The Rohonc Codex: Hungary’s Mysterious Manuscript That No One Can Read

Image by Klaus Schmeh, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Mag­yar, which is spo­ken and writ­ten in Hun­gary, ranks among the hard­est Euro­pean lan­guages to learn. (The U.S. For­eign Ser­vice Insti­tute puts it in the sec­ond-to-high­est lev­el, accom­pa­nied by the dread­ed aster­isk label­ing it as “usu­al­ly more dif­fi­cult than oth­er lan­guages in the same cat­e­go­ry.”) But once you mas­ter its vow­el har­mo­ny sys­tem, its def­i­nite and indef­i­nite con­ju­ga­tion, and its eigh­teen gram­mat­i­cal cas­es, among oth­er noto­ri­ous fea­tures, you can final­ly enjoy the work of writ­ers like Nobel Lau­re­ates Imre Kertész and Lás­zló Krasz­na­horkai in the orig­i­nal. Alas, no degree of mas­tery will be much help if you want to under­stand a much old­er — and, in its way, much more noto­ri­ous — Hun­gar­i­an text, the Rohonc Codex.

“Lit­tle is known about this book before it was bequeathed to the Hun­gar­i­an Acad­e­my of Sci­ences in 1838,” writes The Art News­pa­per’s Gar­ry Shaw. “Its 448 pages bear illus­tra­tions cov­er­ing Bib­li­cal themes and an as yet unread­able text, writ­ten using around 150 dif­fer­ent sym­bols.”

Like the famous­ly cryp­tic Voyn­ich Man­u­script, much cov­ered here on Open Cul­ture, “there has been much spec­u­la­tion over what lan­guage, if any, is encod­ed — rang­ing from old Hun­gar­i­an to San­skrit, or even a spe­cial­ly invent­ed one — as well as debate over the book’s ori­gin and date of cre­ation.” Most col­or­ful­ly, some attribute it to the noto­ri­ous nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry forg­er Sámuel Literáti Nemes.

Down­load this PDF scan of the Rohonc Codex, and you can behold for your­self both its often charm­ing­ly sim­ple medieval-style illus­tra­tions — many of which exhib­it a mix­ture of Chris­t­ian, Pagan, and Mus­lim sym­bol­ism — and the fiendish­ly reg­u­lar-look­ing script against which gen­er­a­tions of would-be deci­pher­ers have banged their heads. Here in the twen­ty-twen­ties, per­haps arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence can do its part, as has been attempt­ed with the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, to build upon ear­li­er analy­ses. One of those, con­duct­ed in the ear­ly nine­teen-sev­en­ties, deter­mined that, what­ev­er the lan­guage in which the Rohonc Codex was writ­ten, it shows no traces of case end­ings. To enthu­si­asts of bizarre man­u­scripts, that dis­cov­ery prob­a­bly means lit­tle, but to stu­dents of Mag­yar, noth­ing could come as a greater relief.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore a Dig­i­tized Edi­tion of the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book”

An Intro­duc­tion to the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book

The Strangest Books in the World: Dis­cov­er The Madman’s Library, a Cap­ti­vat­ing Com­pendi­um of Pecu­liar Books & Man­u­scripts

An Intro­duc­tion to the Codex Seraphini­anus, the Strangest Book Ever Pub­lished

Solv­ing a 2,500-Year-Old Puz­zle: How a Cam­bridge Stu­dent Cracked an Ancient San­skrit Code

The Foot-Lick­ing Demons & Oth­er Strange Things in a 1921 Illus­trat­ed Man­u­script from Iran

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

What’s Entering the Public Domain in 2026: Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, All Quiet on the Western Front, Betty Boop & More

Though it isn’t the kind of thing one hears dis­cussed every day, seri­ous Dis­ney fans do tend to know that Goofy’s orig­i­nal name was Dip­py Dawg. But how many of the non-obses­sive know that Mick­ey’s faith­ful pet Plu­to was first called Rover? (We pass over in dig­ni­fied silence the qua­si-philo­soph­i­cal ques­tion of why the for­mer dog is humanoid and the lat­ter isn’t.) It is Rover, as dis­tinct from Plu­to, who pass­es into the pub­lic domain this new year, one of a cast of now-lib­er­at­ed char­ac­ters includ­ing Blondie and Dag­wood as well as Bet­ty Boop — who, upon mak­ing her debut in Fleis­ch­er Stu­dios’ Dizzy Dish­es of 1930, has a some­what canoid appear­ance her­self. You can see them all in the video above from Duke Uni­ver­si­ty’s Cen­ter for the Study of the Pub­lic Domain, with much more infor­ma­tion avail­able in their blog post mark­ing this year’s “Pub­lic Domain Day.”

The year 1930, write the Cen­ter’s Jen­nifer Jenk­ins and James Boyle, was one “of detec­tives, jazz, speakeasies, and icon­ic char­ac­ters step­ping onto the cul­tur­al stage — many of whom have been locked behind copy­right for near­ly a cen­tu­ry.”

