The International Children’s Digital Library Offers Free eBooks for Kids in Over 40 Languages

For all of the free lit­er­a­ture and essays avail­able online, a sur­pris­ing­ly small amount is geared toward chil­dren. Even less is aimed at chil­dren who speak for­eign lan­guages.

The Inter­na­tion­al Children’s Dig­i­tal Library offers chil­dren ages 3–13 free access to the best avail­able children’s lit­er­a­ture in more than 40 lan­guages. Librar­i­ans find and dig­i­tize books pub­lished around the world and present them in their orig­i­nal lan­guages.

The site acts as a meta learn­ing tool. It is designed to be easy for chil­dren to use by themselves—by sim­ply click­ing “Read Books,” a list of favorite titles pops up—but kids can learn how to search too, by their own age, types of char­ac­ters, genre, book length, lan­guage and geo­graph­i­cal region.

The home­page fea­tures rec­om­mend­ed and pop­u­lar titles, like Tyrone the Hor­ri­ble, writ­ten in Span­ish. Where trans­la­tion rights exist, the library works with vol­un­teer trans­la­tors to pro­vide addi­tion­al lan­guage ver­sions.

The library is a project of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Maryland’s Human-Com­put­er Inter­ac­tion Lab and there is a research com­po­nent to the project. Work­ing with chil­dren in New Zealand, Hon­duras, Ger­many, and the Unit­ed States, researchers are look­ing at how chil­dren per­ceive oth­er cul­tures out­side their own.

The library’s broad­er mis­sion is to make it pos­si­ble for chil­dren all over the world to learn to use a library sys­tem and read a range of qual­i­ty lit­er­a­ture. The inter­face aims as much at inter­na­tion­al chil­dren as it does immi­grant chil­dren in Amer­i­can cities and rur­al areas.

Books are avail­able for free and with­out an account. An account, how­ev­er, allows a child to cre­ate their own book­shelf of favorites that can be shared with oth­er users. A guide for teach­ers includes a train­ing man­u­al and tips for how to use the library to teach cre­ative writ­ing, library search skills and for­eign lan­guages.

You will find the Inter­na­tion­al Children’s Dig­i­tal Library in our col­lec­tion 200 Free Kids Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Apps, Books, Web­sites & More.

More dig­i­tized chil­dren’s books can be found at the Library of Con­gress.

Adults, don’t miss our oth­er col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Clas­sic Win­nie-the-Pooh Read by Author A.A. Milne in 1929

Watch Ani­ma­tions of Oscar Wilde’s Children’s Sto­ries “The Hap­py Prince” and “The Self­ish Giant”

The Clas­sic 1956 Oscar-Win­ning Children’s Film, The Red Bal­loon

 

Read 9 Free Articles by Hunter S. Thompson That Span His Gonzo Journalist Career (1965–2005)

Image  via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Most read­ers know Hunter S. Thomp­son for his 1971 book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Sav­age Jour­ney to the Heart of the Amer­i­can Dream. But in over 45 years of writ­ing, this pro­lif­ic observ­er of the Amer­i­can scene wrote volu­mi­nous­ly, often hilar­i­ous­ly, and usu­al­ly with decep­tive­ly clear-eyed vit­ri­ol on sports, pol­i­tics, media, and oth­er vicious­ly addic­tive pur­suits. (“I hate to advo­cate drugs, alco­hol, vio­lence, or insan­i­ty to any­one,” he famous­ly said, “but they’ve always worked for me.”) His dis­tinc­tive style, often imi­tat­ed but nev­er repli­cat­ed, all but forced the coin­ing of the term “gonzo” jour­nal­ism. But what could define it? One clue comes in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas itself, when Thomp­son reflects on his expe­ri­ence in the city, osten­si­bly as a reporter: “What was the sto­ry? Nobody had both­ered to say. So we would have to drum it up on our own. Free Enter­prise. The Amer­i­can Dream. Hor­a­tio Alger gone mad on drugs in Las Vegas. Do it now: pure Gonzo jour­nal­ism.”

