Why 'The Gift of the Magi' by O.Henry is More Romantic Than 'Romeo and Juliet'

In 1905, William Sydney Porter, a short story writer known as O. Henry, wrote the Christmas tale “The Gift of the Magi.” In less than ten pages, this story tells of a deep and pure love. It’s a story that I find to be more compelling and romantic than all five acts of Romeo and Juliet.

You probably read “The Gift of the Magi” in middle or high school, just as you probably pretended to read Romeo and Juliet in middle or high school. I read the short story again recently for probably the first time in ten years, and it still made me choke up. I’ve been on a kick lately where I’ve been forcing everyone in my life to reread it. It’s less than 2500 words, even with the title, so I suggest you give it a glance here and return for the discussion.

Disney even has a version of it that you can watch on Disney+ right now, as the third and final vignette in Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas. It also made me cry.

It’s Christmas Eve. Della and Jim are married and living in a shabby flat in the city. Della has long, exquisite hair and Jim’s prized pocket watch is a family heirloom. Della hopes to get Jim a gift that is worthy of Jim, and so she sells her hair to buy him a fine chain for his watch. Meanwhile, Jim is selling his watch in order to buy a set of bejeweled combs for Della’s hair. Their gifts are now essentially useless.

The story boils down pretty simply. Jim and Della love each other so much that they are willing to give up their prized possessions to find a gift for each other. That’s the kind of love I’m looking for right there.

I won’t deny that Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet embodies an exceptional kind of love. That is a love of reckless abandon, of doing anything you can for your partner. That’s certainly lovely, but I am tired of it.

As an English major, I find the ubiquity of Romeo and Juliet to be a bit irksome. It’s five acts long, it is written in dense language that often puts off readers from enjoying the nuances of the writing, and it is somehow widely adapted while also being widely misinterpreted. Think about the times that someone has said “I want a love story like Romeo and Juliet.” No, you fucking don’t.

I love “The Gift of the Magi” for its brevity and simplicity. I love how it’s so easy to read. I love how accessible it is. I have a hard time relating to Romeo and Juliet in part because much of its tragedy is preventable. Plus, I think Romeo is kind of a dude bro. The story would never have happened if the two had taken some time to plan a little better. Problems of communicate deepen the conflict, which makes the story more frustrating. I can’t really relate to rich people who don’t think ahead. I’m also not really a fan of advocating suicide as a solution to your problems and the implications of that idea. It’s a tragedy that is elevated in scope and stake.

O. Henry penned a story so different in structure, theme, medium, you name it. Instead of sacrificing their lives, they sacrifice their possessions, and somehow this is just as powerful. Romeo and Juliet can kind of be a bummer, considering all the death and weeping, so it’s nice to read a story where the irony doesn’t depend on a double suicide. It’s perfect for the holiday season, reminding us that it is the thought that counts, and that true love is the greatest gift of all. You can easily read it while you wait for Christmas dinner to be served,, or while you hide from your relatives in the guest room hoping that no one will go so far as to check the closets.

My assertion that this short story is better than Romeo and Juliet is obviously hyperbolic, as comparing the two is akin to comparing a cat with a horse—sure, they are both four legged mammals and you can list out all the features, but the two serve entirely different purposes. To elevate one above the other just because I find the popularity of the tragic play to be irritating is doing a disservice to them both. But nuanced opinions don’t get you clicks, y’all. It’s unlikely I’ll get clicks with this title as is. But no one is going to click on a blog post entitled “O. Henry Uses the Compact Narrative of the Short Story and the Every Day Life of the Working Class to Discuss the Value of True Love in a Manner That Is Similar Yet Different to Shakespeare’s Seminal Play of Romeo and Juliet.”

So, I cut it down a bit.

My claim is contrary to one made in the Atlantic in December of 2010. In Kevin Fallon’s “The Gift of 'The Gift of the Magi'” he remarks that while the story is enduring, it ain’t perfect.

