The Long Game of Creativity: If You Haven’t Created a Masterpiece at 30, You’re Not a Failure

Orson Welles direct­ed the great­est movie ever made, Cit­i­zen Kane, at age 25, with only a lim­it­ed knowl­edge of the medi­um. When Paul McCart­ney was 25, he, along with his fel­low Bea­t­les, released the era-defin­ing album Sgt. Pepper’s Lone­ly Hearts Club Band. By age 29, Pablo Picas­so rev­o­lu­tion­ized mod­ern art by devel­op­ing cubism.

If hear­ing such sto­ries sets off an exis­ten­tial pan­ic attack because you squan­dered your 20s with too much real­i­ty TV and grad­u­ate school, then take heart — you’re not nec­es­sar­i­ly a fail­ure.

As Adam West­brook points out in his video essay The Long Game, Leonar­do da Vin­ci was a total los­er before he paint­ed The Last Sup­per at age 46. As a youth, Leonar­do planned grandiose projects that he wouldn’t be able to fin­ish. This, of course, did lit­tle for his rep­u­ta­tion and even less for his career as a free­lance artist. But he con­tin­ued to work, eking out a liv­ing by endur­ing the demands of picky, small-mind­ed clients, and, through this lean peri­od, Leonar­do emerged a great artist. Robert Greene, in his book Mas­tery, calls this peri­od “The Dif­fi­cult Years.” Every suc­cess­ful cre­ative slogs through some form of the Dif­fi­cult Years, even child prodi­gies. Mozart just went through his strug­gles at a time when most chil­dren are learn­ing to read.

In oth­er words, “genius” has less to do with innate tal­ent than just doing the work. Of course, that isn’t near­ly as good a sto­ry as that of the roman­tic genius. But it is encour­ag­ing for those of us who haven’t quite yet won that MacArthur grant.

You can watch Westbrook’s video essay in var­i­ous parts above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch Explains How Med­i­ta­tion Enhances Our Cre­ativ­i­ty

Mal­colm McLaren: The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Mihaly Czik­szent­mi­ha­lyi Explains Why the Source of Hap­pi­ness Lies in Cre­ativ­i­ty and Flow, Not Mon­ey

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Johnny Cash Machines: Johnny Cash Stars in 1980s Commercials for ATM Machines

Back in the 1980s, Cana­da Trust installed a bunch of ATM machines and began con­vinc­ing cus­tomers that banker’s hours were a thing of the past. Now cus­tomers could get mon­ey 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And who bet­ter to tell cus­tomers how they could con­ve­nient­ly tap their cash than John­ny Cash. Enter the John­ny Cash Machine. Don’t believe me? Here are two 1985 com­mer­cials to prove it.

Get more on the sto­ry at Retrontario.

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Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John­ny Cash & Joe Strum­mer Sing Bob Marley’s “Redemp­tion Song” (2002)

John­ny Cash’s Short and Per­son­al To-Do List 

The 1969 Bob Dylan-John­ny Cash Ses­sions: 12 Rare Record­ings

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Hear Orson Welles Read Edgar Allan Poe on a Cult Classic Album by The Alan Parsons Project

If some­one asks whether you like Tales of Mys­tery and Imag­i­na­tion, you’d bet­ter clar­i­fy which Tales of Mys­tery and Imag­i­na­tion they mean: the first com­plete col­lec­tion of hor­ror and sus­pense sto­ries by mas­ter of psy­cho­log­i­cal unease Edgar Allan Poe, or the first album by pro­gres­sive rock band The Alan Par­sons Project? But if you like one, you might well like the oth­er, giv­en that Par­sons based his group’s debut, which con­tains such tracks as “The Raven,” “The Cask of Amon­til­la­do,” and “The Fall of the House of Ush­er,” direct­ly on Poe’s work.

Not only do Par­sons’ com­po­si­tions use Poe’s themes, they use Poe’s words. “How impor­tant the Poe con­cept is is ques­tion­able,” declared the con­tem­po­rary Bill­board review, “but the LP as a whole holds up well as a viable musi­cal work.” It hav­ing been 1976, the writer does note its “strong FM poten­tial,” but time has much increased Tales of Mys­tery and Imag­i­na­tion’s sta­tus in rock, pro­gres­sive or oth­er­wise. All Music Guide’s Mike DeGagne more recent­ly called the album “an extreme­ly mes­mer­iz­ing aur­al jour­ney” and “a vivid pic­ture of one of the most allur­ing lit­er­ary fig­ures in his­to­ry.”

