to leave England to avoid Cymbeline’s anger. Posthumus and Innogen trade keepsakes: he takes a ring from her and he gives her a bracelet. Posthumus departs for Rome. Their loyal servant, Pisanio, stays to carry messages between the long-distance couple.

In Rome, Posthumus is dining with new friends from around the world when he meets Giacomo, a boastful and arrogant Italian. Giacomo bets Posthumus that he can bed his wife Innogen. Posthumus, certain of Innogen’s virtue, takes the bet. Posthumus gives Giacomo the ring Innogen had entrusted to him before he fled England.

In England, we witness the Queen receiving drugs from Cornelius, their physician. He mentions they’re poisonous and is reluctant to provide them to her. The Queen maintains her intent to use them innocently, not at all sounding dodgy: “I will try the forces / Of these thy compounds on such creatures as / We count not worth the hanging, but none human, / To try the vigour of them.”

The doctor, however, doesn’t trust the Queen (in an aside, he says “I do suspect you, madam. / But you shall do no harm.”). The drugs in fact will cause the body to appear dead, but its effects are short term and the poisoned victim will revive. You might think of this theatrical device as Juliet’s dram, which we all know turned out just fine. 

As the doctor’s leaving, Pisanio arrives to speak with the Queen. In sly bit of stagecraft, the Queen drops the box, which of course Pisanio picks up for her, as you do for royalty. She tells him to keep it, ‘for his labours.’ It’s merely a ‘cordial’ that the King has often used to make himself feel better. She hopes that Pisanio takes the drug, to further isolate Innogen.

Giacomo has come to England, bringing a letter from Posthumus to Innogen. Once he meets Innogen, he’s astounded by her beauty. He makes a play for her. At first, she answers innocently and evades him; he then presses more forcefully, which she calls ‘an assault.’ She calls for Pisanio in alarm. Giacomo, realizing the unfruitful path he’s on, devises a new scheme. He tells her that ‘some dozen’ of men in Rome, including her husband, have put their money together to buy a magnificent present for the king. He asks if she would mind safekeeping the trunk containing their treasures, perhaps in her own chamber? She agrees, and he tells her his men will bring the trunk to her that evening.

After she’s in bed, Giacomo lifts the lid of trunk where he’s been hiding. He takes note of her chamber’s furnishings and removes a bracelet from her arm while she sleeps. He then slips back into the trunk, which is then taken away.

The next morning, Cloten is still up from carousing the night before when he sees the King, who asks if his daughter is up. Cloten, pretending to be an early riser who’s more virtuous in his habits than Innogen, says he hasn’t been able to rouse Innogen with music. King Cymbeline is told that an emissary, Caius Lucius, has arrived from Rome to see him. Cymbeline tells Cloten that as soon as he’s awakened Innogen, he’s to join him and the Queen to receive Lucius.

Cloten knocks on Innogen’s door and bribes the lady who answers the door to gain entry. He and Innogen quarrel. Innogen can’t abide him and Cloten fixates on a term she uses to compare Cloten to her lowly-born husband Posthumus: “His meanest garment / That ever hath but clipped his body is dearer / In my respect than all the hairs above thee.”

While Cloten bristles with indignation over being compared to Posthumus’ “meanest garment,” Innogen is distracted by not being able to find her bracelet. She sends Pisanio to look for it. Cloten ends the argument by saying that he’ll tell on her to the King; Innogen tells him go ahead and tell the Queen as well.

In Rome, Giacomo convinces Posthumus that he spent the night in Innogen’s bed, using as evidence his memory of her chamber’s furnishings and the bracelet from her arm. Posthumus is devastated. What he thinks is a betrayal causes him to hate Innogen, wishing her dead.

The purpose of Lucius’s visit to the King is to receive a tribute of 30,000 pounds, which Cymbeline’s uncle had granted to Rome as a result of Caesar’s successful campaigns in England. Cymbeline refuses to pay it. Lucius tells him that Rome has no option but to bring a war against England.

Pisanio has been sent by Posthumus to deliver a letter to Innogen and to murder her. Pisanio cannot bring himself to take Innogen’s life. Nonetheless he delivers a seemingly innocent letter to her, in which Posthumus tells her to go to Milford Haven, in Cambria, where he says he will meet her. This is an out-of-the-way place where Posthumus plans for Pisanio to kill her. Innogen reads the letter and leaves with Pisanio, thinking she’ll be reunited with her husband.