“The writing has its flaws, and no scholar would venture that it's the century's finest romance, yet in its simplicity; it finds its stakes and its resonance.”

I am will counter with my unscholarly claim that this story is just nice. Finest romance or not, I think it is lovely. It’s something you like to read and that you can read easily. It’s written almost without pretension and its moral can be understood by adults and middle schoolers alike. Literature shouldn’t have to be convoluted and draped in layer upon layer of symbolism to be considered good. Sometimes, beauty can be found in simplicity.

The stakes in the Magi story are entirely different. No one is going to die here. There’s only three speaking characters, and none of them duel anyone (although that certainly would have been an interesting choice). The mundane nature of their tale makes it easier to imagine yourself in the story. I’d rather have a love like that of Della and Jim. A practiced sort of love, a generosity, a love of self-sacrifice. Love isn't always dramatic. The daily moments are rarely the subject of epic plays, but it's the kind of love we experience every day.

The Youngs are so poor that they can’t even afford a mirror. The world is entirely gray, Della’s outfit is entirely brown. The setting is sparse and drab. It would be an incredibly cheap stage production. Della has been scrimping and saving for months. She’s argued with the grocer over pennies, something that no rich person will ever have to do. She values Jim so much that she ransacks every store in hopes of finding something worthy of him, “something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.” From her perspective, we see how much she values her husband, and we can see that same adoration in Jim as he sheepishly presents her combs.

These lovers sacrifice their dearest possessions because they would rather show kindness to their beloved. I’d rather hear about the everyday romance where people go above and beyond for the ones they love. I’d certainly rather find that kind of love than find a love with a casualty count of six people. It’s a story so precious and simple that anyone can understand it, and that’s exactly what we all need to hear this Christmas.

How To Transform an Old Lady Nightgown Into a Trendy Look

Can you transform a grandma style nightgown into something you'd actually wear with only minimal sewing skills? Hell yes. If you're looking for a way to upcycle all of your vintage sleepwear you have lying around, then I have a solution for you!

My job writing for a sleepwear and underwear company gives me a lot of access to sleepwear and underwear, surprisingly. Recently, in a DIY frenzy, I had an idea to further my dedication to wearing pajamas during the daytime. I’ve written a whole post dedicated to wearing sleepwear as daywear and usually, unless someone actually reads my blog, I get away with it. What if I found a way to flip those voluminous, billowy old lady gowns into something I could actually wear?

I don’t actually wear traditional pajamas, so I find it pretty easy to justify wearing sleepwear during the day. I tend to sleep in oversized T-Shirts that I’ve stolen from ex-boyfriends simply because they provide full freedom of leg movement. So, when I saw this nightgown with gorgeous sleeve detailing in the company store I was obsessed with flipping it. This gown from P-Jamas is something that I would never sleep in considering how much fabric there is, and it seemed like a waste to hide all of that gorgeous smocking away in my apartment where I live alone.

With time, dedication, and a lot of Liquid Stitch, I did it. I cut the nightgown in half and turned it into chic separates! And with a lot of patience, you can do it too, pretty damn easily. Here’s how I did it.

Pick your nightgown. Purchase one at a vintage store or rob your grandma. I personally got mine for $5 because I believe someone had worn and returned it.

This one was originally $188, so I think I got a pretty good deal. Mine is a nice minty green. A few notes on choosing a good gown to Frankenstein:

• You’ll be chopping this up, so make sure to choose something with a loose, long skirt (the longer the better if you are prone to making mistakes) and detailing at the top that makes it look unique. A lot of really expensive sleepwear has really fancy details like genuine mother of pearl buttons or hand smocking.

• Choosing something with buttons will make it seem like you bought a really expensive button down. It’s best to choose something with a partial button placket, rather than something that fully unbuttons down the front. It’ll spare you the detail of trying to figure out how to sew a button flap closed.

Old ladies like to sleep in style, so make sure you put that to use!

I put on my nightgown and marked where I wanted the top to end once I cut off the skirt. I left about an inch for seam allowance. Then I just cut it straight across. Now you’ll have two pieces.

