Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer Discusses His Love for Reading Proust, and Why “Literature is Crucial to Any Democracy”

in Law, Literature | October 23rd, 2013

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Worth a quick note: The New York Review of Books has post­ed an intrigu­ing inter­view with Supreme Court Jus­tice Stephen Brey­er, who reflects on an impor­tant moment in his intel­lec­tu­al life — read­ing Mar­cel Proust’s À la recherche du temps per­du (In Search of Lost Time) for the very  first time … in French. Decades ago, while “work­ing as a legal intern at an Amer­i­can law firm in Paris,” Brey­er need­ed to improve his French. Read­ing through all sev­en vol­umes of Proust’s mon­u­men­tal work seemed like a good way to do it. 3,500 pages and 1.5 mil­lion words lat­er, Brey­er fin­ished. And then he re-read them again. The first vol­ume of the long nov­el, Swann’s Way, was pub­lished 100 years ago, in 1913. Asked why he still cher­ish­es Proust’s work so much, Brey­er had this to say:

It’s all there in Proust—all mankind! Not only all the dif­fer­ent char­ac­ter types, but also every emo­tion, every imag­in­able sit­u­a­tion. Proust is a uni­ver­sal author: he can touch any­one, for dif­fer­ent rea­sons; each of us can find some piece of him­self in Proust, at dif­fer­ent ages.… What is most extra­or­di­nary about Proust is his abil­i­ty to cap­ture the sub­tlest nuances of human emo­tions, the slight­est vari­a­tions of the mind and the soul. To me, Proust is the Shake­speare of the inner world.

You can read the full inter­view at NYRB, which gets into to some fas­ci­nat­ing ques­tions, like Why is lit­er­a­ture cru­cial to a democ­ra­cy? and Does read­ing the US Con­sti­tu­tion hav­ing any­thing in com­mon with read­ing a great lit­er­ary work?

A hat tip goes to The New York­er’s Page Turn­er blog for call­ing this to our atten­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Mon­ty Python’s “Sum­ma­rize Proust Com­pe­ti­tion” on the 100th Anniver­sary of Swann’s Way

Lis­ten­ing to Proust’s Remem­brance of Things Past, (Maybe) the Longest Audio Book Ever Made

Ray Brad­bury: Lit­er­a­ture is the Safe­ty Valve of Civ­i­liza­tion

Find Recherche in our Free eBooks col­lec­tion

Free French Lessons in Audio & Video

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Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg & Margaret Mead Explain the Meaning of “Beat” in Rare 1950s Audio Clips

in Literature | October 23rd, 2013

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In 1948, Jack Ker­ouac first start­ed talk­ing about a “Beat Gen­er­a­tion,” by which he meant a “swing­ing group of new Amer­i­can men intent on joy.” Ten years lat­er, the term, now com­mon­place in Amer­i­ca’s lex­i­con, was get­ting co-opt­ed by the main­stream media, and not for the bet­ter. “Beat” had become a short­hand for “crime, delin­quen­cy, immoral­i­ty, amoral­i­ty” and more. In 1958, Ker­ouac deliv­ered a speech at Hunter Col­lege where he tried to restore the true prin­ci­ples of the beat move­ment and sweep aside the fab­ri­cat­ed mis­con­cep­tions. You can lis­ten to a 7 minute excerpt of that speech below, or hear the full speech here:

The next year, Play­boy explic­it­ly asked Ker­ouac to elab­o­rate on the Hunter Col­lege speech. He agreed and gave them “The Ori­gins of the Beat Gen­er­a­tion,” which, too, you can read online: Page 1  — Page 2 — Page 3 — Page 4.