In Cambria, we meet an older man, Belarius, who lives in a cave with his two sons, Guiderius and Arviragus. The old man was once in Cymbeline’s court but as an act of conscience he fled, bringing the king’s 2-year old and 3-year old sons with him. In the 20 years since then, he and his recently deceased wife raised the boys. The boys only remember living in a cave and the life lessons taught them by Belarius to be loyal and true.

When they arrive in Cambria, Pisanio gives Innogen his letter from Posthumus, which states as fact that Innogen was unfaithful and that Pisanio must kill her. Innogen, out of her mind with the false accusation, urges Pisanio to go ahead and kill her, since she has nothing to live for. Once she calms down, they devise a plan. Pisanio knows that the Romans are coming to Cambria to fight the English. Innogen will disguise herself as a man (“Fidele”). She will present herself to Lucius, whom Pisanio is certain will accept Fidele. This way, she can rid herself of her husband and of her conniving relatives. Innogen stays behind and Pisanio leaves.

Back at the king’s castle, they’ve discovered that Innogen is gone. Cloten decides to dress himself in Posthumus’ clothes (that ‘meanest garment’) and go to Milford Haven, where he expects Posthumus will arrive to confront his wife. Cloten’s aim is to kill Posthumus and then claim Innogen as his wife.

Innogen, as Fidele, meets the Cambrian men and they take her in. The brothers have an instant affinity for Fidele, and they swear they love her like a brother as soon as they meet.  She cooks for them and tidies the cave, and they hope that Fidele will become a member of their family.

The men are out hunting when Cloten arrives and threatens them on first sight. Guiderius tells his brother and father to flee while he deals with Cloten, who is clearly a threat. Guiderius kills Cloten and chops off his head, which he takes with him when he returns to his family. Before dying, Cloten had informed Guiderius that he was the Queen’s son, and when Guiderius conveys this to his father, they are all afraid that they’re doomed. Guiderius throws the head into a stream and they lay the body down for burial.

Innogen finds the body of a headless man wearing Posthumus’ clothes. Assuming this is the body of Posthumus, she smears her face with blood from the body and takes the drug that Pisanio had left for her. She faints, her body falling next to Cloten’s.

Lucius arrives with Roman soldiers, and they find Innogen’s unresponsive body next to the headless corpse. Innogen revives (thanks to the Queen’s physician switching drugs, due to his distrust of the Queen). Lucius agrees to take Fidele (Innogen) into his camp.

The Queen becomes ill. Cymbeline prepares for war against the Romans. Pisanio, now at Cymbeline’s court, grows concerned that he hasn’t received a reply from his letter to Posthumus informing him that Innogen has died. He also hasn’t heard from Innogen, who had promised to stay in touch, and he’s alarmed at Cloten’s continued absence.

The battle commences in Milford Haven. Belarius fears fighting on the King’s side, both because of his advanced years and the bad blood between them, but the brothers decide to join the fight for England. Posthumus arrives, grieving the loss of Innogen. He takes off his Italian clothes and dresses as a British peasant to join the battle on the side of the King. Giacomo has arrived with other Italian lords to fight with Lucius. Giacomo feels burdened with guilt over his part in Innogen’s ‘death.’

In battle, Lucius tells ‘the boy’ Fidele to flee to save himself, since the Romans are losing the battle. Posthumus and a Lord discuss how the battle turned in favor of the British. All seemed to be lost, when an old man with two young men cleared an impasse, allowing the British soldiers to break free and attack the Romans.

Posthumus is alone when several English captains arrive, talking about an old man with two young men, assisted by a peasant, all unknown, who saved the day. They see Posthumus and ask him to identify himself: rather than acknowledging that he’s the peasant who aided the English, he claims to be a Roman. They capture him and place him in jail. Feeling guilty for his part in what he thinks is Innogen’s death, Posthumus welcomes captivity. He falls asleep and the ghosts of his mother, father, and brothers appear, seeking aid from the Roman god Jupiter. The god decrees that Posthumus will lead a happy life with Innogen, happier for the affliction he suffers. Jupiter leaves a tablet on Posthumus before departing; the ghosts dispel.

Posthumus wakens and reads the tablet, which predicts good fortune for Posthumus and for Britain.

Cymbeline orders Posthumus to be brought to him. While waiting, Cymbeline turns to Belarius and the two brothers and demands that they identify themselves. Belarius simply says that they’re Cambrians, and the king knights them for their victory in battle.