Nov­els that come avail­able this year include William Faulkn­er’s As I Lay Dying, Dashiell Ham­met­t’s The Mal­tese Fal­con, and Agatha Christie’s The Mur­der at the Vic­arage; among the films are Lewis Mile­stone’s Best Pic­ture-win­ning All Qui­et on the West­ern Front, Vic­tor Heer­man’s Marx Broth­ers pic­ture Ani­mal Crack­ers, and Luis Buñuel and Sal­vador Dalí’s L’Âge d’Or. In music, com­po­si­tions like “I Got Rhythm” and “Embrace­able You” by the Gersh­win Broth­ers as well as record­ings like “Nobody Knows the Trou­ble I’ve Seen” by Mar­i­an Ander­son and “Sweet Geor­gia Brown” by Ben Bernie and His Hotel Roo­sevelt Orches­tra have also, at long last, gone pub­lic.

Reflec­tion on some of these works them­selves sug­gests some­thing about the impor­tance of the pub­lic domain. With the title of Cakes and Ale, anoth­er book in this year’s crop, Som­er­set Maugh­am makes ref­er­ence to “a clas­sic pub­lic domain work, in this case Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night”; so, for that mat­ter, does Faulkn­er, giv­en that the line “as I lay dying” comes from the Odyssey. “To tell new sto­ries, we draw from old­er ones,” write Jenk­ins and Boyle. “One work of art inspires anoth­er — that is how the pub­lic domain feeds cre­ativ­i­ty.” Today, we’re free to take explic­it inspi­ra­tion for our own work from Nan­cy Drew, “Just a Gigo­lo,” Blondie, Mon­dri­an’s Com­po­si­tion with Red, Blue, and Yel­low, Hitch­cock­’s Mur­der!, and much else besides. And by all means use Rover, but if you also want to bring in Dip­py Dawg, you’re going to have to wait until 2028.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What’s Enter­ing the Pub­lic Domain in 2025: Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, Ear­ly Hitch­cock Films, Tintin and Pop­eye Car­toons & More

The Harlem Jazz Singer Who Inspired Bet­ty Boop: Meet the Orig­i­nal Boop-Oop-a-Doop, “Baby Esther”

Car­toon­ists Draw Their Famous Car­toon Char­ac­ters While Blind­fold­ed (1947)

Watch Restored Ver­sions of Clas­sic Fleis­ch­er Car­toons on Youtube, Fea­tur­ing Bet­ty Boop, Koko the Clown & Oth­ers

Vin­tage Audio: William Faulkn­er Reads From As I Lay Dying

16 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

J. R. R. Tolkien Admitted to Disliking Dune “With Some Intensity” (1966)

One can eas­i­ly imag­ine a read­er enjoy­ing both The Lord of the Rings and Dune. Both of those works of epic fan­ta­sy were pub­lished in the form of a series of long nov­els begin­ning in the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry; both cre­ate elab­o­rate worlds of their own, right down to details of ecol­o­gy and lan­guage; both seri­ous­ly (and these days, unfash­ion­ably) con­cern them­selves with the theme of what con­sti­tutes hero­ic action; both have even inspired mul­ti­ple big-bud­get Hol­ly­wood spec­ta­cles. The read­er equal­ly ded­i­cat­ed to the work of J. R. R. Tolkien and Frank Her­bert turns out to be a more elu­sive crea­ture than we may expect, but per­haps that should­n’t sur­prise us, giv­en Tolkien’s own atti­tude toward Dune.

“It is impos­si­ble for an author still writ­ing to be fair to anoth­er author work­ing along the same lines,” Tolkien wrote in 1966 to a fan who’d sent him a copy of Her­bert’s book, which had come out the year before. “In fact I dis­like DUNE with some inten­si­ty, and in that unfor­tu­nate case it is much the best and fairest to anoth­er author to keep silent and refuse to com­ment.”

That lack of elab­o­ra­tion has, if any­thing, only stoked the curios­i­ty of Lord of the Rings and Dune enthu­si­asts alike, as evi­denced by this thread from a few years ago on the r/tolkienfans sub­red­dit. Was it the mate­ri­al­ism and Machi­avel­lian­ism implic­it in Dune’s world­view? The pre­pon­der­ance of invent­ed names and coinages that sure­ly would­n’t meet the ety­mo­log­i­cal stan­dard of an Oxford lin­guist?

