A retelling of Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, Margaret Atwood’s Hag-Seed tells the story of a director named Felix who, after being ousted from his job at a prominent theater festival, begins teaching Shakespeare in a prison, eventually using his new position to get back at his old enemies. Both novel and play center around a protagonist who does his best to control the direction of the plot and the actions of those around him. In this sense, Shakespeare’s Prospero—who uses his magic powers to exact revenge on his enemies—and Atwood’s Felix—whose craftiness as a thespian allows him to achieve his own vengeance—represent the playwright or author who inevitably controls his or her creative work. Both works use their powerful protagonists to contrast the inherently contrived nature of theater with its ability to reflect and influence real life. However, while Shakespeare seems to use Prospero to meditate uneasily on his own long career as a playwright, Atwood ultimately uses this contradiction to argue for the moral utility of theater and the importance of prioritizing it within a society.
Often seeming to control the actions of those around them, both Prospero and Felix are like playwrights controlling the theater of their own lives; their outsized power points out the artificiality lurking in even the most realistic theatrical productions. In The Tempest, Prospero is a wizard who uses his magic powers to bring about the outcomes that he wants. He causes a storm that strands his nemeses, Antonio and Sebastian, on his island, and he leads them to start plotting against each other, making them powerless against him and eventually forcing them to apologize. He even engineers the romance between his daughter, Miranda, and Sebastian’s son Ferdinand.
Felix obviously has no supernatural powers, but his creative genius makes him equal to Prospero in manipulating those around him (reincarnating him as an actual thespian, Atwood strengthens the link between the powerful protagonist and the world of theater). He flirts with Estelle, the prison advocate who hires him, in order to get special favors and stage his subversive version of The Tempest; he also convinces the prisoners to turn the play into a sly revolt, never telling them that the politicians they’re “kidnapping” are his personal enemies. Like Prospero, he throws together his protégé Anne-Marie and the young thespian (and son of Felix’s enemy) Frederick, prompting them to fall in love.
In both cases, the protagonists’ ability and desire to manipulate the action of the plot affects their relationships with those around them. Prospero frequently emerges as unlikeable, more interested in getting the better of others than taking care of those he loves, like his daughter Miranda; he triumphs in humbling his brother, Antonio, even though he can’t make him understand his wrongdoing or reconcile with him. Similarly, Felix’s obsession with his own plots makes him feel distant even from people he genuinely likes, like Anne-Marie or Estelle. The “plays” that the men stage in their respective worlds make them unable to feel natural in their own lives.
Despite their seemingly unnatural character, the theatrical revenges staged by Prospero and Felix both reflect and improve real life. In both cases, the protagonists expose and punish the villainy of those around them, which—especially in Hag-Seed—is presented as a social service. Atwood presents Tony Price and Sal O’Nally, Felix’s enemies, as greedy and selfish politicians. The prison’s production of The Tempest reveals the murderous impulses that have always been lurking behind their masquerade as virtuous public servants; by removing them from political power, Felix benefits their constituents.
Just like Miranda and Ferdinand in The Tempest, Anne-Marie and Frederick emerge as deeply compatible lovers, whose relationship is marked by “joy” and “enthusiasm” and rescues them both from loneliness and insecurity. Although the relationship is arranged by Felix, who has become a father-figure to Anne-Marie, and relies on the outright deception of Frederick, it proves one of the most positive developments at the end of the novel.
Just as importantly, Atwood adds another dimension to the interaction between theater and real life through the plays that Felix helps the prisoners stage. Working through violent political dramas like Julius Caesar or Macbeth, the prisoners are able to address the violence in their own pasts and come to terms with their incarceration. Even though prison officials doubt that they will be able to relate to “classic” works like Shakespeare, the prisoners see his plays as closely linked to the circumstances of their actual lives.
To the very end of The Tempest, Shakespeare seems uneasy about these contradictions in the nature of theater; however, Atwood chooses to focus on theater’s utility in the real world, arguing that it is an important social good. Most scholars concur that Shakespeare intended Prospero to represent himself; this is especially important because Prospero remains isolated and somewhat unhappy even in his triumph, saying that all his magic powers are gone and his own strength is “most faint.” This seems to suggest that genius in the world of theater is inherently false, not reflective on one’s character in real life. At the end of his monologue, he implores the audience to “set me free”; while he’s able to manipulate everyone within the world of the play, he feels powerless before the people who view it.