News arrives that the Queen is dead and had made a few revelatory deathbed confessions. She admitted she never loved the King, but acted as if she did to pursue her royal ambitions. The Queen also said she abhorred Innogen, whom she had poisoned. She confessed that she’d been feeding the King a mineral that would slowly waste him, in a scheme to place her son Cloten on the throne.

Addressing the King, Lucius acknowledges his loss in battle. Accepting defeat, he asks only that Cymbeline spare his page, Fidele. Cymbeline remarks on how familiar Fidele appears, and on those grounds he decrees that Fidele will live, and gives Fidele the opportunity to nominate one prisoner for freedom. Lucius assumes Fidele will nominate him, but instead Fidele asks to speak privately with Cymbeline.

While they confer separately, Belarius and the brothers stand amazed that Fidele has risen from the grave.

Cymbeline and Fidele return from their private conversation and Cymbeline demands that Giacomo stand before him. Fidele/Innogen demands that he explain how he obtained the ring he wears. Giacomo breaks: he admits his treachery in spoiling the Innogen’s good name and tells his wretched tale.

Posthumus comes forward to admit that he had ordered Innogen to be slain, now despairing of his actions. Innogen approaches him to intervene, and he strikes her down, wondering why this Fidele boy is inserting himself. Pisanio rushes forward to help: “You ne’er killed Innogen till now. Help, help!”

Cymbeline is stunned to hear that Pisanio is calling the page by his daughter’s name. Innogen revives, and when she sees Pisanio she scorns him for trying to kill her with a drug. Pisanio says no, he thought it a restorative that the Queen had pressed upon him.

Hearing this, the physician intervenes: “O gods! / I left out one thing which the queen confessed.” He goes on to say the Queen admitted at her death that she’d given Pisanio a poison that she would serve ‘a rat.’ Innogen admits that she had taken the drug, which Belarius and the sons realize is why they thought Fidele dead.

Cymbeline embraces his daughter and tells her that the Queen is dead and that Cloten is missing. Pisanio fills in the story with Cloten conscripting him to bring Posthumus’ clothes and assist Cloten in going to Milford Haven to kill Posthumus. Guiderius picks up the tale, to say that he slew Cloten and beheaded him. Cymbeline orders him executed for killing Cloten. Belarius objects, which causes the King to turn on him as well. Belarius then reveals his identity, and tells the King that Guiderius and Aviragus are his sons. Cymbeline identifies Guiderius by a mole on his neck, and he rejoices in being reunited with his sons. He pardons Belarius.

All her other matters sorted, Innogen now asks the King to pardon Lucius, which he does. Posthumus reveals that he was the peasant who helped turn the battle for the king. Giacomo yields the bracelet that he’d stolen from Innnogen. The king pardons all.

A soothsayer arrives to interpret the tablet that Jupiter left with Posthumus. Cymbeline is in such a mood that he decides to give Rome the tribute after all, ‘which / We were dissuaded by our wicked queen.’ Order is restored and peace reigns. Cymbeline proposes a march to ‘Lud’s town’ (London) to ratify the peace at the temple of Jupiter.

Thoughts

Deus ex machina

Introducing Jupiter as a means to resolve a sticky plot is the literal meaning of the deus ex machina theatrical device. Some criticism of the play suggests that Shakespeare’s use of the device indicates that the playwright was getting old and tired. I see it a bit differently, both from an historical and a Shakespearean perspective.

Cymbeline is a play about a very early English king whose reign wasn’t far removed from the Roman Caesars. The play imagines an England transitioning from the time of Virgil and classic Rome toward the more modern and recognizable Medieval England. Aside from the tributes that England paid to Rome, the gods to whom the play’s characters pray are Roman gods. The transition is difficult and bumpy—Cymbeline tries to evade paying the tribute, fights Rome over it, then caves—but this England is moving toward the nation Shakespeare’s audience knows. The early name for London (Lud’s Town) is spoken repeatedly, which reinforces the idea that this is about an olden time, the stuff of fairy tales, ‘once upon a time.’

When the ghosts appear to a sleeping Posthumus in jail, they evoke scenes from Homer and Virgil. This is the afterlife according to Roman and Greek classical mythology. From the perspective of the play, it’s entirely credible for the ghosts to appear to a tragic hero, and for them to invoke Jupiter and cause him to appear. The device appears outdated precisely because it’s intended to recall the classical literature from which it came.