Maybe it was the aris­to­crat­ic iso­la­tion — a kind of anti-fel­low­ship — of its pro­tag­o­nist Paul Atrei­des, who comes to pos­sess the equiv­a­lent of Tolkien’s Ring of Pow­er. “In Dune, Paul will­ing­ly takes the (metaphor­i­cal) ring and wields it,” writes Evan Ama­to at The Cul­tur­ist. “He leads, trans­forms, and con­quers. The uni­verse bends to his vision. He suf­fers for it, yes, and ques­tions it, but he nev­er tru­ly rejects the call to rule. Con­trast this with the world of Mid­dle-earth, where all Tolkien’s heroes do the oppo­site. When Fro­do offers the Ring to Aragorn, he refus­es. Even Sam­wise, hum­ble as he is, feels the surge of the Ring’s pow­er, and lets it go.” Assum­ing he man­aged to get through the first Dune nov­el, Tolkien could hard­ly have approved of the nar­ra­tive’s moral arc. Whether his or Her­bert’s vision puts up the more real­is­tic alle­go­ry for human­i­ty’s lot is anoth­er mat­ter entire­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

J. R. R. Tolkien Expressed a “Heart­felt Loathing” for Walt Dis­ney and Refused to Let Dis­ney Stu­dios Adapt His Work

Frank Her­bert Explains the Ori­gins of Dune (1969)

When the Nobel Prize Com­mit­tee Reject­ed The Lord of the Rings: Tolkien “Has Not Mea­sured Up to Sto­ry­telling of the High­est Qual­i­ty” (1961)

Why You Should Read Dune: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Frank Herbert’s Eco­log­i­cal, Psy­cho­log­i­cal Sci-Fi Epic

J. R. R. Tolkien Writes & Speaks in Elvish, a Lan­guage He Invent­ed for The Lord of the Rings

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

 

Brian Eno’s Book & Music Recommendations

If you’re a reg­u­lar lis­ten­er, you know that Ezra Klein wraps up his pod­cast inter­views with a famil­iar ques­tion: what three books would you rec­om­mend to the audi­ence? When Klein inter­viewed Bri­an Eno in Octo­ber, the pro­duc­er had these three books to offer.

First up was Print­ing and the Mind of Man, a cat­a­log from an exhi­bi­tion held at the British Muse­um in 1963. “It was about the his­to­ry of print­ing, but actu­al­ly, the book is about the most impor­tant books in the West­ern canon and the impact that they had when they were released.” “It’s such a fas­ci­nat­ing book because you real­ly start to under­stand where the big, fun­da­men­tal ideas that made West­ern cul­ture came from.”

Next came A Pat­tern Lan­guage by the archi­tect Christo­pher Alexan­der. “It’s real­ly a book about habi­tat, about what makes spaces wel­com­ing and fruit­ful, or hos­tile and bar­ren.” Eno has returned to the book again and again over the years. “Over the course of my life, I’ve bought, I would say, 60 copies of that book because I always give it to any­one who is about to ren­o­vate a house or about to build a house. It’s a great read, and you would love it.”

His third rec­om­men­da­tion was Naples ’44, a war diary kept by Nor­man Lewis, a British intel­li­gence offi­cer sent to Naples dur­ing World War II. “He kept a diary, and this is the most fab­u­lous diary you’ll ever read. It’s just hilar­i­ous­ly fun­ny, deeply mov­ing, and total­ly confusing—and you real­ize that Naples was, like, anoth­er plan­et.”

Under­stand­ably, Klein couldn’t let the inter­view end with­out also ask­ing what albums influ­enced Eno most. In response, Eno offered The Rur­al Blues, a series of record­ings of Black Amer­i­can music from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. It’s the same music that lat­er inspired pop and rock musi­cians in Eng­land when Eno came of age. He also point­ed to the Vel­vet Underground’s self-titled third album, call­ing it a “beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful record, beau­ti­ful­ly con­tro­ver­sial in many ways.” He then added: “In fact, prob­a­bly with­out that record, I wouldn’t have been a pop musi­cian.” Many oth­er musi­cians have said the same.

And final­ly, despite being an athe­ist, Eno select­ed a gospel record­ing act known as The Con­sol­ers, best known for their 1955 track “Give Me My Flow­ers.” You can lis­ten to more of their great­est hits here.

Along­side his musi­cal and lit­er­ary influ­ences, Eno recent­ly shared his own ideas in the book What Art Does: An Unfin­ished The­o­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Bri­an Eno on the Loss of Human­i­ty in Mod­ern Music

A 6‑Hour Time-Stretched Ver­sion of Bri­an Eno’s Music For Air­ports: Med­i­tate, Relax, Study

Bri­an Eno Cre­ates a List of 20 Books That Could Rebuild Civ­i­liza­tion

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies” Deck of Cards (1975)

Bri­an Eno Lists the Ben­e­fits of Singing: A Long Life, Increased Intel­li­gence, and a Sound Civ­i­liza­tion

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Discover the Oldest Book of the Americas: A Close Look at the Astronomical Maya Codex of Mexico

From the mighty Maya civ­i­liza­tion, which dom­i­nat­ed Mesoamer­i­ca for more than three and a half mil­len­nia, we have exact­ly four books. Only one of them pre­dates the arrival of Span­ish con­quis­ta­dors in the six­teenth cen­tu­ry: the Códice Maya de Méx­i­co, or Maya Codex of Mex­i­co, which was cre­at­ed between 1021 and 1152. Though incom­plete, and hard­ly in good shape oth­er­wise, its art­work — col­ored in places with pre­cious mate­ri­als — vivid­ly evokes an ancient world­view now all but lost. In the video above from the Get­ty Muse­um and Smarthis­to­ry, art his­to­ri­ans Andrew Turn­er and Lau­ren Kil­roy-Ewbank tell us what we’re look­ing at when we behold the remains of this sacred Mayan book, the old­est ever found in the Amer­i­c­as.