Of course, those two reviews don’t eval­u­ate quite the same pro­duc­tion, since, in 1987, Par­sons, a born stu­dio tin­ker­er, went back and remixed Tales of Mys­tery and Imag­i­na­tion. He added a good deal of not just 1980s-style reverb, but new gui­tar bits and pieces of Poe recital, this time per­formed by no less an ide­al read­er than Orson Welles, who’d sent Par­sons a tape of his Poe per­for­mance short­ly after the orig­i­nal album appeared. You can hear his con­tri­bu­tion on the tracks “A Dream With­in a Dream” and “Fall of the House of Ush­er.” Both above. The com­plete album is avail­able below on Spo­ti­fy.

You might won­der what work of Poe’s, exact­ly, you hear Welles read­ing from, since none of it sounds like the writer’s best-known pas­sages. The words spo­ken in “A Dream With­in a Dream” come from a reflec­tion Poe wrote in his Mar­gin­a­lia, and those in “The Fall of the House of Ush­er” per­form some­thing of a remix them­selves, com­bin­ing more non­fic­tion from the Mar­gin­a­lia with the intro­duc­tion to his Poems of Youth. Only a ded­i­cat­ed Poe enthu­si­ast indeed would rec­og­nize all these pas­sages, but sure­ly such a per­son would love both Tales of Mys­tery and Imag­i­na­tion and Tales of Mys­tery and Imag­i­na­tion. If you, per­son­al­ly, don’t go in for Poe in the prog-rock treat­ment, might I sug­gest Par­sons’ take on Asi­mov?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

James Earl Jones Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” and Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

Iggy Pop, Deb­bie Har­ry, Jeff Buck­ley & Oth­er Celebs Read Tales by Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” Read by Christo­pher Walken, Vin­cent Price, and Christo­pher Lee

Watch the 1953 Ani­ma­tion of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” Nar­rat­ed by James Mason

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe: Macabre Sto­ries as Free eBooks & Audio Books

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Library of Congress Launches New Online Poetry Archive, Featuring 75 Years of Classic Poetry Readings

LOC poetry archive frost

Image by Fred Palum­bo, made avail­able by the Library of Con­gress.

Put THIS in your pock­et. The Library of Con­gress is cel­e­brat­ing Nation­al Poet­ry Month by launch­ing its new Archive of Record­ed Poet­ry and Lit­er­a­ture. It debuts with 50 choice poet­ry record­ings, span­ning 75 years of time. In the past, you’d have had to vis­it the library in per­son to lis­ten to these good­ies on reel-to-reel tape. Now you can take them to the gym, plug in as you wash dish­es, post online links for your min­ions to enjoy.

New­ly ensconced Con­sul­tant in Poet­ry Gwen­dolyn Brooks (was there ever a more rec­og­niz­able voice?) pref­aces her read­ing by pledg­ing her inten­tion to reg­is­ter “on the pub­lic con­scious­ness and con­science the gen­er­al­ly neglect­ed rich­ness of ‘minor­i­ty poet­ry.’”

Robert Frost tells Ran­dall Jar­rell of his desire to iden­ti­fy Amer­i­can antiq­ui­ty — to fea­ture in his poet­ry a woodchopper’s hut that looks “as old as Baby­lon.”

Paul Mul­doon shares the sto­ry of how he came to own the eel­skin bag that is the star of “The Brief­case.”

Arm­chair trav­el­ers who still yearn to make that trip to DC in their minds will enjoy Eliz­a­beth Bish­op’s “View of the Capi­tol from the Library of Con­gress” (at the 4:02 mark), read at the Library of Con­gress’s own Coolidge Audi­to­ri­um. Vis­i­tors can also stream read­ings by Ray Brad­bury (below), Mar­garet Atwood, and Kurt Von­negut.