Finishing the top is very easy, Ridiculously so. If you are good with a sewing machine, just give the top a straight hem. If you have a steady hand, you can even hand stitch it. I have neither of these skills, so I opted for Liquid Stitch.

Liquid Stitch is essentially like glue for fabric that is great for terrible seamstresses like me. It claims to be machine washable once dried and to hold really well. So far I have found this to be true! It is also great because I am lazy. Plus, I know that I tend to tuck all of my blouses in, so it didn’t matter if I completely messed this up.

I pinned the hem in place and then just glued all the way around. Making the top is a project that will last you less than an hour, provided you’re not an idiot.

Turning the bottom of the gown into a skirt was a lot harder, but somehow I made it work. And as long as you don’t look too closely at the interior, it makes for a great outfit.

Additional tools you will need are:

• A wide band of elastic. This will be the exposed waistband, so choose a normal color.

• Needle and thread

• Liquid stitch again

• Measuring tape

• Math skills

• Patience

See, the problem with the skirt is that your resultant fabric loop from when you cut off the top part is probably a good deal wider than your waist, and I am an idiot. Essentially I made tiny pleats in the skirt and sewed it all down to a very wide panel of elastic. I wasn’t sure what to do with the extra fabric otherwise.

As an earlier step, you will need to make your elastic waistband. I got a band from the fabric store that was somewhere between two and three inches wide.

Wrap it around your waist and determine where you’d like it to sit and how long the band will need to be before you cut it. Depending on how much you trust yourself, pull the band slightly tighter when sewing it closed, that way it will stay in place without strangling you.

Sew the band closed at the ends. Do not twist it. I used a combo of Liquid Stitch and hand sewing because I wanted to make sure it was really secure.

Lay the fabric out flat and measure how wide it is at the top. If you want to make the skirt shorter, then do some cutting.

I’m not sure how ruching is actually constructed, so I opted to make pleats by folding the fabric on itself. I wanted to make all of the pleats even, and since I am bad at math, I opted to make each pleat about an inch wide. This proved easier than trying to divide things by three or five, which proved to be too much for me.

The loop was 60” in circumference, so I marked off every inch with a marker so I could make the folds. If you want your project to be more successful, use a pen or fabric chalk as the marker definitely ended up showing through. I am not proud of this.

By folding along the inch dots I had made, I knew that each pleat had the same amount of fabric, being an inch wide when folded with an inch between each pleat.

You will pin your skirt to your waistband and steadily make pleats around the circumference. You need to pin them together with the wrong side facing you.

I pinned down every fold so I could make sure I hadn’t ruined the math. Then I very painstakingly sewed each pleat down with a shaky box stitch. I did not sew all the way around as I am lazy and also wasn’t sure how that would affect the waistband.

Instead I sewed each pleat and afterwards glued everything down with Liquid Stitch. Combining these two methods made me feel like my project was less likely to fail.

If you use the original hem of your nightgown, you are now done! Mine had a very cute little lettuce hem, and I didn’t want to mess that up. In the end, I am very happy with the results.

I am glad I decided to destroy a nightgown for this, and I love how unique it looks and how comfy it is. That's the benefit of transforming sleepwear... it'll always be insanely comfortable.

The top looks great and it kind of has a piratey vibe to it. The skirt was difficult and you can still see some of the marker dots but I love it all the same. To paraphrase the great poet Macklemore, I took your grandma’s style. And I think it looks damn good.

A disclaimer: I work for the Andra Group and write for HerRoom, who sells the gown I DIYed. My opinions on nightgowns and sleepwear and anything else are mine and mine alone. They don't reflect the views of the Company. Don't buy expensive sleepwear just to chop it up. This is simply a way to transform a piece you ordinarily would have no use for. The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the Company.

Hadestown Is The Epic, Relevant Musical You Need to Hear

Looking for a new, socially conscious musical to make you feel all the emotions you’ve ignored ever since you finished listening to the soundtrack of Hamilton? Hadestown is it.

