In people-who-need-to-go-away news, the alleged Shakespeare thief appears to be milking his fifteen minutes for all that they are worth. As mentioned in a previous blog, amateur collector Raymond Scott was arrested on suspicion of having stolen a copy of the First Folio from a university a decade ago. While he has maintained his innocence throughout, he does not seem to be bothered by the notoriety it is offering him. In fact, the media’s desire to paint Scott as an affected kook has received no greater supporter than Scott himself. Indeed, the man seems to delight in the revelations of his peculiar behavior because it affords him the opportunity to explain it away.

Truly, I cannot imagine why this man is getting the attention he so desperately craves, even in the age of anyone-regardless-talent-or-appeal-can-be-famous-for-a-nanosecond. Still, here I am writing about him, aren’t I? Paris Hilton must be fuming mad right now. Why go to the trouble of leaking a tacky sex tape or getting arrested for a DUI when all she had to do was toss a Folio into her Prada bag next to that obnoxious dog she carries around everywhere and run to the police saying, “Look what I stole!” In the mean time, we’re stuck with this Howard-Hughes-by-way-of-Crispin-Glover weirdo engaged in an ongoing audition for a reality show that could be titled The Shakespeare Borrowers. Even if he didn’t take the book, can’t we arrest him for being annoying?

Did he or didn’t he? That’s the question facing authorities about a man who might or might not have stolen a copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio. The man was recently arrested in Washington after inquiring about the authenticity of a document he believed to be a copy of the First Folio. The issue is whether or not this copy is the same copy that was stolen along with other precious documents from Durham University ten years ago.

As the man maintains his innocence, the media is already eagerly portraying him as a wack-job. Among the personal tidbits included in the article about his arrest are that he lives with his aged mother (gasp!), he is fond of wearing silk pajamas and gloves (freaky!), and he drives around in said regalia in his Ferrari (oh! the horror!). The article makes frequent references to the gentleman’s eccentricity, giving him a Norman-Bates-by-way-of-Howard-Hughes kind of vibe.

In the mean time, whether or not he is a superfreak, this is his story: he bought the copy of the Folio at an auction in Cuba and brought it back to the U.S. to authenticate it. If they can confirm it as a genuine Folio copy, then the next step will be to prove it is the stolen Durham edition. Given the high value placed on Folio copies, the sentence for such a crime might be fairly steep. If that’s the case, Shakespeare could end up sending someone to jail for a very long time.

A copy of the First Folio of Shakespeare’s plays recently sold for approximately four hundred thousand pounds (that’s approaching one million U.S. dollars for those keeping count). The text was sold along with a speech by Winston Churchill and desk used by Chares Dickens. Apparently, it was a kind of English literary/historical yard sale (”Everything must go! Get a coffee mug with a picture of The Queen for half off!”).

One of the more interesting points of this story is that despite fetching a price worth more than the average salary of a regular cast member on any show produced by The CW, this sale was actually something of a bargain. Of the roughly two hundred known remaining copies of the first printed edition of Shakespeare’s plays, this one is considered to be less than pristine in its condition. The average asking price for a mint copy of the text is two million pounds (or approximately four million U.S. dollars).

In thinking about the value of such a document, what is the formula for calculating the asking price? Is it based more on availability or age? Who is responsible for evaluating the level of its condition? In the end, is its price merely dictated by someone’s willingness to pay it? Finally, where does the quality of the work figure into the evaluation? In other words, if Shakespeare should decline in popularity (I know, gasp deeply), could the person with the extra two million pounds lying around lose money on his investment?

British thespians Emma Fielding and Simon Russell Beale got a rare honor, even among noted actors. The two had the opportunity to pore over a copy of the First Folio. Originally printed in 1623, the First Folio is a kind of sacred tome for those in the Shakespearean community. With price tags in the millions, there are only about two hundred extant copies of the roughly one thousand originally printed. In honor of the Bard’s birthday, the two talked about the Folio, along with questions of authorial intent and textual integrity.

One of the key issues to emerge from their discussion was the ages-old debate about which texts are the correct versions. Since there are lines and scenes in some of the quarto versions of the plays, many ponder who made the edits – Shakespeare, the compilers of the Folio, or other unknown parties. Beale and Fielding note that it was quite likely Shakespeare made changes to the plays after the initial runs, particularly to tailor them to specific actors. So, if Shakespeare made some of the edits, do we trust his judgment or include the omitted/altered bits? If we aren’t sure who changed what, how do we decide what to do in production?

It might seem nitpicky, but some Shakespearean scholars would go eighteen rounds to fight over whether Hamlet wanted his “sullied” or “solid” flesh to melt. Beale and Fielding seem to take a more balanced approach, noting the Folio as simply another resource to Shakespeare fans and scholars.