As part of its ongo­ing com­mit­ment to the form, the Library will be adding to the online archive on a month­ly basis. Let every month be Poet­ry Month! You can stream the com­plete col­lec­tion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Penn Sound: Fan­tas­tic Audio Archive of Mod­ern & Con­tem­po­rary Poets

Stream Clas­sic Poet­ry Read­ings from Harvard’s Rich Audio Archive: From W.H. Auden to Dylan Thomas

Lis­ten to 90 Famous Authors & Celebri­ties Read Great Sto­ries & Poems

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Milton Glaser Draws Shakespeare & Explains Why Drawing is the Key to Understanding Life

In this fas­ci­nat­ing over-the-shoul­der film of the artist/designer Mil­ton Glaser, we watch as the man behind the “I Heart NY” logo, the Bob Dylan psy­che­del­ic sil­hou­ette, and the Brook­lyn Brew­ery logo draws Shake­speare and deliv­ers his thoughts about draw­ing.

He only talks for five minutes–and before you know it, he’s pro­duced a sketch of The Bard. We wish it was more, but his obser­va­tions make for some good inspi­ra­tional quotes, whether you dab­ble in art or not. He cri­tiques art schools for drop­ping draw­ing from their cur­ricu­lums because draw­ing does­n’t jibe with their com­put­er-based, career focus. “While peo­ple have what they need, per­haps, for their pro­fes­sion­al life, what they don’t have is a fun­da­men­tal instru­ment for under­stand­ing the real­i­ty of that life,” he opines.

Draw­ing is how Glaser under­stands the world, and how it keeps him present in real­i­ty. It’s the basis for all art that is to come, no mat­ter if the stu­dent goes on to abstrac­tion. It’s also essen­tial, he says, for child devel­op­ment, and any child not giv­en the tools to make art is being done a dis­ser­vice.

For those won­der­ing about that book Glaser men­tions writ­ing, Draw­ing Is Think­ing, you can get it here.

And if you’re curi­ous about Frank R. Wilson’s The Hand, which Glaser com­pli­ments, it’s here.

And final­ly, if you need a quick primer on the man, here’s a quick overview of Mil­ton Glaser by the New York Times. “Draw­ing is my great­est plea­sure,” he says, and it shows.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

World-Renowned Graph­ic Design­er Mil­ton Glaser Has a Laugh on Old Jews Telling Jokes

Sketch­es of Artists by the Late New Media Design­er Hill­man Cur­tis

Mick­ey Mouse In Viet­nam: The Lost Anti-War Ani­ma­tion from 1968

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Discover Haruki Murakami’s Advertorial Short Stories: Rare Short-Short Fiction from the 1980s

mizumaruart5

No pro­file of Haru­ki Muraka­mi, the most glob­al­ly pop­u­lar nov­el­ist alive, fails to refer to the high num­ber of lan­guages (as of this writ­ing, the count has reached 50) in which his 14 Japan­ese-lan­guage nov­els have appeared in trans­la­tion. But out­side Japan, monoglot Murakamists (espe­cial­ly read­ers of only Eng­lish) have a prob­lem: they still can’t read a wealth of Murakami’s oth­er, non-nov­el­is­tic writ­ing, includ­ing the full-length, two-vol­ume ver­sion of Under­ground, his study of the 1995 Tokyo sarin gas attack; his Por­trait in Jazz books on his favorite music; and most of his many essays and movie reviews.

Even some of Murakami’s fic­tion has remained more or less off-lim­its to glob­al read­ers. I dis­cov­ered this when I came across a col­lec­tion of his I’d nev­er even heard of while book-shop­ping in Seoul. Real­iz­ing that of course more Muraka­mi mate­r­i­al would find its way into Kore­an, a gram­mat­i­cal­ly sim­i­lar lan­guage to Japan­ese, than Eng­lish, I set about check­ing every book­store in the city I knew for oth­er unknown vol­umes. One book of short sto­ries, titled in Kore­an 밤의 원숭이 (Spi­der Mon­key of the Night), par­tic­u­lar­ly delight­ed me with its strange and extreme­ly brief tales, each accom­pa­nied by charm­ing illus­tra­tions.

