The Tempest by William Shakespeare

BOOK REVIEW

Reviewing Judi Dench’s novel last week prompted me to reread my favourite Shakespearean play, The Tempest – a play filled with storms, sorcery, romance and forgiveness.

What more could anyone want from an enjoyable read?

First performed in the early 1600s, it is thought to be Shakespeare’s final solo work, and it feels like a fitting farewell.

The story has all the magic, humour, and drama you’d expect, but at its heart, it is about letting go of anger, of power, and even of the stage itself, something we could all learn from today.

The play begins with a literal storm.

Prospero, the former Duke of Milan, now lives on a remote island with his daughter Miranda and with the help of his books and his loyal spirit-servant Ariel, he conjures up a tempest that shipwrecks his enemies on the island.

Among them are his scheming brother Antonio, who stole his dukedom, and Alonso, King of Naples.

Prospero finally has the chance to take revenge, but what unfolds is far more interesting than simple payback.

One of the joys of The Tempest is its cast of characters with the beautiful and innocent Miranda, who has grown up isolated from the world and sees other people for the first time when the shipwreck survivors arrive.

Her instant love for Alonso’s son Ferdinand may feel sudden, but it gives the play a sweet, hopeful core, while the drunken antics of Stephano and Trinculo provide comic relief, as they stumble around plotting unsuccessfully to take control of the island.

My most beloved character is Caliban, the island’s native inhabitant, who resents Prospero for taking over his home.

For me the depth of emotion and description Shakespeare gives us is incredible.

He paints him as monstrous, but modern audiences often sympathise with him, as do I,  seeing him as a symbol of the colonised, forced into servitude and slavery by an outsider.

In today’s world, where discussions of empire, Indigenous rights, and cultural identity remain pressing, Caliban’s struggle for freedom feels remarkably current.

What makes The Tempest stand out is the way it mixes the magical with the deeply human.

Ariel creates illusions, vanishes at will, and sings haunting songs, but his greatest wish is for something entirely ordinary – freedom.

Prospero has the power to command storms and spirits, but what he struggles with most is his own anger.

By the end of the play, he chooses forgiveness over vengeance, setting Ariel free and reconciling with his enemies.

This decision is strikingly relevant today, in a world where conflicts often end in bitterness rather than reconciliation and Shakespeare reminds us that mercy can be more transformative than revenge.

The play also raises questions about illusion and reality as Prospero’s magic creates dazzling visions which fade into nothing.

In our own digital age, where social media, virtual reality, and online personas blur the line between truth and performance, this theme feels especially sharp.

Shakespeare’s warning that appearances can deceive rings as true now as it did four centuries ago.

The Tempest still feels fresh because its concerns are timeless; it is a story about power, but also about compassion.

It explores questions of justice, freedom, and identity that remain central to modern life, with humour, romance, spectacle, and reflection.

I hope it will captivate some of our readers.

Julie Chessman