In his famous critique of Othello, Thomas Rymer derided the improbability of Shakespeare's plot and characters. How absurd to posit that Venice would choose a black man for its general, that a virtuous Venetian maiden would elope with that man, that a lost handkerchief would prove her a whore, and that all this should take place in a matter of days. As Joel B. Altman contends, Othello is a tragedy of probability. Its actors “follow culturally ingrained habits of probable behavior shared by members of its audience, yet it persistently exposes the dubious credentials of the discursive system it represents” (12). Altman uses “probability” here not simply in the Aristotelian sense of something that usually happens but as the fruit of generally accepted wisdom based on attitudes shared by a particular group. “Probabilism,” a hotly debated topic in sixteenth-century divinity, found the solution to moral questions in the wisdom of accepted authority. If Shakespeare's early modern English audience generally believed that all black Moors were lascivious, then it would seem probable to them that a stage Moor who was figured black would also be lascivious.

Thus begins Altman's “archaeology” of the concept of probability, not simply in Shakespeare's Othello but as an integral ingredient in early modern rhetorical discourse. Altman shows how the early modern English grammar school curriculum instilled probability theory in its students by teaching classical rhetoric on a debate model that presented opposing sides in any argument as potentially equally valid. As a result, Renaissance rhetorical training fostered a fundamentally rhetorical sense of the self that is trapped in a dialectic between a stable human identity based on shared wisdom—probabilities—and an improvisatory, self-fashioned identity.

In part 1, “Toward a Rhetorical Genealogy of Othello,” Altman draws on the teachings of Greek sophists embedded in the early modern curriculum to explain Iago's uncanny ability to slide between probability and truth. He provides meticulous close readings of dialogue to build his case. Part 2, “The Logic of Renaissance Rhetoric,” explores Iago's (and Shakespeare's) doubling of what is “apt and true” to show how conjecture slips into certainty, not simply in the temptation scene but throughout the text. Part 3, “Willful Words, Christian Anxieties, and Shakespearean Dramaturgy,” examines Iago as a hybrid vice figure who exploits the rhetorical figure of hysteron proteron—putting last things first—as a major weapon in his linguistic arsenal. Altman shows how this linguistic dislocation of the natural order of words and of things permeates the drama, leading Othello to jump to conclusions. In the same way, Shakespeare plays the sophist with his audience. Using disparities in the first quarto and folio texts of Othello, Altman speculates as to Shakespeare's mode of composition. He posits that the “double time scheme” is symptomatic of a deliberate effort on Shakespeare's part to make the audience—like Othello—“incapable of distinguishing the probable from the improbable” (201).

Part 4, “Tropings of the Self in Shakespeare's Scripts,” moves from classical rhetoric to the psychological implications of playhouse practices. Here Altman shows the effects of lacunae in playhouse plots—when the actors were called to “fill in the blanks,” as it were, and to improvise their characters' thoughts and actions. He also attributes variant speech headings to the playwright's and actor's awareness of the different roles the particular character played in his imaginary world (e.g., queen, as opposed to mother). In this sense the character is akin to any human subject who adapts different personae for different contexts.

Part 5, “Performing the Improbable Other on Shakespeare's Stage,” tackles the issue of race by asking what it was like for a white actor like Richard Burbage to impersonate a black Moor. As background Altman considers Shakespeare's other “Others”—Aaron, Caliban, and Shylock—in the context of early modern racial discourse. He then focuses on the various roles Burbage played in his own life, particularly his secondary vocation as a limner, and speculates as to how the tragic actor channeled Othello's thoughts and feelings. The implication is that Burbage and his fellows were in effect “method actors.” Indeed, Altman goes so far as to assert that “to the extent that he [Burbage] shared the schizoid misogyny of his culture—at once exalting and degrading the female”—his declaration in 4.1 that Desdemona “might lie by an emperor's side and command him tasks” (lines 180–82) and the ensuing shift to “I will chop her into messes” (line 196)—“must have been actual and not simply actoral for him, corresponding to his own deeply bred intimations” (336). Here Altman, carried away perhaps by his own ingenuity, conflates the actor with the character.

In his closing epilogue, Altman applies his ideas about probability to several of Shakespeare's other plays. He begins with Helena's improbable triumphs in All's Well That Ends Well. Helena's healing the king, substituting herself for Diana in Bertram's bed, and resulting pregnancy—all are patently improbable and inspire doubt. But in The Winter's Tale Shakespeare moves beyond the vagaries of probability. Although it is highly unlikely that Hermione's statue could move, given what Shakespeare tells Leontes and the audience in the last scene, if we “awake our faith,” the impossible becomes actual. Without pursuing his argument's biographical ramifications, Altman here posits Shakespeare's commitment to the Protestant reliance on individual faith rather than Catholicism's insistence on institutional authority.

The Improbability of “Othello” is not a book for the hurried or faint of heart. Its analysis of Othello is based on meticulous close reading and informed by a wide-ranging theoretical framework, whether taken from Aristotle, Plato, Agricola, Derrida, or Bakhtin. Altman's seasoned erudition is palpable on every page, and sometimes his lexicon of arcane literary terms is daunting. At the same time, he provides a host of new insights into a text we think we already know, challenging us to reconsider its rich language and complex characters.