Oxfordianism is among the most unnecessary theories of all time. Not only is it false, but it was posited to answer a question no serious scholars were asking: Namely, “Who wrote Shakespeare?”—a question whose answer puzzles the mind as much as, “Who is buried in Grant’s tomb?” It was advanced simply to support the snobbery of its authors who could not accept literary genius in a commoner. After all, how could a person who had not received an elite education possibly write well? Ignore the fact that there are literally hundreds of great authors who grew up under modest circumstances—including many of Shakespeare’s own contemporaries such as John Fletcher, Shakespeare’s late collaborator and successor as the house playwright for The King’s Men, and Ben Johnson, the stepson of a bricklayer and the man generally acknowledged as the second greatest Jacobean playwright.
At the risk of being anti-climatic, I will start with the most damning argument against Oxford’s authorship: Oxford died in 1604 while a number of Shakespeare’s plays were written after this date. While quite of few of his very best works like Lear and Macbeth are likely to have been written after Oxford’s death, there is just enough ambiguity regarding the time of their composition to allow someone to claim they were written in 1603. Of course, this would require Oxford to have been enormously busy just before he died. Indeed, sixteen of Shakespeare’s works are dated to 1603 or later—meaning the last years of Oxford’s life would have required him to be nearly as prolific as all his prior years combined. However, far more damning is the fact that the Tempest must have been written in 1610 or later because it references a text published in that year, William Strachey's A True Reportory of the Wracke and Redemption of Sir Thomas Gates, relaying a real incident in which a ship was stranded in Bermuda before making repairs and heading to Virginia.
On a less technical level, I am sure many readers think it’s utterly bizarre and foolish to let someone else take credit for those masterworks---and, by Yarvin’s own admission, the earl was no fool. More importantly though, we see Shakespeare doing pandering to Elizabeth's ancestors and excoriating the Yorkists while heaping lavish praise on the Lancastrians, avoiding the obvious and highly dramatic plot points in his Henry the Eighth (such as Henry's many wives and the subsequent “break ups”) and adding fulsome praise of Elizabeth to the same, that would make no damn sense if he was a fall boy: Why have a fall boy if you aren't willing to risk a fall? In Macbeth, another play that was likely written after Oxford’s death, we find praise heaped upon Banquo, whom James considered to be his ancestor. In his Venus and Adonis, we see Shakespeare addressing the earl of Southhampton in the manner in which a commoner would address a nobleman. Would Oxford be able to stomach this humiliation—even when using a “rent boy”?
Why not take the credit for your compliments to the queen; why not take credit for your compliments to the newly minted James I? Shakespeare, despite his genius, is one of the biggest ass-kissers in all of history; you don't kiss ass with a pseudonym.
We see Shakespeare's development as a poet---and Oxford never even came close to him. Any verse in Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus, one of his worst plays and an early work, beats to living hell anything produced by Oxford. Or take Two Gentlemen of Verona, the other candidate for worst play, it too beats out Oxford's known production.
Not to mention, we know the men who were involved in printing the First Folio---and we have a rather detailed publishing history of some of the Quartos: Interesting how none of the diverse publishers of Shakespeare's work ever showed signs of suspecting Oxford. Certainly one of them might have tried to confuse the ownership issue when Shakespeare sought redress for an unauthorized publication of his work, as he did from Jaggard, by saying someone else was the author. But none did.
Furthermore, we have reason to suspect Shakespeare collaborated with a number of different authors: Titus Andronicus was a collaboration with Peale, and Edward III seems to have been a large collective effort. Pericles, Prince of Tyre, was cowritten with Wilkins. Timon of Athens has sections clearly written by Middleton (if you desire a followup post on my blog making the case for these coauthorships, please say so in the comments). John Fletcher, mentioned above, collaborated with him on Henry VIII, the Two Nobel Kinsman, and the now lost play Cardenio. How could so many artists have collaborated with Oxford unknowingly? Or, if they did know, why would so many have held onto the secret?
As for Shakespeare's education being insufficient, we know what Shakespeare's sources were: Basically, Holinshed's chronicles, various popular works, and classics that any schoolboy studying Latin at the time would have read. What we don't see, at all, is the influence of Greek works---which makes sense as Shakespeare did not know much Greek. Shakespeare’s work shows evidence of a quality grammar school education, but it shows no evidence of the elite education that Oxford had. One can, in fact, say that Oxford's work would have shown a much richer variety of source material than is evident in Shakespeare’s works. Furthermore, Yarvin ignores the rich literary culture of London at the time, which combined with a solid education in the Latin classics would put any modern education to shame—at least if your goal is to write plays in the Elizabethan style.
Further evidence that the Earl of Oxford was not the same man as Shakespeare is that they two are mentioned separately in a work used by some Shakespeare scholars to help date his plays called the Palladis Tamia. It is odd to use a rentboy if you are known to be writing plays regardless—why use the rentboy simply to hide the authorship of your very finest works while taking credit for comedies that are much more likely to damage your reputation? He was proud of these comedies that were of such poor quality no library managed to salvage them but ashamed of immortal tragedies? To say that Oxford used a “rentboy" to hide his authorship of Hamlet is akin to saying that Dan Aykroyd hired Paul Schrader because he was afraid to confess to having written “Raging Bull.” Except, of course, Dan Aykroyd is a far more talented writer of comedy than the Earl of Oxford ever was.
Now, let’s assume for the sake of argument that—despite the fact that the Palladis Tamia mentions the Earl of Oxford as a published author of comedies, he really did wish to avoid being associated with the stage. How does this explain using Shakespeare as a “rent boy” to publish Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece—both works of such quality that they would have secured the earl’s return to court, which he continued to seek by far less effective means.
At the end of the day, the Oxfordian theory really has no substance: An educated, rich guy stopped writing around the time someone else with less education started, so he must be the greatest literary genius of his time? That is your argument? The world is filled with brilliant, talented people who lost interest in something despite their potential. Burnout is and always has been a common problem: At the end of the day, that is a far better explanation for his disappearance than elaborate conspiracies to avoid being acknowledged for his supposed literary genius. Indeed, if Oxford found literary genius so shameful, ought we not to honor his wishes by continuing to praise his “rent boy” instead?