‘Iago’ bores when his evil should thrill

Of the most repugnant (and fascinating) villains in the history of literature, Shakespeare's Iago surely ranks at the top. At the end of Othello, we are left to imagine that the manipulative, treacherous Iago will suffer a brutal fate for his crimes — but the ending offers no closure.

Now author David Snodin picks up where Shakespeare left off. Although the premise of his novel Iago proves better than the execution, Snodin's ambition in tackling such an iconic character is to be admired.

The story begins in 1520, just weeks after Othello and Desdemona have died, with the notorious criminal imprisoned in a fortress high in the mountains. But by the time a new governor makes the arduous journey from Venice to Cyprus to confront Iago, the ever-elusive mastermind has vanished. "He is the very worst kind of villain," one character notes. "The sort who does not soil his own hands in the practice of his despicable endeavors."

After Iago is captured and brought to Venice, he is set to be interrogated by Annibale Malipiero, the Chief Inquisitor (known as "Il Terribile") who's determined to understand what makes Iago so evil. For ugly political reasons, an earnest young Venetian noble, Gentile Stornello — the 15-year-old cousin of Desdemona — is drawn into the perilous effort of extracting a confession.

Iago looms large in this novel, but the problem is that he doesn't actually appear onstage, so to speak, until nearly halfway through. Along the way are distracting subplots, such as one involving Gentile's falling in love for the first time. The novel loses momentum, then heats up again with episodes of torture, another manhunt, and intriguing conspiracy theories.

It's a slight letdown that Snodin attempts to humanize Iago — giving him a traumatic back story worthy of a sitdown with Oprah. We learn that Iago has mommy issues, and that his family suffered abuse at the hands of his father, whom he eventually killed. Underneath that sociopathic exterior, it turns out, Iago is kind of a big softie.

Of course it's intriguing to see how Snodin reimagines Iago, and how the author exposes Iago's motives for having betrayed Othello. But in the end, Iago 2.0 is a bit of a bore. It's precisely because we know so little about Shakespeare's heinous villain that he remains endlessly fascinating (and still a subject of scholarly debate).

Simply put, pure evil — at least in literature — is much more fun.

Carmela Ciuraru is the author of Nom de Plume: A (Secret) History of Pseudonyms.