Murakami2

But where did these sto­ries, with their titles like “Hotel Lob­by Oys­ters,” “Julio Igle­sias,” and “Takaya­ma Noriko and My Libido,” come from? They came, as Neo­japon­is­me’s post on them explains, from the world of adver­tis­ing, and specif­i­cal­ly from a com­pa­ny called “Onward,” which mar­ket­ed the Amer­i­can Ivy League fash­ion label J. Press in Japan:

In the late 1970s and ear­ly 1980s, Onward spent mas­sive sums on adver­tis­ing J. Press in the print media. The clas­sic ad for­mat, often seen on the back cov­er of lifestyle mag­a­zine Pop­eye, showed a Japan­ese or Amer­i­can man telling a col­or­ful sto­ry about their favorite trad cloth­ing item. In 1985, as Japan­ese pop cul­ture went in more avant-garde direc­tions, Onward came up with a new idea — ask­ing up-and-com­ing nov­el­ist Muraka­mi Haru­ki to write a very short sto­ry inside each month’s adver­tise­ment for mag­a­zines Pop­eye, Box, and Men’s Club.

“So once a month from April 1985 to Feb­ru­ary 1987, Muraka­mi wrote a ‘short short’ (短い短編), which was set on its own page with an illus­tra­tion by famed artist Anzai Mizu­maru at the top and a small J. Press logo in the low­er left cor­ner.” Dur­ing that time, out came Murakami’s hit nov­el Nor­we­gian Wood, which rock­et­ed him to a lev­el of fame that effec­tive­ly put him in exile from his home­land. But the adver­to­r­i­al short-short form still appealed to him, and in 1993 he got famous pen­mak­er Park­er to spon­sor 24 new ones.

To give you a fla­vor of all this, below is one of the Eng­lish-lan­guage trans­la­tions float­ing around of “Hotel Lob­by Oys­ters,” Murakami’s first J. Press sto­ry. (You can also read “Miss Noriko Takaya­ma and My Libido,” anoth­er J. Press sto­ry here):

At the time I was sit­ting on the hotel lob­by sofa and vague­ly think­ing about oys­ters. Not lemon souf­flé, not pen­cil sharp­en­ers – oys­ters. I don’t know why. I just sud­den­ly real­ized that I was think­ing about oys­ters.

The oys­ters I was think­ing about on the hotel lob­by sofa were dif­fer­ent from oys­ters thought about any­where else. They were shaped dif­fer­ent­ly, they smelled dif­fer­ent­ly, and their col­or was dif­fer­ent, too. They weren’t oys­ters har­vest­ed in some cove. They were pure oys­ters har­vest­ed in a hotel lob­by.

After think­ing about oys­ters for a while, I went to the sink to wash my face, then retied my tie and returned to the sofa. When I got back, the oys­ters had already dis­ap­peared from inside my head. Again, I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I washed my faced or because I retied my tie. Or maybe the hotel oys­ter sea­son is extreme­ly short.

When the girl came 17 min­utes after our appoint­ed time, I told her about the hotel lob­by oys­ters. The image was so dis­tinct I felt like I had to tell some­one about them.

“You want to eat oys­ters?” she asked.

“No, these oys­ters, they were pure­ly oys­ters as a con­cept, unre­lat­ed to my appetite,” I explained. “The oys­ters came into being as the very essence of oys—“

“But you do want to eat some, right?” she said.

When she men­tioned it and I set­tled down to think about it, I cer­tain­ly had devel­oped an incred­i­ble desire to eat oys­ters. We went to the hotel restau­rant and ate 25 oys­ters while drink­ing wine. Some­times I think my appetite orig­i­nates from a real­ly strange place.

And, for Park­er, Muraka­mi wrote, “Spi­der Mon­key of the Night”:

I was sit­ting at my desk at 2:00 in the morn­ing and writ­ing. I pushed my win­dow open and a spi­der mon­key came in.

“Oh, hey, who are you?” I asked.

“Oh, hey, who are you,” the spi­der mon­key said.

“Don’t copy me,” I said.

“Don’t copy me,” the mon­key said.

Don’t copy me,” I copied him.

Don’t copy me,” he copied me in ital­ics.

Man, this is real­ly annoy­ing, I thought. If I get caught up with this copy­cat-crazed night mon­key, who knows when this will end. I’ll just have to trip him up some­where. I had a job that I had to fin­ish by morn­ing, and I couldn’t very well keep doing this all night.