You’ll find out more in the Paris Review’s inter­view with Thomp­son, in which he recounts once feel­ing that “jour­nal­ism was just a tick­et to ride out, that I was basi­cal­ly meant for high­er things. Nov­els.” Sit­ting down to begin his prop­er lit­er­ary career, Thomp­son took a quick job writ­ing up the Hel­l’s Angels, which let him get over “the idea that jour­nal­ism was a low­er call­ing. Jour­nal­ism is fun because it offers imme­di­ate work. You get hired and at least you can cov­er the f&cking City Hall. It’s excit­ing.” And then came the real epiphany, after he went to cov­er the Ken­tucky Der­by for Scan­lan’s: “Most depress­ing days of my life. I’d lie in my tub at the Roy­al­ton. I thought I had failed com­plete­ly as a jour­nal­ist. Final­ly, in des­per­a­tion and embar­rass­ment, I began to rip the pages out of my note­book and give them to a copy­boy to take to a fax machine down the street. When I left I was a bro­ken man, failed total­ly, and con­vinced I’d be exposed when the stuff came out.”

Indeed, the expo­sure came, but not in the way he expect­ed. Below, we’ve col­lect­ed ten of Thomp­son’s arti­cles freely avail­able online, from those ear­ly pieces on the Hel­l’s Angels and the Ken­tucky Der­by to oth­ers on the 1972 Pres­i­den­tial race, the Hon­olu­lu Marathon, Richard Nixon, and wee-hour con­ver­sa­tions with Bill Mur­ray. But don’t take these sub­jects too lit­er­al­ly; Thomp­son always had a way of find­ing some­thing even more inter­est­ing in exact­ly the oppo­site direc­tion from what­ev­er he’d ini­tial­ly meant to write about. And that, per­haps, reveals more about the gonzo method than any­thing else.

The Motor­cy­cle Gangs: Losers and Out­siders” (The Nation, 1965) The arti­cle that would become the basis for Thomp­son’s first book, Hel­l’s Angels: The Strange and Ter­ri­ble Saga of the Out­law Motor­cy­cle Gangs. “When you get in an argu­ment with a group of out­law motor­cy­clists, you can gen­er­al­ly count your chances of emerg­ing unmaimed by the num­ber of heavy-hand­ed allies you can muster in the time it takes to smash a beer bot­tle. In this league, sports­man­ship is for old lib­er­als and young fools.”

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (Rolling Stone, 1971) The Gonzo jour­nal­ism clas­sic first appeared as a two-part series in Rolling Stone mag­a­zine in Novem­ber 1971, com­plete with illus­tra­tions from Ralph Stead­man, before being pub­lished as a book in 1972.  Rolling Stone has post­ed the orig­i­nal ver­sion on its web site.

Fear and Loathing on the Cam­paign Trail in ’72″ (Rolling Stone, 1973) Excerpts from Thomp­son’s book of near­ly the same name, an exam­i­na­tion of Demo­c­ra­t­ic Par­ty can­di­date George McGov­ern’s unsuc­cess­ful bid for the Pres­i­den­cy that McGov­ern’s cam­paign man­ag­er Frank Mankiewicz called “the least fac­tu­al, most accu­rate account” in print. “My own the­o­ry, which sounds like mad­ness, is that McGov­ern would have been bet­ter off run­ning against Nixon with the same kind of neo-‘radical’ cam­paign he ran in the pri­maries. Not rad­i­cal in the left/right sense, but rad­i­cal in a sense that he was com­ing on with a new… a dif­fer­ent type of politi­cian… a per­son who actu­al­ly would grab the sys­tem by the ears and shake it.”

The Curse of Lono” (Play­boy, 1983) Thomp­son and Stead­man’s assign­ment from Run­ning mag­a­zine to cov­er the Hon­ololu marathon turns into a char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly “ter­ri­ble mis­ad­ven­ture,” this one even involv­ing the old Hawai­ian gods. “It was not easy for me, either, to accept the fact that I was born 1700 years ago in an ocean-going canoe some­where off the Kona Coast of Hawaii, a prince of roy­al Poly­ne­sian blood, and lived my first life as King Lono, ruler of all the islands, god of excess, unde­feat­ed box­er. How’s that for roots?”

He Was a Crook” (Rolling Stone, 1994) Thomp­son’s obit­u­ary of, and per­son­al his­to­ry of his hatred for, Pres­i­dent Richard M. Nixon. “Some peo­ple will say that words like scum and rot­ten are wrong for Objec­tive Jour­nal­ism — which is true, but they miss the point. It was the built-in blind spots of the Objec­tive rules and dog­ma that allowed Nixon to slith­er into the White House in the first place.