By ’59, Allen Gins­berg, the poet lau­re­ate of the Beats, knew there was lit­tle use in try­ing to reap­pro­pri­ate the term from the mag­a­zines and mar­keters. When asked to define the word, he effec­tive­ly refused to play the game. But famed anthro­pol­o­gist Mar­garet Mead, a more neu­tral out­side observ­er, was will­ing to take a shot. Lis­ten below, or hear a slight­ly longer audio clip here:

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Pablo Picasso’s Tender Illustrations For Aristophanes’ Lysistrata (1934)

in Art, Books, Literature | October 23rd, 2013

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In the mid-1930s, some beau­ti­ful, high-qual­i­ty books were pub­lished by a com­pa­ny called Lim­it­ed Edi­tions Club, which, accord­ing to Antiques Road­show apprais­er Ken Sanders, was “famous for re-issu­ing clas­sics of lit­er­a­ture and com­mis­sion­ing con­tem­po­rary liv­ing artists to illus­trate 1500-copy signed lim­it­ed edi­tions.”  One of those books—the 1934 Pablo Picas­so-illus­trat­ed edi­tion of Aristo­phanes’ Lysis­tra­ta—is, next to Hen­ri Matisse’s 1935 edi­tion of Joyce’s Ulysses, one of “the most sought after and desir­able lim­it­ed edi­tions on the mar­ket today.”

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The book’s rar­i­ty, of course, ren­ders it more valu­able on the mar­ket than a mass-pro­duced object, but whether it was worth $5,000 or $50, I think I’d hold onto my copy if I had one (here’s one for $12,000 if you’re buy­ing). While Aubrey Beardsley’s 1896 illus­tra­tions do full and styl­ish jus­tice to the satir­i­cal Greek comedy’s bawdy nature, Picasso’s draw­ings ren­der sev­er­al scenes as ten­der, soft­ly sen­su­al tableaux. The almost child­like sim­plic­i­ty of these illus­tra­tions of a play about female pow­er and the lim­its of patri­archy do not seem like the work of a rumored misog­y­nist, but then again, nei­ther do any of Picasso’s oth­er domes­tic scenes in this spare, round­ed style of his.

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In Aristo­phanes’ play, the women of Greece refuse their hus­bands sex until the men agree to end the Pelo­pon­nesian War. The play makes much of the men’s mount­ing sex­u­al frus­tra­tion, with sev­er­al humor­ous ges­tures toward its phys­i­cal man­i­fes­ta­tions. Beardsley’s draw­ings offend Vic­to­ri­an eyes by mak­ing these scenes into exag­ger­at­ed nud­ist farce. Picas­so’s mod­ernist sketch­es all but ignore the overt sex­u­al­i­ty of the play, pic­tur­ing two lovers (2nd from top) almost in the pos­ture of moth­er and child, the pent up men (image above) as deject­ed and down­cast gen­tle souls, and the reunion of the sex­es (below) as a high­ly styl­ized, none too erot­ic, feast. These images are three of six signed proofs fea­tured on the blog Book Graph­ics. See their site to view all six illus­tra­tions.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hen­ri Matisse Illus­trates 1935 Edi­tion of James Joyce’s Ulysses

Watch Icon­ic Artists at Work: Rare Videos of Picas­so, Matisse, Kandin­sky, Renoir, Mon­et, Pol­lock & More

Picas­so Paint­ing on Glass

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Banksy Creates a Tiny Replica of The Great Sphinx Of Giza In Queens

in Art | October 22nd, 2013

What did Banksy’s month-long show, “Bet­ter Out than In,” bring today? Why noth­ing oth­er than a minia­ture ver­sion of The Great Sphinx of Giza. Accord­ing to the street artist’s web site, the 22nd install­ment in the exhi­bi­tion is a “1/36 scale repli­ca of the great Sphinx of Giza made from smashed cin­derblocks.” And it comes with the warn­ing, “You’re advised not to drink the repli­ca Arab spring water.”

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You can fol­low Bet­ter Out than In on Insta­gram through the end of Octo­ber.

H/T Robin

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

Louis Arm­strong Plays Trum­pet at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids; Dizzy Gille­spie Charms a Snake in Pak­istan