“Hep­poku rakurashi man­ga tote­muya, kuri­ni kama­su toki­mi wako­ru, paco­pa­co,” I said quick­ly.

“Hep­poku rakurashi man­ga tote­muya, kuri­ni kama­su toki­mi wako­ru, paco­pa­co,” the spi­der mon­key said.

Since I had said some­thing com­plete­ly ran­dom, I couldn’t actu­al­ly tell if the mon­key had copied me cor­rect­ly or not. Well, that was point­less.

“Leave me alone,” I said.

Leave me alone,” the mon­key said.

“You got it wrong, I didn’t say it in ital­ics that time.”

“You got it wrong, I didn’t say it in ītal­ics that time.”

“I didn’t put a macron over the i.”

“I didn’t put a macron over the eye.”

I sighed. No mat­ter what I said, the spi­der mon­key wouldn’t under­stand. I decid­ed to not say any­thing and just keep doing my work. Still, when I pressed a key on my word proces­sor, the mon­key silent­ly pressed the copy key. Click. Still, when I pressed a key on my word proces­sor, the mon­key silent­ly pressed the copy key. Click. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

via Neo­japon­isme

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 3 Sto­ries from Haru­ki Murakami’s Short Sto­ry Col­lec­tion Pub­lished in Japan Last Year

Read 6 Sto­ries By Haru­ki Muraka­mi Free Online

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Reads in Eng­lish from The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle in a Rare Pub­lic Read­ing (1998)

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Lists the Three Essen­tial Qual­i­ties For All Seri­ous Nov­el­ists (And Run­ners)

In Search of Haru­ki Muraka­mi: A Doc­u­men­tary Intro­duc­tion to Japan’s Great Post­mod­ernist Nov­el­ist

Haru­ki Murakami’s Pas­sion for Jazz: Dis­cov­er the Novelist’s Jazz Playlist, Jazz Essay & Jazz Bar

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Henry Miller Makes a List of “The 100 Books That Influenced Me Most”

Henry_Miller_1940

Image licensed under Pub­lic Domain via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Take a sur­vey of a hun­dred writ­ers from the mid- to late-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry about the books that influ­enced them most and you’re bound to find plen­ty of Hen­ry Miller tucked in with the Vic­to­ri­ans, the Rus­sians, and the Beats. The Brook­lyn-raised author of such noto­ri­ous­ly banned nov­els as Trop­ic of Capri­corn and Trop­ic of Can­cer has long appealed to con­tem­po­rary writ­ers not only because of his frank explo­rations of sex­u­al­i­ty and oth­er taboo sub­jects but also because—like so many avant-garde and not so avant-garde writ­ers after him—he had the audac­i­ty to present his own life and loves as lit­er­ary mate­r­i­al. Long before the mem­oir became the dom­i­nant force in Amer­i­can let­ters, with all of the atten­dant con­tro­ver­sies about truth-telling in the form, Miller blend­ed fact and fic­tion in ways that made it hard to tell where one end­ed and the oth­er began.

Miller’s rep­u­ta­tion for liv­ing his fiction—or fic­tion­al­iz­ing his life—may have led many read­ers with only a pass­ing famil­iar­i­ty with his books to regard him as a kind of shame­less self-mythol­o­giz­er. The char­ac­ter­i­za­tion isn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly wrong, but it only cap­tures part of the sto­ry. Like every seri­ous writer, Miller was also a seri­ous read­er, and his work is as much informed by the books he loved as by the women he loved.

Miller freely acknowl­edged the lit­er­ary rela­tion­ships in his life, the authors who exert­ed influ­ence on his work and whose styles and ideas he bor­rowed and made his own. He wrote an entire book on the sub­ject, The Books in My Life, which Maria Popo­va at Brain Pick­ings describes as “a sin­gu­lar lens on his approach to read­ing.” In the book, Miller’s “cen­tral con­cern is a kind of anato­my of influ­ence,” Popo­va writes, tak­ing a phrase from lit­er­ary crit­ic Harold Bloom.