By contrast, Atwood’s prisoners have grown through contact with the world of theater, and seem primed for successful reentry into society. Additionally, Felix has arrived at a new stage of fulfillment and tranquility with his staging of The Tempest. In this narrative, it’s the people who see theater as artificial and unrelated to real life—Tony and Sal—who are ultimately proven wrong and vanquished. Part of Felix’s revenge is securing continued funding for the theater program within the prison. This development seems to affirm theater’s close relationship to real life and its ability to act as a social good, and allows Atwood to argue for the importance of valuing the arts—a modern political angle that is largely absent from the original play.
Both The Tempest and Hag-Seed interrogate the connection between theater and real life. However, while Shakespeare’s play never resolves conflicts between theater’s artificiality and the deep truths it’s able to embody, Atwood comes to view the world of theater as, if not totally reflective of real life, at least able to improve it.
Theater and The Tempest ThemeTracker
Theater and The Tempest Quotes in Hag-Seed
What to do with such a sorrow? It was like an enormous black cloud boiling up over the horizon…He had to transform it, or at the very least enclose it.
Miranda would become the daughter who had not been lost; who’d been a protecting cherub, cheering her exiled father…What he couldn’t have in life he might still catch sight of through his art: just a glimpse, from the corner of his eye.
By choosing this shack and the privations that would come with it, he would of course be sulking. He’d be hair-shirting himself, playing the flagellant, the hermit. Watch me suffer. He recognized his own act, an act with no audience but himself.
Watching the many faces watching their own faces as they pretended to be someone else—Felix found that strangely moving. For once in their lives, they loved themselves.
It’s necessary to look like the version of himself that’s become familiar up at Fletcher: the genial but authoritative retired teacher and theater wonk, a little eccentric and naïve but an okay guy who’s generously donating his time because he believes in the possibility of betterment.
His magic garment is hanging in there too, shoved to the back. The cloak of his defeat, dead husk of his drowned self.
No, not dead, but changed. In the gloom, in the gloaming, it’s been transforming itself, slowly coming alive.
This is the extent of it, Felix muses. My island domain. My place of exile. My penance.
My theater.
Your profanity, thinks Felix, has often been your whoreson hag-born progenitor of literacy. Along with your whoreson cigarettes, may the red plague rid them.
“Colonialism,” says 8Handz, who spent a lot of time on the Internet in his former life as a hacker. “Prospero thinks he’s so awesome and superior, he can put down what other people think.”
…the island is a theater. Prospero is a director. He’s putting on a play within which there’s another play. If his magic holds and his play is successful, he’ll get his heart’s desire. But if he fails…
But my other name’s Hag-Seed, or that’s what he call me
He call me a lotta names, he play me a lotta games
He call me poison, a filth, a slave,
He prison me up to make me behave,
But I’m Hag-Seed!
“That’s not bad,” says Anne-Marie. “Maybe with more feeling. Pretend you’re falling in love with me.”
“But,” says Freddie. “Maybe I am falling in love with you. O you wonder!”
“We could put them on show,” says TimEEz. “Gibbering lunatics. Street people. Addicts. Dregs of society. Always good for a laugh.”
…it’s Ariel who changes Prospero’s mind, from revenge to forgiveness, because despite the crap they did, he feels sorry for the bad guys and what they’re being put through…so we take it that’s okay—to change our own minds.
Ain’t gonna any more lick your feet
Or walk behind you on the street,
Ain’t gonna get on the back of the bus,
And you can give our land right back to us!
Prospero says to the audience, in effect, Unless you help me sail away, I’ll have to stay on the island – that is, he’ll be under an enchantment. He’ll be forced to re-enact his feelings of revenge, over and over. It would be like hell.
What has he been thinking—keeping her tethered to him all this time? Forcing her to do his bidding? How selfish he has been! Yes, he loves her: his dear one, his only child. But he knows what she truly wants, and what he owes her.