Beautifully sung, powerfully written, and startlingly relevant, Hadestown reimagines the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, intertwined with the story of Hades and Persephone. It has the swingy, jazzy vibe of Great Depression era New Orleans! It won eight Tony Awards! Its themes are ones that affect us today! It’s a sad tale! It’s a tragedy! What more could you want?

If my short summary hasn’t convinced you to listen to the entire soundtrack immediately, then just take a look at the trailer embedded below. Welcome to Hadestown, where a song can change your fate!

Hadestown opened on Broadway in 2019, and promptly won Best Musical at the Tony’s. Anaïs Mitchell originally wrote the music in 2006, describing it as "a D.I.Y. theatre project." The full cast recording has recently been released. Even if you can’t afford to see a musical in New York City, you can get emotional in the privacy of your own home!

If you are not the biggest fan of musicals, this may not be the best place to start, as it is almost entirely sung. Like 2015’s Hamilton, it is essentially two hours of singing. It’s one of the most vocally interesting musicals I have heard in a long time, and it’s arranged so beautifully that you’ll find yourself moved near to tears by the swell of the orchestra. Have I sold you yet?

Spoilers ahead, obviously. This story is inspired by an ancient Greek myth, so I think you’d have to be blissfully unaware of some pretty ubiquitous archetypes to be under the impression that this might end well.

Most of us know the story. Hades is the god who rules over the Underworld. Persephone, his wife, returns to the surface world for half the year, bringing spring for six months and leaving winter behind when she descends. Singing Orpheus and Eurydice fall in love. Orpheus is allowed to rescue her from the Land of the Dead, on a condition from Hades. Eurydice must walk behind Orpheus… If his trust falters and he looks back, Eurydice will be sentenced to remain in the Underworld forever.

I’ll take a moment to gush over the musical before I get into the meat of it:

Lyrically and musically, this whole experience is incredibly powerful. That’s what a decade of Anaïs Mitchell’s tinkering will do. It makes a musical that is pretty damn effective in saying what it wants to. No words are wasted. Every song has a point, setting the stage for the development. There are a lot of parallels between numbers that particularly stark: I’ll encourage you to listen to “Wait for Me” and it’s reprise back to back.

It has that swelling jazz and powerful ensemble that sounds both as old as time and incredibly new, making it a “sound for sore ears” in a time when so many new Broadway musicals are adaptations of our favorite movies with that canned and poppy sound. So many musicals have been composed in the hopes of using a popular title to draw in the unlikely theater-goers, and so many of them sound repetitive and familiar. They played with what worked, but now it’s played out.

Photo by Matthew Murphy

Not only did Mitchell create such a unique sound to it, but she also cast a series of unique voices. Patrick Page, who has played Hades from Off-Broadway in 2016 to Broadway in 2019, sings with a powerful, booming bass-baritone that makes his portrayal truly commanding. It’s awe-inspiring. Listening to his voice in “Hey, Little Songbird” makes me feels as if he is singing from the depths of the earth. His musical wife, Persephone, is played by Amber Gray on Broadway, and I particularly love her vocal dexterity. I expected Persephone to have the trilling voice of a nightingale, given that she essentially embodies spring, but Gray has a soulful, almost rough voice. She’s a powerhouse. I’m obsessed.

Eurydice and Orpheus are very well matched, played by Eva Noblezada and Reeve Carney, respectively. She is so slight and he is so tall and they are so precious. They have a very organic kind of chemistry that makes it easy to believe that they are doomed lovers. They seem so desperate to love each other. It’s delicious.

André de Shields leads the story as Hermes, and he is incredibly effective. He deftly guides the story. His voice is the first and the last that we hear. The final song is a reprise of the opening number, with a powerful change. While the opening is brassy and swingy, the closing is almost breathtakingly silent. Much of it is just de Shields, singing with almost no music. It begins with a few tinkling notes of a piano, but for much of his singing monologue, it is entirely acapella. Chills. He's regal, otherworldly.