The Always Bank­able Banksy

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Animated Video: Kurt Cobain on Teenage Angst, Sexuality & Finding Salvation in Punk Music

in Animation, Life, Music | October 22nd, 2013

The Blank on Blank “Lost Inter­view” series con­tin­ues to roll along. Today, they’ve released an ani­mat­ed video based on a July, 1993 inter­view with Nir­vana front­man Kurt Cobain. Record­ed less than a year before his death, the inter­view­er, Jon Sav­age, finds Cobain feel­ing rel­a­tive­ly opti­mistic, upbeat, bet­ter than he’d felt in years. The inter­view touch­es on many things, but, if there’s a com­mon theme, it’s iden­ti­ty — Cobain’s Irish­ness, his ques­tions about his sex­u­al­i­ty as a younger man, his views on women and sex­ism, his sense of being an out­sider through­out his child­hood, and how punk music saved him from all of that. Pre­vi­ous Blank on Blank videos have revived inter­views from Ray Charles, Janis Joplin, David Fos­ter Wal­lace, Jim Mor­ri­son & Dave Brubeck. For footage of Kurt Cobain back in the day, see some of the choice mate­r­i­al below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nir­vana Plays in a Radio Shack, the Day After Record­ing its First Demo Tape (1988)

Nirvana’s Home Videos: An Inti­mate Look at the Band’s Life Away From the Spot­light (1988)

The “Priest” They Called Him: A Dark Col­lab­o­ra­tion Between Kurt Cobain & William S. Bur­roughs

Kurt Cobain’s Iso­lat­ed Vocal Track From ‘Smells Like Teen Spir­it,’ 1991

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Stephen King Writes A Letter to His 16-Year-Old Self: “Stay Away from Recreational Drugs”

in Letters, Life, Literature | October 22nd, 2013

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By the 1980s, it looked like Stephen King had every­thing. He had authored a series of best­sellers — Car­rie, The Shin­ing, Cujo – and turned them into block­buster movies. He had a big, 24-room house. Plen­ty of cash in the bank.  All the trap­pings of that Amer­i­can Dream. And yet … and yet … he was angry and depressed, smok­ing two packs of cig­a­rettes a day, drink­ing lots of beer, snort­ing coke, and enter­tain­ing sui­ci­dal thoughts. It’s no won­der then that the author, who sobered up dur­ing the late 80s, con­tributed the let­ter above to a 2011 col­lec­tion called Dear Me: A Let­ter to My 16-Year-Old Self. Edit­ed by Joseph Gal­liano, the book asked 75 celebri­ties, writ­ers, musi­cians, ath­letes, and actors this ques­tion: “If as an adult, you could send a let­ter to your younger self, what words of guid­ance, com­fort, advice or oth­er mes­sage would you put in it?” In King’s case, the advice  was short, sweet, to the point. In essence, a mere five words.

To view the let­ter in a larg­er for­mat, click here.

via Fla­vor­wire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Fry: What I Wish I Had Known When I Was 18

Radiohead’s Thom Yorke Gives Teenage Girls Endear­ing Advice About Boys (And Much More)

Stephen King Reads from His Upcom­ing Sequel to The Shin­ing

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William S. Burroughs “Sings” R.E.M. and The Doors, Backed by the Original Bands

in Literature, Music | October 22nd, 2013

The nineties saw a lot of alter­na­tive bands not only wear their influ­ences on their sleeves, but also bring them up on stage and into the stu­dio. William S. Bur­roughs was one such lumi­nary, appear­ing on Tom Waits’ 1993 The Black Rid­er, a col­lab­o­ra­tion with Kurt Cobain titled “Priest They Called Him,” and Sep­tem­ber Songs, a 1997 Kurt Weill trib­ute album fea­tur­ing the likes of PJ Har­vey, Nick Cave, Elvis Costel­lo, and Lou Reed. In 1996, Bur­roughs got togeth­er with R.E.M. for a cov­er of their “Star Me Kit­ten” from ‘92’s Auto­mat­ic for the Peo­ple. In the track above, hear Bur­roughs recite Michael Stipe’s lyrics over the band’s instru­men­ta­tion. The record­ing comes from an album called Songs in the Key of X: Music From and Inspired By the X‑Files, which includ­ed Frank Black, Soul Cough­ing, Foo Fight­ers, and PM Dawn. Bur­roughs intro­duces his ren­di­tion by cit­ing a much more clas­si­cal source for his cabaret approach to the song: Mar­lene Diet­rich. “Not one of my favorite peo­ple,” he mum­bles, dourly. See per­haps why.