“This book has a con­tro­ver­sial his­to­ry,” says Turn­er. “It was long con­sid­ered to be a fake due to the strange cir­cum­stances in which it sur­faced.” After its dis­cov­ery in a pri­vate col­lec­tion in Mex­i­co City in the nine­teen-six­ties, it was rumored to have been loot­ed from a cave in Chi­a­pas.

At first pro­nounced a fake by experts, due to its lack of resem­blance to the oth­er extant Mayan texts, it was only ver­i­fied as the gen­uine arti­cle in 2018. For a non-spe­cial­ist, the ques­tion remains: what is the Códice about? Its pur­pose, as Kil­roy-Ewbank puts it, is astro­nom­i­cal, relay­ing as it does “infor­ma­tion about the cycle of the plan­et Venus” — which, as Turn­er adds, “was con­sid­ered a dan­ger­ous plan­et” by the Mayans.


The Códice con­tains records of Venus’ 584-day cycle over the course of 140 years, tes­ti­fy­ing to the scruti­ny Mayan astronomers gave to its com­pli­cat­ed pat­tern of ris­ing and falling. They thus man­aged to deter­mine — as many ancient civ­i­liza­tions did not — that it was both the Morn­ing Star and the Evening Star, although they seem to have been more inter­est­ed in what its move­ments revealed about the inten­tions of the deities they saw as con­trol­ling it, and thus the like­li­hood of events like war or famine. Those gods weren’t benev­o­lent: one page shows “a fright­ful skele­tal deity that has a blunt knife stick­ing out of his nasal cav­i­ty,” hold­ing “a giant jagged blade up” with one hand and “the hair of a cap­tive whose head he’s fresh­ly sev­ered” with the oth­er. That’s hard­ly the sort of image that comes to our mod­ern minds when we gaze up at the night sky, but then, we don’t see things like the Mayans did.

via Aeon

Relat­ed con­tent:

A 16th-Cen­tu­ry Astron­o­my Book Fea­tured “Ana­log Com­put­ers” to Cal­cu­late the Shape of the Moon, the Posi­tion of the Sun, and More

A 400-Year-Old Ring that Unfolds to Track the Move­ments of the Heav­ens

Behold the Astro­nom­icum Cae­sareum, “Per­haps the Most Beau­ti­ful Sci­en­tif­ic Book Ever Print­ed” (1540)

The Ancient Astron­o­my of Stone­henge Decod­ed

Explore the Flo­ren­tine Codex: A Bril­liant 16th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­script Doc­u­ment­ing Aztec Cul­ture Is Now Dig­i­tized & Avail­able Online

How the Ancient Mayans Used Choco­late as Mon­ey

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Aldous Huxley to George Orwell: My Hellish Vision of the Future is Better Than Yours (1949)

In 1949, George Orwell received a curi­ous let­ter from his for­mer high school French teacher.

Orwell had just pub­lished his ground­break­ing book Nine­teen Eighty-Four, which received glow­ing reviews from just about every cor­ner of the Eng­lish-speak­ing world. His French teacher, as it hap­pens, was none oth­er than Aldous Hux­ley, who taught at Eton for a spell before writ­ing Brave New World (1931), the oth­er great 20th-cen­tu­ry dystopi­an nov­el.

Hux­ley starts off the let­ter prais­ing the book, describ­ing it as “pro­found­ly impor­tant.” He con­tin­ues, “The phi­los­o­phy of the rul­ing minor­i­ty in Nine­teen Eighty-Four is a sadism which has been car­ried to its log­i­cal con­clu­sion by going beyond sex and deny­ing it.”

Then Hux­ley switch­es gears and crit­i­cizes the book, writ­ing, “Whether in actu­al fact the pol­i­cy of the boot-on-the-face can go on indef­i­nite­ly seems doubt­ful. My own belief is that the rul­ing oli­garchy will find less ardu­ous and waste­ful ways of gov­ern­ing and of sat­is­fy­ing its lust for pow­er, and these ways will resem­ble those which I described in Brave New World.” (Lis­ten to him read a dra­ma­tized ver­sion of the book here.)

Basi­cal­ly, while prais­ing Nine­teen Eighty-Four, Hux­ley argues that his ver­sion of the future was more like­ly to come to pass.