Photo by Matthew Murphy

The tale is particularly powerful due to the united front of the ensemble and the haunting combination of the Fates. At times they sing in a chant, at times it has a plodding, monotonous sound that replicates the daily drudgery of their work in the underworld. The harmony of the Fates weaving in and out of the action makes everything feel so connected. That paired with the repeating music themes and the powerful swelling orchestra heightens the drama to an epic level.

There are a few differences from the classical myth, however. The tale is narrated by Hermes, the messenger god, an interesting take in and of itself as it essentially imagines the story as a fable, a tale delivered to us by the messenger. Souls are ferried to the Underworld by train. There is an ever present murmur as the three Fates sing (always singing in the back of your mind), as if Hermes gives us the text and the Fates clarify the subtextual implications.

Image by Matthew Murphy

Eurydice is a poor girl who yearns for a stable life. Our Orpheus is in the process of writing a song to beckon spring back to the land. The Underworld is imagined as an endless Industrial factory, manned by departed souls. Hades brings Persephone back early out of loneliness. She is not happy about it.

Hades rails to keep the Underworld from pure by building a wall. (“Why do we build the wall? We build the wall to keep us free… The wall keeps out the enemy… The enemy is poverty… because they want what we have got… We have work, and they have none… and the war is never won.”)

He invites Eurydice to join him in Hadestown, in part because he resents that Persephone does not seem to fully appreciate his world. (“You don’t even want my love. I’ll give it to someone who does.”) Her meets Eurydice and invites her to join him instead. (“The choice is yours if you’re willing to choose, seeing as you’ve got nothing to lose and I could use a canary.”)

Photo by Matthew Murphy

Eurydice chooses to descend in hopes that she can ensure her survival, especially as Hades reminds her that her love is a penniless poet. She fears the prospect of living in poverty for the rest of her life, and this shakes her so much that she makes the choice to give up her life.

She realizes the consequences of what she has done all too soon. Choosing the Underworld makes her “dead to the world;” she will soon forget her life above. Her mind begins to fade, losing the memory of her love, her passion, even her name as she ignored by a seemingly indifferent crowd of the dead. Realizing what he has lost, Orpheus pledges to journey to hell on foot and bring Eurydice back. But her contract prohibits her from every leaving without Hades’ permission.

Hades turns Orpheus away, as he doesn’t has his “papers” and is thus trespassing. Orpheus’ lament causes a listening Persephone to pity his lot. Though they argue, Hades realizes that the citizens of the Underworld are so moved by Orpheus’ despair that they begin to oppose Hades’ dictatorial rule. (“Show them the crack and they’ll tear down the wall. Lend them an ear and the kingdom will fall. The kingdom will fall for a song.”)

He must choose between allowing the lovers to leave and thus lose his authoritarian control, or separating the two, which would martyr them in the eyes of the workers. (“All my children came here poor, clamoring for bed and board. Now what do they clamor for? Freedom! Freedom!”) In order to avoid a lose-lose situation, he issues an ultimatum that he knows will cause the couple to doom themselves.

Plagued by doubt and the fear of trickery, Orpheus looks back. Who wouldn’t?

Even though I already knew how the story was going to end, the final act still moved me to tears. The story is propelled by hope, and we as the audience hope too that perhaps this story will turn out differently.

Photo by Matthew Murphy

It won’t. Hermes, the wing-footed god who serves as the stories narrator, makes us aware of that in the opening number. “It’s an old song,” he remarks, “It’s an old tale from way back when. It’s an old song, but we’re gonna sing it again.” He emphasizes that though the ending is tragic, it is the telling of the story that matters. “We sing it anyway,” he concludes.

That’s the thing about stories. It’s not always so much about the characters, but about what the characters represent about the human condition. What did you learn in AP English? What does it mean? And why do we continue to tell it? What is the point of retelling a centuries old myth in a musical?