Doomed Love at the Taco Stand” (Time, 2001) Thomp­son’s adven­tures in Cal­i­for­nia, to which he has returned for the pro­duc­tion of Ter­ry Gilliam’s film adap­ta­tion of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas star­ring John­ny Depp. “I had to set­tle for half of Dep­p’s trail­er, along with his C4 Porsche and his wig, so I could look more like myself when I drove around Bev­er­ly Hills and stared at peo­ple when we rolled to a halt at stop­lights on Rodeo Dri­ve.”

Fear & Loathing in Amer­i­ca” (ESPN.com, 2001) In the imme­di­ate after­math of 9/11, Thomp­son looks out onto the grim and para­noid future he sees ahead. “This is going to be a very expen­sive war, and Vic­to­ry is not guar­an­teed — for any­one, and cer­tain­ly not for any­one as baf­fled as George W. Bush.”

“Pris­on­er of Den­ver” (Van­i­ty Fair, 2004) A chron­i­cle of Thomp­son’s (posthu­mous­ly suc­cess­ful) involve­ment in the case of Lisl Auman, a young woman he believed wrong­ful­ly impris­oned for the mur­der of a police offi­cer. “ ‘We’ is the most pow­er­ful word in pol­i­tics. Today it’s Lisl Auman, but tomor­row it could be you, me, us.”

Shot­gun Golf with Bill Mur­ray” (ESPN.com, 2005) Thomp­son’s final piece of writ­ing, in which he runs an idea for a new sport —com­bin­ing golf, Japan­ese mul­ti­sto­ry dri­ving ranges, and the dis­charg­ing of shot­guns — by the com­e­dy leg­end at 3:30 in the morn­ing. “It was Bill Mur­ray who taught me how to mor­ti­fy your oppo­nents in any sport­ing con­test, hon­est or oth­er­wise. He taught me my humil­i­at­ing PGA fade­away shot, which has earned me a lot of mon­ey… after that, I taught him how to swim, and then I intro­duced him to the shoot­ing arts, and now he wins every­thing he touch­es.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thompson’s Har­row­ing, Chem­i­cal-Filled Dai­ly Rou­tine

Hunter S. Thomp­son Calls Tech Sup­port, Unleash­es a Tirade Full of Fear and Loathing (NSFW)

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters from Hunter S. Thomp­son (NSFW)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Remem­bers Jim­my Carter’s Cap­ti­vat­ing Bob Dylan Speech (1974)

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

Sherlock Holmes Is Now in the Public Domain, Declares US Judge

sherlock_holmes_in_public domain

Chief Judge Rubén Castil­lo of the Unit­ed States Dis­trict Court of the North­ern Dis­trict of Illi­nois has ruled that the char­ac­ters and sto­ry lines used in 50 Sher­lock Holmes texts pub­lished by Arthur Conan Doyle before Jan. 1, 1923 “are no longer cov­ered by Unit­ed States copy­right law and can be freely used by cre­ators with­out pay­ing any licens­ing fee to the Conan Doyle estate,” reports The New York Times. This gives con­tem­po­rary authors the abil­i­ty to write their own Sher­lock Holmes mys­tery sto­ries and keep con­tribut­ing to a rich tra­di­tion of detec­tive fic­tion. It would also seem­ing­ly put pre-1923 texts firm­ly in the pub­lic domain. (You can find The Adven­tures of Sher­lock Holmes and oth­er relat­ed sto­ries in our Free eBooks and Free Audio Books col­lec­tions. ) Leslie S. Klinger, the edi­tor of The Com­plete Anno­tat­ed Sher­lock Holmes, who filed the civ­il suit, praised the judge’s deci­sion, say­ing “Peo­ple want to cel­e­brate Holmes and Wat­son, and now they can do that with­out fear.” Now it’s time for them to write some­thing that can hold a can­dle to what Conan Doyle cre­at­ed those many years ago.