In Hux­ley’s seem­ing­ly dystopi­an World State, the elite amuse the mass­es into sub­mis­sion with a mind-numb­ing drug called Soma and an end­less buf­fet of casu­al sex. Orwell’s Ocea­nia, on the oth­er hand, keeps the mass­es in check with fear thanks to an end­less war and a hyper-com­pe­tent sur­veil­lance state. At first blush, they might seem like they are dia­met­ri­cal­ly opposed but, in fact, an Orwellian world and a Hux­leyan one are sim­ply two dif­fer­ent modes of oppres­sion.

While we haven’t quite arrived at either dystopi­an vision, the pow­er of both books is that they tap into our fears of the state. While Hux­ley might make you look askance at The Bach­e­lor or Face­book, Orwell makes you recoil in hor­ror at the gov­ern­ment throw­ing around phras­es like “enhanced inter­ro­ga­tion” and “sur­gi­cal drone strikes.”

You can read Huxley’s full let­ter below.

Wright­wood. Cal.

21 Octo­ber, 1949

Dear Mr. Orwell,

It was very kind of you to tell your pub­lish­ers to send me a copy of your book. It arrived as I was in the midst of a piece of work that required much read­ing and con­sult­ing of ref­er­ences; and since poor sight makes it nec­es­sary for me to ration my read­ing, I had to wait a long time before being able to embark on Nine­teen Eighty-Four.

Agree­ing with all that the crit­ics have writ­ten of it, I need not tell you, yet once more, how fine and how pro­found­ly impor­tant the book is. May I speak instead of the thing with which the book deals — the ulti­mate rev­o­lu­tion? The first hints of a phi­los­o­phy of the ulti­mate rev­o­lu­tion — the rev­o­lu­tion which lies beyond pol­i­tics and eco­nom­ics, and which aims at total sub­ver­sion of the indi­vid­u­al’s psy­chol­o­gy and phys­i­ol­o­gy — are to be found in the Mar­quis de Sade, who regard­ed him­self as the con­tin­u­a­tor, the con­sum­ma­tor, of Robe­spierre and Babeuf. The phi­los­o­phy of the rul­ing minor­i­ty in Nine­teen Eighty-Four is a sadism which has been car­ried to its log­i­cal con­clu­sion by going beyond sex and deny­ing it. Whether in actu­al fact the pol­i­cy of the boot-on-the-face can go on indef­i­nite­ly seems doubt­ful. My own belief is that the rul­ing oli­garchy will find less ardu­ous and waste­ful ways of gov­ern­ing and of sat­is­fy­ing its lust for pow­er, and these ways will resem­ble those which I described in Brave New World. I have had occa­sion recent­ly to look into the his­to­ry of ani­mal mag­net­ism and hyp­no­tism, and have been great­ly struck by the way in which, for a hun­dred and fifty years, the world has refused to take seri­ous cog­nizance of the dis­cov­er­ies of Mes­mer, Braid, Esdaile, and the rest.

Part­ly because of the pre­vail­ing mate­ri­al­ism and part­ly because of pre­vail­ing respectabil­i­ty, nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry philoso­phers and men of sci­ence were not will­ing to inves­ti­gate the odd­er facts of psy­chol­o­gy for prac­ti­cal men, such as politi­cians, sol­diers and police­men, to apply in the field of gov­ern­ment. Thanks to the vol­un­tary igno­rance of our fathers, the advent of the ulti­mate rev­o­lu­tion was delayed for five or six gen­er­a­tions. Anoth­er lucky acci­dent was Freud’s inabil­i­ty to hyp­no­tize suc­cess­ful­ly and his con­se­quent dis­par­age­ment of hyp­no­tism. This delayed the gen­er­al appli­ca­tion of hyp­no­tism to psy­chi­a­try for at least forty years. But now psy­cho-analy­sis is being com­bined with hyp­no­sis; and hyp­no­sis has been made easy and indef­i­nite­ly exten­si­ble through the use of bar­bi­tu­rates, which induce a hyp­noid and sug­gestible state in even the most recal­ci­trant sub­jects.

With­in the next gen­er­a­tion I believe that the world’s rulers will dis­cov­er that infant con­di­tion­ing and nar­co-hyp­no­sis are more effi­cient, as instru­ments of gov­ern­ment, than clubs and pris­ons, and that the lust for pow­er can be just as com­plete­ly sat­is­fied by sug­gest­ing peo­ple into lov­ing their servi­tude as by flog­ging and kick­ing them into obe­di­ence. In oth­er words, I feel that the night­mare of Nine­teen Eighty-Four is des­tined to mod­u­late into the night­mare of a world hav­ing more resem­blance to that which I imag­ined in Brave New World. The change will be brought about as a result of a felt need for increased effi­cien­cy. Mean­while, of course, there may be a large scale bio­log­i­cal and atom­ic war — in which case we shall have night­mares of oth­er and scarce­ly imag­in­able kinds.

Thank you once again for the book.