Parts of this story has changed over the years but we care about what is left when the story is boiled down to its essence. Hope. Doubt. Trust. We may have magic tablets in our hands, and we may have stopped shitting into a hole in the ground, but these remain.

Hermes says that “we’re gonna sing it again and again,” and isn’t that exactly what we are doing? We all (hopefully) knew how this was going to end. This type of myth exists in other cultures, too. Off the top of my head I think of the tale of Lot and his wife. I know it from the Christian tradition, but it is represented in Judaism and Islam. God condemns the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. God allows Lot and his family to flee, on the condition that they must not look back, but rather trust in him. Lot’s wife turns around and is immediately turned into a pillar of salt for her disbelief. There is a lot more building up to that story, but that’s the gist.

Faith is the basis of all religions (I say, at the risk of sounding reductive). In order to follow a diety, or to believe in something that you cannot see, you must have faith. Of course, having faith is tricky. We know that. That’s why we are not too surprised when Orpheus turns around. I know that I would have to try pretty damn hard to resist that temptation. Journeying out of hell, just trusting that my love is behind me, knowing that if she isn’t, she will be trapped forever, and I can never come back? I’d want to take a glance, at least to make sure I hadn’t journeyed in vain.

Photo by Emilio Madrid

I am well aware of these universal themes, but part of what I enjoyed is how some elements seemed particularly relevant. I know I felt a chill when the chorus chanted about why they build a wall. Even without the connotation, without assumptions, Patrick Page, the Broadway Hades, has a terrifyingly low, almost gravely growl that will send a shiver down your spine.

Interestingly enough, Anaïs Mitchell did not write this song with the wall-loving President Trump in mind, but it certainly is eerie that your mind jumps there (It was even myth busted on Snopes). She wrote this song in 2006, a decade before Trump was elected and long before he made his wall issue a cornerstone of his campaign. The Associated Press reported that she had written it in a more general sense, thinking of the Berlin Wall, the Great Wall of China, the fenced in gated communities. It’s certainly nothing new. Ideas of xenophobia, purity at all costs, separating a culture from others are ever present, both today and in history. Wars are fought, genocides are rationalized, borders are drawn over these ideas.

What makes this song particularly disquieting is the call and response structure. Hades asks why they build the wall, and the answer is repeated back in unison, over and over. It builds upon itself, justifying itself throughout the course. The wall keeps them free, keeping out the enemy of poverty. They define the enemy and why they must resist. Poverty is wanting what those inside have got, and they do not want to give away what they have. The war is never won. By the end, Eurydice is chanting along. It’s a common pattern. The prejudice makes sense to them. And by having a powerful, underworld boss dictate the attitudes, we can see how easily they are indoctrinated. It’s how other walls were justified, and it’s perhaps how it is happening now. Mitchell wasn’t thinking about elections and slogans. You’re the one who jumped there, not her. The coincidence is purely archetypal.

Photo by Matthew Murphy

What I find even more compelling about this musical is that it so adroitly captured the struggles of class conflict without feeling heavy handed. Eurydice is poor. It’s her main identifier in all of Hermes’ songs. Do you think she would have been so easily manipulated if she hadn’t been starving and worried about the chances for her survival? Do you think Hades would have had such a powerful bargaining chip if Eurydice had the money for food and shelter? I don’t think so. She can’t afford to take any chance at her survival, literally.

Class struggle is central to this narrative. Hades represents the heartless tycoon. Eurydice represents the working poor who he exploits. Can I make it any clearer? I think the Fates put it pretty clearly in the song “Gone, I’m Gone”:

You can have your principles when you've got a belly full

But hunger has a way with you

There's no telling what you're gonna do when the chips are down

Now that the chips are down

What you gonna do when the chips are down?

Now that the chips are down.