Bur­roughs didn’t only work musi­cal­ly with con­tem­po­rary alt bands in the ’90s, and he had a long, illus­tri­ous record­ing career sev­er­al decades pri­or. In a mash-up that brings togeth­er a band clos­er to Bur­roughs’ prime, hear the beat writer’s rhyth­mic dead­pan of Jim Morrison’s “Is Every­body In?,” backed by the sur­viv­ing Doors. Despite the orig­i­nal play­ers, it’s still a very ‘90s pro­duc­tion (though released in 2000). From a Doors trib­ute album called Stoned Immac­u­late, the song sits, some­what uncom­fort­ably, next to cov­ers and inter­pre­ta­tions by Stone Tem­ple Pilots, The Cult, Creed, Smash Mouth, Days of the New, and Train, and a bit cozi­er next to stal­warts like John Lee Hook­er, Exene Cer­ven­ka, and Bo Did­dley. Bur­roughs’ is the stand-out track among many that also fea­ture the Doors as a back­ing band, although in an acid-jazz production–with sam­ples of soul music and Mor­ri­son himself–that may sound a bit dat­ed. But Bur­roughs is as dry as ever, under­lin­ing the sheer creepi­ness of Mor­rison’s poet­ry in a trib­ute that also high­lights the debt Mor­ri­son owed him.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Explains What Artists & Cre­ative Thinkers Do for Human­i­ty: From Galileo to Cézanne and James Joyce

Pat­ti Smith Shares William S. Bur­roughs’ Advice for Writ­ers and Artists

“The Lost Paris Tapes” Pre­serves Jim Morrison’s Final Poet­ry Record­ings from 1971

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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An Animation of Orson Welles’ Famous Frozen Peas Rant

in Animation, Television | October 22nd, 2013

If you get into a con­ver­sa­tion with an Orson Welles enthu­si­ast, try not to men­tion frozen peas. By now, even those who bare­ly know Welles’ work — those who’ve bare­ly seen Cit­i­zen Kane or heard War of the Worlds, let alone The Mag­nif­i­cent Amber­sons or F for Fake — chuck­le at the fact that, in the twi­light of his career, the actor-auteur took on such the­o­ret­i­cal­ly easy-mon­ey jobs as pre­sent­ing an “instruc­tion­al film” on gam­bling for Cae­sars Palace and nar­rat­ing a series of British tele­vi­sion com­mer­cials for Swedish frozen-food giant Find­us. But even in hum­ble con­texts like these, Welles, as his afore­men­tioned fans would sure­ly admit, could make headaches for his employ­ers. The Find­us peo­ple, with whose direc­tor and copy­writer Welles appar­ent­ly did­n’t see eye-to-eye, would soon find this out — as would every lis­ten­er to the uncut record­ings from that unhap­py day in the stu­dio.

At the top, you can hear that very audio and watch it ani­mat­ed by Neil Williams. He visu­al­izes Welles’ con­ster­na­tion in the face of the direc­tor’s request to empha­size the word “in” (“there’s no known way of say­ing an Eng­lish sen­tence in which you begin a sen­tence with ‘in’ and empha­size it”) while pitch­ing those frozen peas. And then there’s Welles’ objec­tion to the dif­fi­cult-to-enun­ci­ate “crumb crisp coat­ing” on Find­us fish sticks, and his blowup over how many times to say “beef” when describ­ing their ham­burg­ers as well. Vet­er­an voice actor Mau­rice LaMarche, who has no doubt labored even longer in record­ing booths than Welles did, won an ear­ly burst of fame with his uncan­ny impres­sion of Welles. When he used a ver­sion of that voice for The Brain, the Ani­ma­ni­acs’ dour, world-dom­i­na­tion-mind­ed car­toon mouse, the idea for a frozen peas par­o­dy sketch, which you can watch above, must have sug­gest­ed itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Orson Welles Teach­es Bac­carat, Craps, Black­jack, Roulette, and Keno at Cae­sars Palace (1978)

Orson Welles Nar­rates Plato’s Cave Alle­go­ry, Kafka’s Para­ble, and Free­dom Riv­er

The Hearts of Age: Orson Welles’ Sur­re­al­ist First Film (1934)

Orson Welles’ The Stranger: Watch The Full Movie Free Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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