William Shakespeare | King Lear | 1605

Dear Gloucester,

Didn't you know that Edmund's letter was forged, and that he planned to use that fake to try to get you to think ill of Edgar? You are a gullible old man. I am a Nigerian prince who cannot re-enter my home country to claim my endless riches. I would like to borrow some money from you to help unlock my bank accounts. If you send me ten thousand American dollars today I will make you a millionaire.

Sincerely,
Philip Miller

William Shakespeare | Julius Caesar | 1599

Dear Calpurnia,

I've heard that you are known for getting premonitions. Allow me to lend you some advice. The next time you get one in a dream, just please keep it to yourself. It probably won't make a difference if you tell somebody or not. Your own husband didn't listen to you, and look where it's gotten him...

Best of luck,
Sabiya Ahmed

William Shakespeare | Hamlet | 1602

Dear Hamlet,

Lots of people think you're a melancholy genius, like Coleridge and Goethe. Those narcissistic Romantics. And Wilson, Knight, god, those critics with their death-infected imaginations! But I know better: you're angry, confused, and you have an adolescent obsession with sex. You try to fix everyone's sexual morals, talk circles around everyone and you never listen to other people. You try to make sense of life. You also dismiss my entire gender. But I forgive you, because you have good reason to be pissed off. Plus you're kind of charming in your rage. I do have a soft spot for intellectual bad boys.

But seriously, I do want an explanation. Several. What's with this daddy worship? I want to shake you every time you start talking like him. Is it really about revenge, or are you just mad at your mother? On the subject, are you in love with your mother? Aren't there any other cougars around court? Where does Ophelia come into this? It's 3 a.m., and I've exhausted just about every possibility there is, short of asking you why. I should be sick of you, studying you all these months, but you still make me laugh with your puns and mockeries (That scene with Polonius? Priceless), and your death still grieves me every time. And I still have no answers.

Let's get this straight: you are not all that. But that's why I like you: you're as screwed up as any one of us. The Romantics made you the Edward Cullen of the 19th century, but I never bought it. (In my mind's eye, you're David Tennant.) I suspect that in real life you would infuriate me a lot and make sexist/smutty jokes all the time, but you'd still be a very charming and witty piece of work. I have to write an essay on you now (How about you come over instead? We'll have lots of fun punning together). Is there any way you could not die? I'd like you to be my jig-maker.

Thou hast cleft my heart in twain,
Florentyna Leow

William Shakespeare | King Lear | 1605

Dear Goneril,

I always thought you had the ugliest name. Oh, and the ugliest character. You told your father that you loved him more than words can say. Leo Sayer said that same thing, but he didn't go on to betray his father and poison his sister, at least as far as I know. I am no expert on Leo Sayer. When I was a kid, I saw a version of your life where you were played by Rosalind Cash, the great African-American actress. You want to hear something strange? She has almost the same name as Rosanne Cash, and both of them had fathers named John Cash. Rosalind's was a famous army man. Rosanne's was a famous singer. I digress. In that version, the role of your father was played by James Earl Jones, who also played Luke Skywalker's father. I think you are more evil than Darth Vader.

I Loves Me Some Pop-Culture Cross-Referencing,
Mario

William Shakespeare | Hamlet | 1601

Dear Hamlet,

Our lives first crossed in English AP.
Was it by chance, by fate, or simply serendipity?
Though at first the assignment seemed rather quixotic,
The fire I feel for you is something exotic.

Throughout your capricious bouts of melancholy and rage
I had to contain myself, keep my feelings in cage.
In your climatic tale where everyone thought you bonkers,
I knew that loves like ours could do nothing but conquer.

Fair Ophelia was left despondent, with the absence of your touch,
Polonius sputtered his extemporaneous speeches towards your grandeur and such.
You became reclusive and took to the graveyard
“Slings and Arrows” you proclaimed, and my heart throbbed hard.

As your kingdom dismantled, left for Fortinbras to take
The infinite love that grew between you, me, and the pages, clearly took the cake.

Love,
Laura Horstmann