Rewriting stories enriches rather than degrades, often expanding the vision of the older text in ways which wouldn’t have been possible at the timeAn imitation of Francisco Goya via Wikimedia Commons / Public Domain

“You’re copying me!” – undoubtedly one of the most chilling accusations you could hear in the dog-eat-dog world of primary education. Yes, you probably shouldn’t cheat on the weekly spelling test, but on a more general level, we need to reframe our attitude towards imitation. We live in a society where novelty is a priority: adverts urge you to buy new shoes, new clothes, a new car. 2025 rolls around and people start to rebrand themselves: “new year, new me.” And God forbid you’re an outfit repeater. Driven by the agenda of a consumer culture, originality seems to supersede all other considerations.

“Driven by the agenda of a consumer culture, originality seems to supersede all other considerations”

Studying Shakespeare at GCSE, I was aghast to discover that many of his plays hadn’t been written ‘from scratch’ – Nara Smith wouldn’t approve and neither did I. What I realise now is that originality is not only overrated but is, in many ways, an illusion. In a Russian doll chain of intertextuality, Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida drew inspiration from Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde which drew inspiration from Boccaccio’s Il Filostrato which drew inspiration from Sainte-Maure’s Le Roman de Troie. The likelihood of someone reading a 12th century epic poem is low; the likelihood of someone seeing a modern production of a Shakespearean drama is much higher. Stories are passed forward in waves of re-creation that ripple through the centuries; the aspects of the narrative that still resonate are preserved while those that don’t become literary jetsam. Each adaption has the opportunity to envision the old tale in new ways which speak to the time and place in which it was written.

Such is the case for Ali Smith’s Girl Meets Boy, a novel which reimagines the myth of Iphis and Ianthe from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. In Metamorphoses, Ianthe is secretly raised as a boy and betrothed to Iphis, but her cross-dressing becomes a problem in the lead-up to their sexual union. She must pray to the gods for a physical transition from girl to boy before she can wed Iphis. Her prayers are answered, but this so-called miracle erases the existence of same-sex desire. Smith internalises the transformation which for Ovid is purely bodily, creating liminal space in which “girl meets boy” within the psyche of a single character. Her love story is vibrant, daring, open, and unapologetic. It’s not original – but it doesn’t need to be.

“Her love story is vibrant, daring, open, and unapologetic. It’s not original – but it doesn’t need to be”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness” is a quote often (mis)attributed to Oscar Wilde, disparaging those who fall victim to the copycat allegations. The catch is, it’s unlikely Wilde ever said this. In a 1882 lecture titled The English Renaissance Of Art, he claims that satire paid the pre-Raphaelites “that usual homage which mediocrity pays to genius,” a rough formation of the latter part of the famous imitation quote. But the earliest example of the quote’s first half comes from Charles Caleb Colton’s Lacon, Or, Many Things in Few Words: Addressed to Those Who Think, a collection of aphorisms published in 1820 including the proverb “imitation is the sincerest of flattery.” The exact origins of the quote remain unclear, but it seems that somewhere down the line, “imitation is the sincerest [form] of flattery” and “which mediocrity pays to genius” were patched together to create the phrase we know today. The fact that one of the most popular sayings advocating for originality was actually created from an intertextual amalgamation of different sources is delightfully ironic, paradoxically becoming proof of how interconnected and imitative all writing is.

The juxtaposition between mediocrity and genius also reveals the literary hierarchy we’ve created which upholds certain authors at the pinnacle. The quote reinforces a museum-mindset: forbidding the common riffraff from touching and contaminating works of art from those far greater than they will ever be. This notion is something that Harriet Walter must contend with in She Speaks! What Shakespeare’s Women Might Have Said, a book which offers a series of supplementary speeches for Shakespeare’s female characters, giving voice to those who might have had more to say. The witches of Macbeth explore societal attitudes towards ageing; Hamlet’s mother Gertrude speaks on menopause; Cleopatra’s lady-in-waiting gets her say, as does the Dark Lady of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Motherless daughters such as Miranda, Cordelia, Portia, Isabella, and Hermia recall moments where “I missed a mum”; a chorus of voices reminding us of Shakespeare’s neglect of maternal roles. Katherine addresses sexual violence against women “whose husband knows just where to hide a bruise”, while Desdemona laments how “poisoned words fed by a fellow man / Convince far more than woman’s actions can.” Walter’s verse and prose offers exciting new perspectives, thought-provoking insights, and brilliant twists on familiar tales.


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Speaking at the Union last November as part of the Cambridge Literary Festival, Walter shared that she likes to imagine Shakespeare would approve of her creative liberties. His work is not a series of sacred and immutable artefacts but a record of thought and emotion that can be re-embodied by anyone at any time. Walter reminds us that we can feel deep gratitude and respect for authors while simultaneously breathing new life into their work.

Rewriting stories enriches rather than degrades, often expanding the vision of the older text in ways which wouldn’t have been possible at the time. We are lucky enough to live in an age where we can write with greater freedom, and we should make the most of this, as Walter does with female voices and Smith does with queer experiences. Done poorly, copying leads to cliché, but in the right hands, age-old truths can be synthesised with current concerns to create inspiring, pertinent and not-quite-new stories. As Smith writes: “It’s what we do with the myths we grow up with that matters.” Nothing’s truly original, only reinvented, and this should be a cause for celebration, not concern.

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