Don’t miss any­thing from Open Cul­ture. Sign up for our Dai­ly Email or RSS Feed. And we’ll send cul­tur­al curiosi­ties your way, every day.

via Arts Beat

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Arthur Conan Doyle Dis­cuss­es Sher­lock Holmes and Psy­chics in a Rare Filmed Inter­view (1927)

Arthur Conan Doyle & The Cot­tin­g­ley Fairies: How Two Young Girls Fooled Sher­lock Holmes’ Cre­ator

Arthur Conan Doyle Fills Out the Ques­tion­naire Made Famous By Mar­cel Proust (1899)

Watch John Cleese as Sher­lock Holmes in The Strange Case of the End of Civ­i­liza­tion as We Know It

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William Blake’s Hallucinatory Illustrations of John Milton’s Paradise Lost

When I saw William Blake’s illus­tra­tions for the book of Job and for John Milton’s L’Allegro and Il Penseroso at the Mor­gan Library a few years ago, I was first struck by how small the intri­cate water­col­ors are. This should not have been surprising—these are book illus­tra­tions, after all. But William Blake (1757–1827) is such a tremen­dous force, his work so mon­u­men­tal­ly strange and beau­ti­ful, that one expects to be over­pow­ered by it. In per­son, his draw­ings are indeed impres­sive, but they are equal­ly so for their care­ful atten­tion to design and com­po­si­tion as for their heavy, often quite ter­ri­fy­ing sub­jects.

Look, for exam­ple, at the play of pat­terns behind the fig­ures in the illus­tra­tion above, from an edi­tion of Milton’s Par­adise Lost. The fig­ure in the cen­ter depicts Milton’s grotesque­ly graph­ic alle­gor­i­cal con­struc­tion of Sin. In Mil­ton, this char­ac­ter “seemed woman to the waist, and fair,”

But end­ed foul in many a scaly fold
Volu­mi­nous and vast, a ser­pent armed
With mor­tal sting: about her mid­dle round
A cry of hell hounds nev­er ceas­ing barked
With wide Cer­ber­ian mouths full loud, and rung
A hideous peal: yet, when they list, would creep,
If ought dis­turbed their noise, into her womb,
And ken­nel there, yet there still barked and howled,
With­in unseen.

Blake spares us the hor­ror of the lat­ter image—in fact he gets a lit­tle vague on the details of the creature’s nether­parts, which were always dif­fi­cult to imag­ine, and empha­sizes the “fair” parts above (in the ver­sion below, the serpent/dog thing looks like a cos­tume prop). Milton’s descrip­tion always seemed to me one of the cru­elest, most misog­y­nis­tic ren­der­ings of the female body in lit­er­a­ture. Blake’s por­trait relieves Milton’s nas­ti­ness, mak­ing Sin sym­pa­thet­ic and, well, kin­da hot, a Blakean feat for sure. The char­ac­ters to her left and right are Satan and Death, respec­tive­ly.

 

Blake loved Mil­ton, and illus­trat­ed his work more than any oth­er author. And he illus­trat­ed Par­adise Lost more than any oth­er Mil­ton, in three sep­a­rate com­mis­sions (peruse them all here).  The first set dates from 1807, com­mis­sioned by Joseph Thomas. (The Satan, Sin, and Death scene above comes from the Thomas set.) The sec­ond set, from which the image at the top comes, was com­mis­sioned in 1808 by Thomas Butts. Blake patron John Lin­nell com­mis­sioned the third set of illus­tra­tions in 1822. Only three of the Lin­nell paint­ings survive—none of the scene above. In one of the 1822 illus­tra­tions (below), Satan spies on Adam and Eve as they canoo­dle in the gar­den.

Blake’s obses­sion with Par­adise Lost inspired his own cracked the­o­log­i­cal fable, Mil­ton: a Poem in Two Books, with its bizarre pre­am­ble in which Blake promis­es to “buil[d] Jerusalem / In England’s green and pleas­ant land.” One writer calls Blake’s Mil­ton “a lengthy and dif­fi­cult apoc­a­lyp­tic poem with a fas­ci­nat­ing hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry qual­i­ty.” The poem caused many of Blake’s con­tem­po­raries to con­clude that “he was quite mad.” But I think his work shows us a man with all of his fac­ul­ties, and maybe a few extra besides, although his paint­ings, like his weird­er poet­ry, can also seem like crazed hal­lu­ci­na­tions. He meant his var­i­ous Par­adise Lost illus­tra­tions to cor­rect ear­li­er ren­der­ings by oth­er artists, includ­ing a polit­i­cal satire by car­toon­ist James Gill­ray in 1792 and a 1740 paint­ing by William Hog­a­rth that today resem­bles the cov­er of a bad fan­ta­sy nov­el. See both of those ear­li­er ver­sions here.

