ABSTRACT

Spare, intense, concentrated to the point of being riddling, The Tempest provokes imaginative activity on the part of its audiences or readers. Its very compression, the fact that it seems to hide as much as it reveals, compels a peculiarly creative response. The play works its magic on our senses by depriving them, making us fill the spaces within its dramatic texture, enlisting our imaginations in the service of the play's fabrication. This chapter argues that magic and imagination are both put to work explicitly in the play's silences, unexpected transitions, and structural discontinuities. The significant developments of The Tempest occur during interruptions of dramatic progress. Prospero's magic repeatedly inhibits the completion of action contemplated by other characters: he puts some to sleep, and stills the swords of others. Instead of action, Prospero offers spectacular shows that appear out of nowhere and vanish just as abruptly: the tempest, banquet, and masque, all punctuations of action, are themselves interrupted.