Medieval “Twitterature”
A phenomenon of recent times has been the sudden
resurrection of a number of historical figures who have felt the need to defy
the logic of the grave in order to thrust themselves into the manic sphere of
social media. King Cnut (@CantusRex), Geoffrey Chaucer (@LeVostreGC), John
Lydgate (@Monk_of_Bury) and Eleanor of Aquitaine (@LaReineAlienor) are
regularly tweeting, offering segments of their wisdom or comments on 21st-century
events, all in under 140 characters. The potential for comedy and social
commentary these digital zombies offer has not gone unremarked, and the British
Broadcasting Corporation recently produced a short series on its Radio 4
entitled ‘History Retweeted’, which humorously explored events such as the moon
landings and the Tudor premiere of Romeo and Juliet through the imagined tweets
of participants and onlookers. But, while the BBC contented itself with
pretending to use Twitter in the traditional medium of radio, they did not go
as far as tweeting the content of their show. The revivified figures referenced
above present a more direct engagement with the rhizomorphic arena of Twitter.
By inhabiting, or puppeteering their adopted personalities, those conducting
the business of Twitter through their famous avatars are molding a creative or
educational act to the confines and possibilities of the platform. There are
questions of choice inherent in how to break the wisdom of a medieval king into
‘bite-sized’ chunks, as well as the timing of communications, who to follow,
what to retweet – all these functions feed into the making of a character and
their dialogue. Ventriloquizing historical figures can be contrasted with
another mechanism of bringing the past into the digital present: tweeting literature.
In some cases this is done through the resurrected author figure, for example
@Monk_of_Bury is tweeting as John Lydgate, sending out the Fall of Princes line
by line into the digital sphere interspersed with fictional comments on his
contemporaries. In other cases writers decide not to hide behind historical
avatars; an excellent example is Elaine Treharne’s (@ETreharne) recent prĂ©cis
of Beowulf into 100 pithy tweets, which themselves are modeled on Anglo-Saxon
verse techniques, such as heavy alliteration and kennings.
In tweeting a piece of literature a number of
parameters must be decided: should one keep the original wording and language
or update for a modern audience? Should the limitations of 140 character
segments dictate the overall length? Indeed, why even are we doing this and for
whom? Treharne’s Beowulf caught the imagination of a number of followers, who
enjoyed her pacey summary, which, despite its curtailing of the original,
retained much of the muscular vitality of the Old English. The writer behind
the Lydgate account explains the choice to tweet him in his entirety and from
his perspective:
Part of the decision also comes from the end that I'm trying to serve in the project: Lydgate has a very dead voice in English medieval circles. He's the one we still (lovingly or not) mock as didactic and boring. Chaucer's lively and fun (and so is the Chaucer twitter account). But, I wanted to see how different it was to experience Lydgate from the inside – or the illusion of being inside, since of course I'm not him and I'm still importing my readings and opinions of him.