via Bib­liokept

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gus­tave Doré’s Dra­mat­ic Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy

Alber­to Martini’s Haunt­ing Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy (1901–1944)

Spenser and Mil­ton (Free Course)

Find Works by Mil­ton in our Free Audio Books and Free eBooks Col­lec­tions

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

Every Time “Making Love” Was Uttered in a Woody Allen Film: A Four Minute Montage

Woody Allen once said that “sex with­out love is a mean­ing­less expe­ri­ence, but as far as mean­ing­less expe­ri­ences go it’s pret­ty damn good.” Most read­ers would be com­pelled to think that Allen’s slight frame, trade­mark horn-rimmed glass­es, and stut­ter­ing deliv­ery would pre­clude his char­ac­ters from achiev­ing much of any­thing in the sex­u­al realm. After all, how could the con­sum­mate neb­bish­es that Allen por­trays in most of his films pos­si­bly impress a mem­ber of the fair­er sex? Some­how, how­ev­er, in spite of their whing­ing neu­roti­cism, Allen’s geek incar­nates trans­form into gal­lants of prodi­gious pro­por­tions in almost every role. Those want­i­ng con­crete evi­dence may take a look at Take the Mon­ey and Run (1969), Annie Hall (1977), or Man­hat­tan (1979), among myr­i­ad oth­ers, and note that Allen’s char­ac­ters repeat­ed­ly end up with women who seemed to make a gross error in sex­u­al selec­tion.

Last month, we brought you a super­cut of Woody Allen’s stam­mers, com­pris­ing a 44-minute grad­u­ate course in Allen’s awk­ward man­ner­isms. Today, we con­tin­ue this tra­di­tion and bring you anoth­er Allen super­cut; this time, the mon­tage con­sists of four-odd min­utes of every occur­rence of the term “mak­ing love” in Allen’s films, begin­ning with What’s New Pussy­cat (1965) and end­ing in To Rome With Love (2012). Mer­ry Christ­mas!

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Woody Allen Answers 12 Uncon­ven­tion­al Ques­tions He Has Nev­er Been Asked Before

Watch a 44-Minute Super­cut of Every Woody Allen Stam­mer, From Every Woody Allen Film

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Woody Allen Box­es a Kan­ga­roo, 1966

 

Akira Kurosawa to Ingmar Bergman: “A Human Is Not Really Capable of Creating Really Good Works Until He Reaches 80”

KurosawatoBergman

In July of 1988, Ing­mar Bergman—retired from film—turned 70. He had every rea­son to believe that his best work lay behind him. After all, he had won three Acad­e­my Awards (and the Irv­ing G. Thal­berg Memo­r­i­al Award), two BAF­TAs, sev­en Cannes prizes, six Gold­en Globes, and a host of oth­er hon­ors. His oeu­vre includ­ed such seem­ing­ly unsur­pass­able achieve­ments as Wild Straw­ber­ries, The Sev­enth Seal, Fan­ny and Alexan­der, and too many more to name, and that year he pub­lished his mem­oirs, The Mag­ic Lantern, in which he con­fessed “I prob­a­bly do mourn the fact that I no longer make films.”

But no!, writes the Swedish director’s Japan­ese coun­ter­part, Aki­ra Kuro­sawa, the “real work is just begin­ning.” At least that’s how Kura­sawa, then 77, felt about his “sec­ond baby­hood.” Kuro­sawa wrote the let­ter above to Bergman on his birth­day, pro­fess­ing his deep admi­ra­tion. The feel­ing went both ways. The typ­i­cal­ly self-dep­re­cat­ing Bergman once called his The Vir­gin Spring a “a lousy imi­ta­tion of Kuro­sawa” and added, “at the time my admi­ra­tion for the Japan­ese cin­e­ma was at its height. I was almost a samuri myself!” Read the full tran­script of Kurosawa’s birth­day wish­es to Bergman below (orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in Chap­lin mag­a­zine).

