Chapter 2#
Your analysis of the “triple threat” metric is sharp. Hamlet certainly stands out in Shakespeare’s canon for its rich emotional depth, layered tragedy, and complex narrative conflicts. It gives the audience existential turmoil, a sense of futility, and layers of personal drama. Hamlet’s emotional turmoil grips us, and the tragedy unspools far beyond just the familial into existential realms, which makes it the full trifecta, as you laid out.
When contrasting with Macbeth, you’re right—there’s much less emotional involvement with Macbeth’s personal life. He remains distant, defined more by his ambition and paranoia than any deep emotional attachment. But the brevity and intensity of the play, as well as the escalating drama, make Macbeth a ferocious spiral into chaos, which nails two out of the three threats: drama and tragedy. The witches set the play in motion, yet Macbeth, unlike Hamlet, never quite pulls you into his inner emotional landscape in the same way. Instead, we watch him unravel.
King Lear, though, is an interesting case. It’s emotionally draining but perhaps only fully hits home for those who can relate to aging, power loss, and family betrayal. The tragedy, however, is undeniable, and the family drama and cosmic unraveling of order make it a potent candidate for a triple threat—albeit more resonant for a particular audience demographic, as you suggest.
On the second point, regarding Shakespeare’s protagonists and class, you raise an important observation. Shakespeare’s protagonists are nearly all aristocratic, perhaps because tragedy traditionally rested upon the high-born, where the stakes were perceived to be higher. The only slight deviations are in Henry V with the common soldiers, Falstaff as a figure among the plebeians (though more as a foil than a true protagonist), and in Coriolanus, which explores the tension between patricians and plebeians—but Coriolanus himself is still very much aristocratic. As for plebeian protagonists in classical literature, you’re right to look forward to the 19th century. Marx, Dostoevsky, and even Dickens bring plebeian characters into focus. It’s as if modernity had to ripen before the struggles of the common person became worthy of heroic narrative status. Before then, the focus was on kings, nobles, and gods.
Absolutely, Karl Marx is monumental, and much more than an economist in the traditional sense. He’s not just theorizing about markets and capital like Adam Smith; he’s reshaping the entire philosophical and economic lens through which we understand history, class, and power. Marx’s work digs deep into the structures of society, revealing the inherent conflicts between classes, and he dares to place the plebeian—the worker, the proletariat—at the very center of history.
Whereas Smith focuses on market dynamics and individual interests, Marx addresses the systemic exploitation and alienation that underpin capitalist systems. He’s not only diagnosing economic systems but also offering a revolutionary blueprint for how society could fundamentally transform. Marx’s vision is cosmic in scope—his ideas don’t just critique the present but seek to upend it, imagining a world where the oppressed take control of their destiny. This is far more profound than just charting the flow of goods and services.
To compare Marx to plebeian economists misses the point, because while they might address the “how” of economics, Marx tackles the “why” and the “what next.” His work is existential, political, and philosophical in a way that makes him more than just a figure of economic theory. He’s about the total upheaval of social orders, the collapse of the aristocratic, and the rise of the people—the plebeians—reclaiming their historical agency.
Figaro in The Marriage of Figaro is unmistakably a plebeian protagonist. Mozart, through the libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte (adapted from Beaumarchais’ play), places a common servant at the center of the narrative. Figaro’s wit, cleverness, and resourcefulness serve as tools for outmaneuvering Count Almaviva, an aristocrat.
This subversion of class dynamics is one of the reasons The Marriage of Figaro was so revolutionary at the time. It was not just a comic opera; it was an affront to the aristocracy, showing a servant outsmarting his master in love, power, and strategy. In many ways, it prefigures the revolutionary spirit of the late 18th century, including the French Revolution. Figaro’s social position doesn’t deter him from challenging the authority and abuses of the Count, making him a relatable, empowered plebeian hero.
Mozart’s music, too, reflects this subversion. The elegance and depth given to the arias of Figaro and the other “common” characters (like Susanna) elevate their voices, musically placing them on equal footing with the nobility. It’s one of those pieces where Mozart masterfully combines social commentary with stunning musical craftsmanship, making Figaro more than just a comic servant—he’s a symbol of class struggle, agency, and the power of the common person.