I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like to think that when the moment comes, they’d choose to stay with the ones they love rather than save their own skin. I personally think that these people are very pompous and have never understood what it is like to be at the mercy of money. These are people who have never had to choose between paying their electric bill and eating for the week, the people who have never spent the winter driving with a broken window because they can’t afford to fix it. If I’m Eurydice here, I’m 100% choosing to save my ass.

Eurydice is a worldly character. It is emphasized that she is “no stranger to the world” and our narrator makes it pretty clear that she has been at its mercy. She has scrounged for food and been at buffeted any way the wind blows. Her lines make it pretty clear that she doesn’t want to live like this anymore. When she falls in love with Orpheus, she worries that she won’t be able to find stability. When you don’t know where your next meal might come for, you’d do pretty much anything to be sure. I’d argue that falling in love with Orpheus made her even more worried about security, considering she didn’t want to risk that both she and the man she loved would be living in poverty. I’d even go so far to suggest that she is hoping that by giving herself up, she will not only secure her safety, but also make sure that Orpheus only has to worry about taking care of himself, not having to think about how their family will make it through. She can’t guarantee that his song will work. All she can truly count upon is herself.

Image by David Cooper

In their conversation during “Hey, Little Songbird,” Hades makes sure to call out that Orpheus is a penniless poet. At this point, Eurydice is just tired. It grates on you. When you don’t have food and shelter, it’s hard to worry about much else. Just think of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. She has nothing to lose and she doesn’t have much choice. She’s desperate. Once again, the Fates sum it up best, singing “Life ain’t easy, life ain’t fair, a girl’s gotta fight for her rightful share… Help yourself, to hell with the rest. Even the one who loves you best.”

The main problem is that Hades doesn’t tell her exactly what she’s in for. She’s never been down to the Underworld and it’s not like anyone has come back to tell the story. Hades doesn’t bother to let her in on the secret. He reminds me of a genie in this way, the ones who are so literal about everything, the one who hears “make me a sandwich” and turns you into a BLT. Had he told her that she would lose her sense of self and forget everyone that ever mattered to her, I doubt she would have been so willing to go.

Hades is in a position of power. He had a renewable power source, given that people are going to keep dying and thus have to work in his factory. He can exploit the dead without consequences, as he is the undisputed overlord of this realm. It’s a pretty clear parallel to how in the real world, the wealthy are so often the ones who make the rules. They are the ones who have the money to finance elections and campaigns. The ones who control the megacorporations that are essential to our lives. The ones who often get away with literal murder because they can afford an incredible lawyer.

The Fates comment in “Nothing Changes” that fighting the power will often do nothing. It’s like swimming upstream. You’ll probably be carried back anyway, so why bother to struggle? I think Orpheus puts it pretty clearly in the song “If It’s True”:

“But the ones who tell the lies

Are the solemnest to swear

And the ones who load the dice

Always say the toss is fair.”

Image by Helen Maybanks

The change in this story comes when the factory workers hear Orpheus’ song and take pity upon him. Had Orpheus stayed silence, he probably would have journeyed out without incident. Persephone persuades Hades to listen to his plea, but his fear of a workers’ strike probably tipped the scales. In order to have continued control over those suffering, his authority must not be questioned. The workers feel united against Hades out of their pity for Orpheus. And if they are united, there isn’t much to stop his empire from toppling.

Of course, either way, his authority is already undermined. If he doesn’t let Orpheus and Eurydice go, he is facing a revolt. And if he does, there isn’t much to stop his army of dead from turning against him. The kingdom will fall for a song. He chooses to let them hang themselves.

Image by Marc J. Franklin

I think this is part of why this musical is so heartbreaking—the ending feels inevitable. We are told from the beginning that this is a tragedy, but we already know that the deck was stacked against them. We are all very familiar with class politics. We know that the rich are able to take advantage of the poor. But every time, we hope that they won’t and we feel helpless watching it end just like we thought it would.

In his ending song, Hermes sings that we can’t ask how he came so close, as “the song was written long ago.” These confines have been in place for a long time. The structure was in place, the framework was designed this way, we all know the deal. But it still hurts to watch it happen.