Dear Mr. Bergman,

Please let me con­grat­u­late you upon your sev­en­ti­eth birth­day.

Your work deeply touch­es my heart every time I see it and I have learned a lot from your works and have been encour­aged by them. I would like you to stay in good health to cre­ate more won­der­ful movies for us.

In Japan, there was a great artist called Tes­sai Tomio­ka who lived in the Mei­ji Era (the late 19th cen­tu­ry). This artist paint­ed many excel­lent pic­tures while he was still young, and when he reached the age of eighty, he sud­den­ly start­ed paint­ing pic­tures which were much supe­ri­or to the pre­vi­ous ones, as if he were in mag­nif­i­cent bloom. Every time I see his paint­ings, I ful­ly real­ize that a human is not real­ly capa­ble of cre­at­ing real­ly good works until he reach­es eighty.

A human is born a baby, becomes a boy, goes through youth, the prime of life and final­ly returns to being a baby before he clos­es his life. This is, in my opin­ion, the most ide­al way of life.

I believe you would agree that a human becomes capa­ble of pro­duc­ing pure works, with­out any restric­tions, in the days of his sec­ond baby­hood.

I am now sev­en­ty-sev­en (77) years old and am con­vinced that my real work is just begin­ning.

Let us hold out togeth­er for the sake of movies.

With the warmest regards,

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa

Via Cinephil­ia and Beyond

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stan­ley Kubrick to Ing­mar Bergman: “You Are the Great­est Film­mak­er at Work Today” (1960)

Ing­mar Bergman Eval­u­ates His Fel­low Film­mak­ers — The “Affect­ed” Godard, “Infan­tile” Hitch­cock & Sub­lime Tarkovsky

Watch Kurosawa’s Rashomon Free Online, the Film That Intro­duced Japan­ese Cin­e­ma to the West

Dick Cavett’s Wide-Rang­ing TV Inter­view with Ing­mar Bergman and Lead Actress Bibi Ander­s­son (1971)

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

How the Iconic 1968 “Earthrise” Photo Was Made: An Engrossing Visualization by NASA

Let’s let NASA paint the pic­ture for you:

In Decem­ber of 1968, the crew of Apol­lo 8 became the first peo­ple to leave our home plan­et and trav­el to anoth­er body in space. But as crew mem­bers Frank Bor­man, James Lovell, and William Anders all lat­er recalled, the most impor­tant thing they dis­cov­ered was Earth.

Using pho­to mosaics and ele­va­tion data from Lunar Recon­nais­sance Orbiter (LRO), this video com­mem­o­rates the 45th anniver­sary of Apol­lo 8’s his­toric flight by recre­at­ing the moment when the crew first saw and pho­tographed the Earth ris­ing from behind the Moon. [See the orig­i­nal pho­to here.] Nar­ra­tor Andrew Chaikin, author of A Man on the Moon, sets the scene for a three-minute visu­al­iza­tion of the view from both inside and out­side the space­craft accom­pa­nied by the onboard audio of the astro­nauts. The visu­al­iza­tion draws on numer­ous his­tor­i­cal sources, includ­ing the actu­al cloud pat­tern on Earth from the ESSA‑7 satel­lite and dozens of pho­tographs tak­en by Apol­lo 8, and it reveals new, his­tor­i­cal­ly sig­nif­i­cant infor­ma­tion about the Earth­rise pho­tographs. It has not been wide­ly known, for exam­ple, that the space­craft was rolling when the pho­tos were tak­en, and that it was this roll that brought the Earth into view.

The visu­al­iza­tion estab­lish­es the pre­cise tim­ing of the roll and, for the first time ever, iden­ti­fies which win­dow each pho­to­graph was tak­en from. The key to the new work is a set of ver­ti­cal stereo pho­tographs tak­en by a cam­era mount­ed in the Com­mand Mod­ule’s ren­dezvous win­dow and point­ing straight down onto the lunar sur­face. It auto­mat­i­cal­ly pho­tographed the sur­face every 20 sec­onds. By reg­is­ter­ing each pho­to­graph to a mod­el of the ter­rain based on LRO data, the ori­en­ta­tion of the space­craft can be pre­cise­ly deter­mined.