Yours sin­cere­ly,

Aldous Hux­ley

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Aldous Hux­ley Nar­rate His Dystopi­an Mas­ter­piece, Brave New World

Aldous Hux­ley Tells Mike Wal­lace What Will Destroy Democ­ra­cy: Over­pop­u­la­tion, Drugs & Insid­i­ous Tech­nol­o­gy (1958)

George Orwell Iden­ti­fies the Main Ene­my of the Free Press: It’s the “Intel­lec­tu­al Cow­ardice” of the Press Itself

George Orwell Explains in a Reveal­ing 1944 Let­ter Why He’d Write 1984

Aldous Hux­ley to George Orwell: My Hell­ish Vision of the Future is Bet­ter Than Yours (1949)

Aldous Huxley’s Most Beau­ti­ful, LSD-Assist­ed Death: A Let­ter from His Wid­ow

Jonathan Crow is a writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions.

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The 100 Greatest Novels of All Time, According to 750,000 Readers in the UK (2003)

In the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry, the read­ers of Europe went mad for epis­to­lary nov­els. France had, to name the most sen­sa­tion­al exam­ples, Mon­tesquieu’s Let­tres per­sanes, Rousseau’s Julie, and Lac­los’ Les Liaisons dan­gereuses; Ger­many, Goethe’s Die Lei­den des jun­gen Werther and Hölder­lin’s Hype­r­i­on. The Eng­lish proved espe­cial­ly insa­tiable when it came to long-form sto­ries com­posed entire­ly out of let­ters: soon after its pub­li­ca­tion in 1740, Samuel Richard­son’s Pamela — by some reck­on­ings, the first real Eng­lish nov­el — grew into an all-encom­pass­ing cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non, which Richard­son him­self out­did eight years lat­er with Claris­sa. Alas, when the BBC sur­veyed the pub­lic two and three-quar­ter cen­turies lat­er to deter­mine the most beloved nov­el in the U.K., nei­ther of those books even made the top 100.

With the pos­si­ble excep­tions of Bram Stok­er’s Drac­u­la (#104) and Mary Shel­ley’s Franken­stein (#171) — two works of nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry hor­ror that make use of a vari­ety of tex­tu­al forms, let­ters includ­ed — the rank­ings pro­duced by “The Big Read” includ­ed prac­ti­cal­ly no epis­to­lary nov­els. (Nor did eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry works of any oth­er kind make the cut.) What hap­pened to the lit­er­ary genre that had once caused such a nation­al craze? For one thing, Jane Austen hap­pened: nov­els like Pride and Prej­u­dice, Emma, and Per­sua­sion revealed just how rich a sto­ry could become when its nar­ra­tion breaks away from the pen of any char­ac­ter in par­tic­u­lar, gain­ing the abil­i­ty to know more about them than they know about them­selves. Not for noth­ing did all three of those books per­form well on The Big Read the bet­ter part of 200 years after they came out; Pride and Prej­u­dice even came in at num­ber two.

The top spot was tak­en by J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy: an under­stand­able out­come, giv­en not just its ambi­tion but also its mas­sive and endur­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty and influ­ence. Still, one does won­der if Peter Jack­son’s block­buster film adap­ta­tions, released in the years lead­ing up to the poll, might have had some­thing to do with it. Sim­i­lar sus­pi­cions adhere to the likes of Cap­tain Corel­li’s Man­dolin (#19), Amer­i­can Psy­cho (#185), The Beach (#103), and Brid­get Jones’s Diary (#75), all of which pro­vid­ed the basis for major motion pic­tures around the turn of the mil­len­ni­um. Umber­to Eco’s The Name of the Rose, one of a scat­ter­ing of trans­lat­ed nov­els to make the list, also got the Hol­ly­wood treat­ment, but it’s worth remem­ber­ing that the book itself sold so well that its Eng­lish trans­la­tor could use his roy­al­ties to build an addi­tion to his Tus­can vil­la called the “Eco Cham­ber.”

Apart from Austen, the oth­er nov­el­ists with mul­ti­ple books on The Big Read­’s top 100 include Stephen King, who also has three; Thomas Hardy, with four; and Charles Dick­ens, with sev­en. Those are, in any case, some of the nov­el­ists for adults. The abid­ing British appre­ci­a­tion for chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture shows in the high rank­ings of Roald Dahl, who secured a great many votes with even less­er works like The Twits and Dan­ny, the Cham­pi­on of the World; J. K. Rowl­ing, who would have ben­e­fit­ed from the height of Har­ry Pot­ter mania in any case; and the pro­lif­ic Dame Jacque­line Wil­son, whose four­teen nov­els on the list place her sec­ond only to Sir Ter­ry Pratch­et­t’s fif­teen. It could be that his com­ic-fan­ta­sy sen­si­bil­i­ty, sat­u­rat­ed with both the out­landish and the mun­dane, res­onat­ed unique­ly with the British psy­che. Or, as Pratch­ett him­self says in the BBC’s Big Read tele­vi­sion broad­cast, “it could just be that I’m quite pop­u­lar.”