In his med­i­ta­tion on “his sources of cre­ative spark,” Miller dis­cuss­es at length his ideas about edu­ca­tion, and its many fail­ings. And in the book’s appendix—as if antic­i­pat­ing our cur­rent mania for lists—he makes a com­pre­hen­sive record of “The 100 Books that Influ­enced Me Most.” See Miller’s com­plete list below, and read The Books in My Life free at the Open Library. A fair num­ber of the books on Miller’s list can be found in our col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

1 Ancient Greek Drama­tists
2 Ara­bi­an Nights (for chil­dren)
3 Eliz­a­bethan Play­wrights (except­ing Shake­speare)
4 Euro­pean Play­wrights of 19th Cen­tu­ry
5 Greek Myths and Leg­ends
6 Knights of King Arthur’s Court
7 Abèlard, Pierre, The Sto­ry of My Mis­for­tunes
8 Alain-Fournier, The Wan­der­er
9 Ander­sen, Hans Chris­t­ian, Fairy Tales
10 Anony­mous, Diary of a Lost One
11 Balzac, Hon­oré de, Seraphi­ta
12 Balzac, Hon­oré de, Louis Lam­bert
13 Bel­lamy, Edward, Look­ing Back­ward
14 Bel­loc, Hilaire, The Path to Rome
15 Blavatsky, Mme. H. P., The Secret Doc­trine
16 Boc­cac­cio, Gio­van­ni, The Decameron
17 Bre­ton, André, Nad­ja
18 Bronte, Emi­ly, Wuther­ing Heights
19 Bul­wyer-Lyt­ton, Edward, Last Days of Pom­peii
20 Car­roll, Lewis, Alice in Won­der­land
21 Céline, Louis-Fer­di­nand, Jour­ney to the End of the Night
22 Celli­ni, Ben­venu­to, Auto­bi­og­ra­phy
23 Cen­drars, Blaise, Vir­tu­al­ly the com­plete works
24 Chester­ton, G.K., Saint Fran­cis of Assisi
25 Con­rad, Joseph, His works in gen­er­al
26 Coop­er James Fen­i­more, Leather­stock­ing Tales
27 Defoe, Daniel, Robin­son Cru­soe
28 De Ner­val, Gérard, His works in gen­er­al
29 Dos­toievsky, Feodor, His works in gen­er­al
30 Dreis­er, Theodore, His works in gen­er­al
31 Duhamel, Geoges, Salavin Series
32 Du Mau­ri­er, George, Tril­by
33 Dumas, Alexan­der, The Three Mus­ke­teers
34 Eck­er­mann, Johann, Con­ver­sa­tions with Goethe
35 Eltzbach­er, Paul, Anar­chism
36 Emer­son, Ralph Wal­do, Rep­re­sen­ta­tive Men
37 Fab­re, Hen­ri, His works in gen­er­al
38 Fau­re, Elie, The His­to­ry of Art
39 Fenol­losa, Ernest, The Chi­nese Writ­ten Char­ac­ter as a Medi­um for Poet­ry
40 Gide, André, Dos­toievs­ki
41 Giono, Jean, Refus d’Obéis­sance
42 Giono, Jean, Que ma joie domeure
43 Giono, Jean, Jean le Bleu
44 Grimm Broth­ers, Fairy Tales
45 Gutkind, Erich, The Absolute Col­lec­tive
46 Hag­gard, Rid­er, She
47 Ham­sun, Knut, His works in gen­er­al
48 Hen­ty, G. A., His works in gen­er­al
49 Hesse, Her­mann, Sid­dhartha
50 Hud­son, W. H., His works in gen­er­al
51 Hugo, Vic­tor, Les Mis­érables
52 Huys­mans, Joris Karl, Against the Grain
53 Joyce, James, Ulysses
54 Key­ser­ling, Her­mann, South Amer­i­can Med­i­ta­tions
55 Kropotkin, Peter, Mutu­al Aid
56 Lao-tse, Tao Teh Ch’ing
57 Latzko, Andreas, Men in War
58 Long, Haniel, Inter­lin­ear to Cabeza de Vaca
59 M, Gospel of Ramakr­ish­na
60 Machen, Arthur, The Hill of Dreams
61 Maeter­linck, Mau­rice, His works in gen­er­al
62 Mann, Thomas, The Mag­ic Moun­tain
63 Menck­en, H. L., Prej­u­dices
64 Niet­zsche, His works in gen­er­al
65 Nijin­sky, Diary
66 Nord­hoff & Hall, Pit­cairn Island
67 Nos­tradamus, The Cen­turies
68 Peck, George Wilbur, Peck­’s Bad Boy
69 Per­ci­val, W. O., William Blake’s Cir­cle of Des­tiny
70 Petro­n­ius, The Satyri­con
71 Plutarch, Lives
72 Powys, John Cow­per, Visions and Revi­sions
73 Prescott, William H., Con­quest of Mex­i­co
74 Prescott, William H., Con­quest of Peru
75 Proust, Mar­cel, Remem­brance of Things Past
76 Rabelais, Gar­gan­tua and Pan­ta­gru­el
77 Rim­baud, Jean-Arthur, His works in gen­er­al
78 Rol­land, Romain, Jean-Christophe
79 Rol­land, Romain, Prophets of the New India
80 Rud­h­yar, Dane, Astrol­o­gy of Per­son­al­i­ty
81 Saltus, Edgar, The Impe­r­i­al Pur­ple
82 Scott, Sir Wal­ter, Ivan­hoe
83 Sienkiewicz, Hen­ry, Quo Vadis
84 Sike­lianos, Angh­e­los, Proanakrous­ma
85 Sin­nett, A. P., Eso­teric Bud­dhism
86 Spencer, Her­bert, Auto­bi­og­ra­phy
87 Spen­gler, Oswald, The Decline of the West
88 Strind­berg, August, The Infer­no
89 Suarès, Car­lo, Krish­na­mur­ti
90 Suzu­ki, Daisetz Teitaro, Zen Bud­dhism
91 Swift, Jonathan, Guil­liv­er’s Trav­els
92 Ten­nyson, Alfred, Idylls of the King
93 Thore­au, Hen­ry David, Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence & Oth­er Essays
94 Twain, Mark, Adven­tures of Huck­le­ber­ry Finn
95 Van Gogh, Vin­cent, Let­ters to Theo
96 Wasser­mann, Jacob, The Mau­r­iz­ius Case (Tril­o­gy)
97 Weigall, Arthur, Akhna­ton
98 Welch, Gal­braith, The Unveil­ing of Tim­buc­too
99 Wer­fel, Franz, Star of the Unborn
100 Whit­man, Walt, Leaves of Grass