This video above is pub­lic domain and can be down­loaded here. In 1972, astro­nauts took anoth­er famous pic­ture of the Earth, known as The Big Blue Mar­ble. You can watch a film (“Overview”) that com­mem­o­rates that pho­to­graph and explores the whole con­cept of see­ing the Earth from afar. And, of course, you should always see the Carl Sagan-nar­rat­ed film, The Pale Blue Dot, too.

via Metafil­ter/Brain­Pick­ings

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Won­der, Thrill & Mean­ing of See­ing Earth from Space. Astro­nauts Reflect on The Big Blue Mar­ble

Astro­naut Takes Amaz­ing Self Por­trait in Space

Astro­naut Chris Had­field Sings David Bowie’s “Space Odd­i­ty” On Board the Inter­na­tion­al Space Sta­tion

Werner Herzog Presents Two Visions of America in How Much Wood Could a Woodchuck Chuck (1981) and God’s Angry Man (1976)

As an Amer­i­can, I admit that only an out­sider can view my coun­try with the great­est clar­i­ty. And as long as we want to look at the Unit­ed States through for­eign eyes, why not look through those of Wern­er Her­zog? Even aside from his wild­ly cre­ative body of work as a fea­ture film­mak­er — he made Aguirre, the Wrath of God; he made Fitz­car­ral­do; he made Bad Lieu­tenant: Port of Call New Orleans — Her­zog the doc­u­men­tar­i­an has offered up a host of his own rich and sur­pris­ing per­cep­tions. He’s trav­eled the globe, from the Less­er Antilles (La Soufrière) to Antarc­ti­ca (Encoun­ters at the End of the World) to south­ern France’s pre­his­toric caves (Cave of For­got­ten Dreams), look­ing intense­ly and com­ment­ing even more intense­ly on peo­ple, from cham­pi­on ski jumpers (The Great Ecsta­sy of the Wood­carv­er Stein­er) to Viet­nam pris­on­ers of war (Lit­tle Dieter Needs to Fly) to wildlife film­mak­ers eat­en by bears (Griz­zly Man). By com­par­i­son, most of us might con­sid­er places like the auc­tion hous­es and tel­e­van­gel­i­cal broad­cast stu­dios of Amer­i­ca com­par­a­tive­ly unex­ot­ic ter­ri­to­ry.

Not Her­zog, how­ev­er: when he watch­es a live­stock sale, he hears in the rapid-fire bab­ble of the auc­tion­eer “the last poet­ry pos­si­ble, the poet­ry of cap­i­tal­ism,” and when he watch­es a tele­vi­sion preach­er, he sees an appeal to “the para­noia and crazi­ness of our civ­i­liza­tion.” Here we have two fruits of these strands of Her­zog’s fas­ci­na­tion with his now-adopt­ed home­land of Amer­i­ca: 1976’s How Much Wood Could a Wood­chuck Chuck and 1981’s God’s Angry ManLike many oth­er doc­u­men­taries of Her­zog’s, and not a few of his fic­tion films, these doc­u­men­taries deal with pur­suits so spe­cial­ized, obses­sive, or both that watch­ing them in prac­tice becomes mes­mer­iz­ing. The first wit­ness­es a series of auc­tion­eers as their obscure, qua­si-musi­cal pat­ter keeps one high­ly par­tic­u­lar gear of the econ­o­my spin­ning. The sec­ond, one even more con­cerned with mon­ey and with an orig­i­nal title of Creed and Cur­ren­cy, looks into the world of Los Ange­les’ flam­boy­ant, dona­tion-demand­ing, FCC-hat­ing, seem­ing­ly untir­ing reli­gious broad­cast­er Dr. Gene Scott. Do cow­boy-hat­ted rur­al busi­ness­men and man­ic tel­e­van­ge­lists accu­rate­ly rep­re­sent Amer­i­ca? Hard­ly. But inter­pret­ed by Her­zog, they show you the coun­try in a way nobody else could.

Find more great films in our col­lec­tion of 600 Free Movies Online.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wern­er Herzog’s Eye-Open­ing New Film Reveals the Dan­gers of Tex­ting While Dri­ving

Por­trait Wern­er Her­zog: The Director’s Auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Short Film from 1986

Errol Mor­ris and Wern­er Her­zog in Con­ver­sa­tion

Wern­er Her­zog Has a Beef With Chick­ens

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

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