In total, more than 750,000 read­ers par­tic­i­pat­ed in the Big Read poll. Find read­ers’ top 100 books below:

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
2. Pride and Prej­u­dice, Jane Austen
3. His Dark Mate­ri­als, Philip Pull­man
4. The Hitch­hik­er’s Guide to the Galaxy, Dou­glas Adams
5. Har­ry Pot­ter and the Gob­let of Fire, JK Rowl­ing
6. To Kill a Mock­ing­bird, Harp­er Lee
7. Win­nie the Pooh, AA Milne
8. Nine­teen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
10. Jane Eyre, Char­lotte Bron­të
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
12. Wuther­ing Heights, Emi­ly Bron­të
13. Bird­song, Sebas­t­ian Faulks
14. Rebec­ca, Daphne du Mau­ri­er
15. The Catch­er in the Rye, JD Salinger
16. The Wind in the Wil­lows, Ken­neth Gra­hame
17. Great Expec­ta­tions, Charles Dick­ens
18. Lit­tle Women, Louisa May Alcott
19. Cap­tain Corel­li’s Man­dolin, Louis de Bernieres
20. War and Peace, Leo Tol­stoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Mar­garet Mitchell
22. Har­ry Pot­ter And The Philoso­pher’s Stone, JK Rowl­ing
23. Har­ry Pot­ter And The Cham­ber Of Secrets, JK Rowl­ing
24. Har­ry Pot­ter And The Pris­on­er Of Azk­a­ban, JK Rowl­ing
25. The Hob­bit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Mid­dle­march, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irv­ing
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Stein­beck
30. Alice’s Adven­tures In Won­der­land, Lewis Car­roll
31. The Sto­ry Of Tra­cy Beaker, Jacque­line Wil­son
32. One Hun­dred Years Of Soli­tude, Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez
33. The Pil­lars Of The Earth, Ken Fol­lett
34. David Cop­per­field, Charles Dick­ens
35. Char­lie And The Choco­late Fac­to­ry, Roald Dahl
36. Trea­sure Island, Robert Louis Steven­son
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Per­sua­sion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Her­bert
40. Emma, Jane Austen
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Mont­gomery
42. Water­ship Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gats­by, F Scott Fitzger­ald
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexan­dre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revis­it­ed, Eve­lyn Waugh
46. Ani­mal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christ­mas Car­ol, Charles Dick­ens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Good­night Mis­ter Tom, Michelle Mago­ri­an
50. The Shell Seek­ers, Rosamunde Pilch­er
51. The Secret Gar­den, Frances Hodg­son Bur­nett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Stein­beck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karen­i­na, Leo Tol­stoy
55. A Suit­able Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swal­lows And Ama­zons, Arthur Ran­some
58. Black Beau­ty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Pun­ish­ment, Fyo­dor Dos­toyevsky
61. Noughts And Cross­es, Mal­o­rie Black­man
62. Mem­oirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Gold­en
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dick­ens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCol­lough
65. Mort, Ter­ry Pratch­ett
66. The Mag­ic Far­away Tree, Enid Bly­ton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Ter­ry Pratch­ett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Ter­ry Pratch­ett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Gold­ing
71. Per­fume, Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Phil­an­thropists, Robert Tres­sell
73. Night Watch, Ter­ry Pratch­ett
74. Matil­da, Roald Dahl
75. Brid­get Jones’s Diary, Helen Field­ing
76. The Secret His­to­ry, Don­na Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dick­ens
80. Dou­ble Act, Jacque­line Wil­son
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Cap­ture The Cas­tle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gor­meng­hast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arund­hati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacque­line Wil­son
87. Brave New World, Aldous Hux­ley
88. Cold Com­fort Farm, Stel­la Gib­bons
89. Magi­cian, Ray­mond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Ker­ouac
91. The God­fa­ther, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
93. The Colour Of Mag­ic, Ter­ry Pratch­ett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coel­ho
95. Kather­ine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jef­frey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacque­line Wil­son
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Mid­night’s Chil­dren, Salman Rushdie

Relat­ed con­tent:

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

The 10 Great­est Books Ever, Accord­ing to 125 Top Authors (Down­load Them for Free)

The New York Times Presents the 100 Best Books of the 21st Cen­tu­ry, Select­ed by 503 Nov­el­ists, Poets & Crit­ics

29 Lists of Rec­om­mend­ed Books Cre­at­ed by Well-Known Authors, Artists & Thinkers: Jorge Luis Borges, Pat­ti Smith, Neil DeGrasse Tyson, David Bowie & More

The 100 Best Nov­els: A Lit­er­ary Crit­ic Cre­ates a List in 1898

David Bowie’s Top 100 Books

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Aberdeen Bestiary, One of the Great Medieval Illuminated Manuscripts, Now Digitized in High Resolution & Made Available Online