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leo Tol­stoy Cre­ates a List of the 50+ Books That Influ­enced Him Most (1891)

28 Impor­tant Philoso­phers List the Books That Influ­enced Them Most Dur­ing Their Col­lege Days

Stephen King Cre­ates a List of 96 Books for Aspir­ing Writ­ers to Read

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

Yoda’s Long Lost Twin Found in a 14th Century Illuminated Manuscript

medieval yoda

In a new pic­ture book called Medieval Mon­sterspub­lished by the British Library, his­to­ri­an Damien Kempf and art his­to­ri­an Maria L. Gilbert have gath­ered togeth­er illus­tra­tions that high­light the great mon­sters of the medieval world. Mon­sters were every­where, includ­ing “on the edges of man­u­script pages” and on “the fringes of maps.” The suc­ces­sor to Medieval Cats and Medieval DogsMedieval Mon­sters con­tains no short­age of fas­ci­nat­ing illus­tra­tions, includ­ing the one above. It looks remark­ably like Yoda, does­n’t it?

A British Library cura­tor told NPR, “The Yoda image comes from a 14th-cen­tu­ry man­u­script known as the Smith­field Dec­re­tals.”  “I’d love to say that it real­ly was Yoda, or was drawn by a medieval time trav­el­er.” But “it’s actu­al­ly an illus­tra­tion to the bib­li­cal sto­ry of Sam­son — the artist clear­ly had a vivid imag­i­na­tion!”

See more mon­sters at the British Library’s Medieval Man­u­scripts blog.

via NPR

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Medieval Cats Behav­ing Bad­ly: Kit­ties That Left Paw Prints … and Peed … on 15th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­scripts

Wear­able Books: In Medieval Times, They Took Old Man­u­scripts & Turned Them into Clothes

Won­der­ful­ly Weird & Inge­nious Medieval Books

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