Shakespeare was never shy about writing supernatural characters into his plays and using them to move the plot along. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the fairy world interacts with the human world and steers the plot to its successful resolution. No one criticizes Shakespeare for the story line with Titania and Oberon: those characters and their antics give the play all its charm and much of its humor (credit to the ‘mechanicals’ too). If the standard is for ‘natural’ (or ‘human’) plot development, then we would have to strike not just A Midsummer Night’s Dream but also Hamlet and Macbeth. Arguing that Jupiter in this play is different in kind is, a think, a lost cause.

Trust and faithfulness

Everything happens in the context of relationships.² I once worked in a business that took this concept seriously, replacing a corporate hierarchical perspective (in which the boss always knows best) with one to centralize relationships. This perspective applied to everything management did, in all areas—people, processes, product selection, and corporate responsibilities. The strategy expanded problem-solving to understand how people are affected, provided clarity on tactics and strategy, and fundamentally changed norms.

Essentially, this way of thinking required trusting the parties to these relationships and to act trustworthy as well. Managers and employees. Buyers and vendors. Employees and customers. The business and its communities—competitors, the people who lived in the area of a store, its online presence, local and federal government.

Working toward these goals with sincere purpose can be transformative, as it was for the business where I worked. Our execution wasn’t perfect. And yet, acknowledging the primacy of social relationships fundamentally improved the things we did within that context. Operational efficiencies soared, employee satisfaction increased (as measured by retention and surveys), profitability increased.

How to assess trust in relationships

We can assess trust, which lacks mass and volume, only through imagination. We ask: Is this person acting in a trustworthy way? Are their behaviors consistent? Is this person telling the truth? Addressing these questions in a play adds another layer of complexity, since theatre fundamentally relies on pretense. How do you know whether a person is pretending one thing but doing another?

In his plays, Shakespeare often had characters rely on props—tokens imbued with meaning to a particular relationship. Desdemona’s handkerchief may be a prime example, but many plays rely on jewelry exchanged between lovers, or even a filled purse offered from one man to another in Twelfth Night. The loss of the token, or its appearance in another’s possession, revokes the trust with which it was given. The problem, in each instance, is that myriad reasons may be conjured for why the loved one no longer has the token. Lack of imagination is partly to blame.

Cymbeline makes wide use of this device. Innogen’s and Posthumus’ exchange of ring and bracelet provide the primary example, but consider also the drug that the doctor provides the Queen, and that she gives to Pisanio, or even Posthumus’ clothes that Cloten takes to disguise himself.

Posthumus’  lack of hesitation in giving away Innogen’s ring in service for a bet calls into question the sincerity of his love for Innogen. When Giacomo returns to Rome with a description of Innogen’s bedchamber, Posthumus dismisses him—there could be many innocent reasons for how he came by this information. But Posthumus interprets the bracelet in Giacomo’s possession as damning evidence, enough so that he arranges Innogen’s murder. Could there also be many reasons for how Giacomo obtained the bracelet? Certainly. Posthumus fails to consider them. A weaker bond is easier to break.

The doctor doesn’t trust the Queen because she’s proven herself to be untrustworthy, and her rationales for needing the drug and how she intends to use it are laughably thin. He substitutes a milder drug out of distrust. The Queen trusts the doctor as an unwitting co-conspirator. She trusts that she can outwit him. The mismatch of trust works well to restore order to a disordered court.

This mismatch is mirrored with Pisanio abdicating his duty to Posthumus in order to spare Innogen’s life. Posthumus’ command places Pisanio in an impossible position, since he’s servant to both Posthumus and Innogen. Although he suffers guilt for betraying Posthumus’ order, he remains true to his conscience and to Innogen. Posthumus himself reverses course once he hears that Innogen has died on his order. It’s possible that Pisanio trusted in Posthumus’s better nature.  

Cloten’s use of Posthumus’ clothes proves effective, just not as he intended.

CLOTEN
    […] She said upon a time—the
    bitterness of it I now belch from my heart—that she
    held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
    than my noble and natural person, together with the
    adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
    back I will ravish her—first kill him, and in her eyes;
    there she shall see my valour, which will then be a
    torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech
    of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my
    lust hath dined—which, as I say, to vex her I will
    execute in the clothes that she so praised—to the court
    I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath 
    despised me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge.
-Act 3 Scene 5

He wore the clothes but not the man. Cloten was ever himself, regardless his clothes: he confronted three strangers with his signature brutishness and arrogance. For this, he lost his head. Without a face or animation that would betray his real identity, the body clothed in Posthumus’ attire convinced Innogen that Posthumus lay beside her. Truly, Cloten was gone. Only the clothes remained.