For thou­sands of years, ordi­nary peo­ple all over the world not only worked side-by-side with domes­tic ani­mals on a dai­ly basis, they also observed the wild fau­na around them to learn how to nav­i­gate and sur­vive nature. The close­ness pro­duced a keen appre­ci­a­tion for ani­mal behav­ior that informs the folk tales of every con­ti­nent and the pop­u­lar texts of every reli­gion. Our delight in ani­mal sto­ries sur­vives in children’s books, but in grown-up lan­guage, ani­mal com­par­isons tend to be nasty and dehu­man­iz­ing. The demean­ing adjec­tive “bes­tial” con­veys a typ­i­cal atti­tude not only toward peo­ple we don’t like, but toward the ani­mal world as well. Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm and Kafka’s Meta­mor­pho­sis have become the stan­dard ref­er­ences for mod­ern ani­mal alle­go­ry.

Ear­ly lit­er­a­ture shows us a range of dif­fer­ent atti­tudes, where ani­mals are treat­ed as equals, with char­ac­ter traits both good and bad, or as noble mes­sen­gers of a god or gods rather than live­stock, mov­ing scenery, or exploitable resources.

We might refer in an east­ern con­text to the Jata­ka Tales, fables of the Buddha’s many rebirths in the human and ani­mal worlds that pro­vide their read­ers with moral lessons. In the Chris­t­ian west, we have the medieval bestiary—compendiums of ani­mals, both real and mythological—that intro­duced read­ers to a moral typol­o­gy through “read­ing” what ear­ly Chris­tians thought of as the “book of nature.”

The most lav­ish of them all, the Aberdeen Bes­tiary, which dates from around 1200, was once owned by Hen­ry VIII. Now, the Uni­ver­si­ty of Aberdeen has dig­i­tized the text and made it freely avail­able to read­ers online. Begin­ning with the key cre­ation sto­ries from the book of Gen­e­sis, the book then dives into its descrip­tions of ani­mals, begin­ning with the lion, the pard (pan­ther), and the ele­phant.

You’ll notice that these are not ani­mals that your typ­i­cal medieval Euro­pean read­er would have encoun­tered. One impor­tant dif­fer­ence between the bes­tiary and the fable is that the for­mer draws many of its beasts from hearsay, con­jec­ture, or pure fic­tion. But the intent is part­ly the same. These “were teach­ing tools,” notes Claire Voon at Hyper­al­ler­gic, and the Aberdeen Bes­tiary con­tains illus­trat­ed “lengthy tales of moral behav­ior.”

Like the sto­ries of Aesop, the bes­tiary presents impor­tant lessons, mix­ing in the fab­u­lous with the nat­u­ral­ist. As Voon describes the Aberdeen Bes­tiary:

The illus­tra­tions are impres­sive­ly var­ied, depict­ing com­mon ani­mals from tiny ants to ele­phants, as well as fan­tas­tic beasts, from the leocro­ta to the phoenix. Even the moral qual­i­ties of the hum­ble sea urchin are hon­ored with para­graphs of dis­cus­sion. Beyond this array of crea­tures, the bes­tiary details the appear­ances and qual­i­ties of var­i­ous trees, gems, and humans. Some of these may seem com­i­cal to 21st-cen­tu­ry eyes: a swarm of bees, for instance, resem­bles an order­ly line of shut­tle­cocks stream­ing into their hives. Yet oth­er paint­ings are impres­sive for their near-accu­ra­cy, such as one image of a bat that shows how its mem­bra­nous wings con­nect its fin­gers, legs, and tail. All of these rich details would have helped read­ers bet­ter under­stand the nat­ur­al world as it was defined at the time of the book’s cre­ation. 

Incred­i­bly ornate and bear­ing the marks of dozens of scrib­al hands, the book, his­to­ri­ans believe, was orig­i­nal­ly pro­duced for a wide audi­ence, then tak­en by Henry’s librar­i­ans from a dis­solved monastery. Nev­er ful­ly com­plet­ed, it remained in the Roy­al Library for 100 years after Hen­ry. “I doubt if the Tudor mon­archs took it out for a reg­u­lar read,” says Aberdeen Uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sor Jane Ged­des. Now an open pub­lic doc­u­ment, it returns to its “orig­i­nal pur­pose of edu­ca­tion,” writes Voon, “although for us, of course, it illu­mi­nates more about the past than the present.” See the high res scans here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Medieval Mas­ter­piece, the Book of Kells, Is Now Dig­i­tized and Avail­able Online

The Medieval Man­u­script That Fea­tures “Yoda”, Killer Snails, Sav­age Rab­bits & More: Dis­cov­er The Smith­field Dec­re­tals

How to Make a Medieval Man­u­script: An Intro­duc­tion in 7 Videos

When Medieval Man­u­scripts Were Recy­cled & Used to Make the First Print­ed Books

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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