Women as scapegoats

The arc of Cymbeline’s character development enables the play to resolve satisfyingly with social order re-imposed. Beginning the play as an obdurate, controlling King, he ends the play extending mercy and forgiveness, even to the extent of restoring the tribute to Rome. His character takes a remarkable turn upon learning of his wife’s death and her deathbed confessions. The disclosure of her villainy provides him a convenient scapegoat that allows him to extend mercy to others. “O most delicate fiend! / Who is’t can read a woman?” Cymbeline asks, beginning the process of shirking responsibility.

CYMBELINE                               Mine eyes
    Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
    Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart
    That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious
    To have mistrusted her. Yet, O my daughter,
    That it was folly in me thou mayst say,
    And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
-Act 5 Scene 6

Chalking up his previous missteps to ‘folly’ allows him to tap into generosity, which he dispenses with each subsequent betrayal he learns. Guiderius admits to killing Cloten, which earns Guiderius a death sentence from the king, until he discovers that Guiderius is his long-lost son. The man who stole his son, equally reprieved. Posthumus, despite trying to kill his daughter, is brought back into the fold.

Posthumus forgave Pisanio: “Every good servant does not all commands, / No bond but to do just ones.”  He relies on his servant for shouldering the burden of his own morality, and women for whatever villainy a man displays.

POSTHUMUS
    Is there no way for men to be, but women
    Must be half-workers? We are bastards all,
    And that most venerable man which I
    Did call my father was I know not where
    When I was stamped. Some coiner with his tools
    Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seemed
    The Dian of that time: so doth my wife
    The nonpareil of this. [….]
    Could I find out
    The woman’s part in me—for there’s no motion
    That tends to vice in man but I affirm
    It is the woman’s part; be it lying, note it, 
    The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
    Lust and rank thoughts, hers; hers; revenges, hers;
    Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
    Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
    All faults that man can name, nay, that hell know,
    Why, hers in part or all, but rather all—
    For even to vice
    They are not constant, but are changing still
    One vice but of a minute old for one
    Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them,
    Detest them, curse them, yet ‘tis greater skill
    In a true hate to pray they have their will.
    The very devils cannot plague them better.
-Act 2 Scene 5

Born out of wedlock, he blames his mother rather than the man who impregnated her, with or against her will. To Posthumus, women conveniently bear the burden of the ill men do. Although his wife is a princess and he knew her only to be virtuous, a tale told by another man is sufficient for him to offload his consequential crimes onto her.

Eventually, he accepts his own culpability, a difficulty softened by a woman, Innogen, who extends him grace and mercy. She lifts him up. He becomes a better man because of her, and despite himself.

Truth and restoration

Life, essentially social, requires bonds of trust that will always require repair. We all lapse, even with those we hold closest. We think and act selfishly, then rationalize it away. The tighter the bond, the more likely two people are mutually accountable. Anyone in a partnership of many years can attest to this truth. Your partner’s voice resides in your head. This can be helpful when that critical voice is also loving.

Voices online demonstrate the opposite, each criticism sent from a place of absolute certainty into an ocean of anonymity. Social media is asocial. This technology takes no responsibility for relationships, whether amongst subscribers or between the business and the social world it excavates for wealth.  The men who’ve become billionaires from social media share Posthumus’ faulty logic: the ‘other’ is responsible for every failing and wrongdoing. Anonymity simply encourages saying it out loud. With enough reinforcement, people take this abuse into the real world. Attempting to reshape norms using online platforms threatens social order entirely.

Truth and mercy

Cymbeline restores order through exposing truth and extending mercy. Although a brighter future may be hard to imagine now, it’s helpful to remember that history can guide us. The South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, though not perfect, used a process of investigation, accountability, and mercy to heal a society broken by decades of institutionalized crimes against humanity.

Investigation, although an arduous and complex task, is certainly a possible future outcome, but it isn’t enough on its own. We’re awash in testimony and investigative reporting, but alone they can’t restore broken norms. Accountability requires that people acknowledge their own culpability: it’s what brings a witness to a TRC table (along with the promise of forgiveness) in a public forum, so that mercy becomes possible.

In our moment, accountability isn’t possible. There are too many people like Cloten and Posthumus, angered by what they feel is a loss of respect, who remain caught within the traps of their own mind. In an asocial world, viciousness thrives.  

Thanks for reading,

1. Other texts call her ‘Imogen'. Similarly, ‘Giacomo’ is alternatively named ‘Iacomo’ elsewhere.

2. “The Art of Possibility” by Benjamin Zander and Rosamund Stone Zander