A Special New, Two-Volume Collection of Philip K. Dick Stories Comes Illustrated by 24 Different Artists

Philip K. Dick­’s mul­ti­ple worlds have appeared in increas­ing­ly bet­ter edi­tions since the author passed away in 1982. In the 21st cen­tu­ry, respectable hard­backs and qual­i­ty paper have ful­ly replaced yel­lowed, pulpy pages. Maybe no edi­tion yet is more attrac­tive than the Folio Soci­ety of Lon­don’s two-vol­ume hard­back set of Dick­’s select­ed short sto­ries, illus­trat­ed by 24 dif­fer­ent artists and includ­ing tales that have sur­vived film adap­ta­tions, for bet­ter and worse, like “Pay­check,” “The Minor­i­ty Report,” and “We Can Remem­ber It for You Whole­sale.” The books will set you back $125, but that’s a small sum com­pared to the price of an ear­li­er, four-vol­ume Com­plete Short Sto­ries, pub­lished in a lim­it­ed edi­tion of 750, day-glo, hand-num­bered copies. These sold out in less than 48 hours and now go for $2,500 in rare online sales.

In death Dick has achieved what he sought in his writ­ing life: suc­cess as lit­er­ary author. He thought he would even­tu­al­ly pub­lish his real­ist fic­tion to earn the rep­u­ta­tion, vow­ing in 1960 that he would “take twen­ty to thir­ty years to suc­ceed as a lit­er­ary writer.” Instead, he’s famous for great fic­tion that just hap­pens to use the idiom of sci-fi to ask, as he wrote in an unde­liv­ered 1978 speech: “What is real­i­ty?” and “What con­sti­tutes an authen­tic human being?”

We tend to asso­ciate these exis­ten­tial, pre-post-mod­ernist ques­tions with nov­els and novel­las from the 60s and 70s that com­mu­ni­cate Dick­’s para­noid world­view — works nom­i­nat­ed for a Neb­u­la Award, for exam­ple, like Do Androids Dream of Elec­tric Sheep?, the source for the best of the film adap­ta­tions, Blade Run­ner.

Dick first won fame in 1963 when he was giv­en the Hugo Award for The Man in the High Cas­tle, a book that exceeds the bound­aries of genre to become, unmis­tak­ably, a PKD orig­i­nal. His ear­li­er sto­ries, on the oth­er hand, writ­ten through­out the 1950s when the author was in his twen­ties, tend to fol­low the con­ven­tions of the hard sci-fi of the time, with the same themes of space trav­el, robot­ics, and oth­er futur­is­tic tech­nol­o­gy that pre­dom­i­nate in Robert Hein­lein and Isaac Asi­mov. Super­fi­cial­ly, there might seem lit­tle to dis­tin­guish Dick­’s ear­ly sto­ries from oth­er writ­ing of the time pub­lished in pulps like Sci­ence Fic­tion Quar­ter­ly, Galaxy Sci­ence Fic­tionand IF

But the ear­ly sto­ries show the unmis­tak­able touch of the lat­er nov­el­ist. There are the flash­es of humor, absur­di­ty, deep insight into the human psy­che, and the warmth and empa­thy Dick­’s nar­ra­tive voice nev­er lost even in his most bizarre fugues. In his first pub­lished sto­ry, “Roog,” sold in 1951, Dick imag­ines a dog who believes the garbage men come to steal the fam­i­ly’s food, leav­ing only the emp­ty met­al stor­age can behind. “Cer­tain­ly, I decid­ed,” he writes, “that dog sees the world quite dif­fer­ent­ly than I do, or any humans. And then I began to think, maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a pri­vate world, a world dif­fer­ent from those inhab­it­ed and expe­ri­enced by all oth­er humans.”

It’s a short leap from these thoughts to the idea that there might be no sin­gu­lar real­i­ty at all to fight over. Back then, he says, “I had no idea that such fun­da­men­tal issues could be pur­sued in the sci­ence fic­tion field. I began to pur­sue them uncon­scious­ly.” His uncon­scious led him, in 1954’s “Adjust­ment Team” — the source of a less-than-great film — to imag­ine anoth­er dog, one who talks and inter­feres in human affairs (a detail omit­ted, thank­ful­ly, from The Adjust­ment Bureau). Dick­’s ear­ly sto­ries often fea­tured com­i­cal ani­mals — such as the Okja-like Mar­t­ian pig in “Beyond Likes the Wub,” a high­ly-intel­li­gent crea­ture capa­ble of telepa­thy and deep feel­ing. While he would turn his atten­tion from ani­mals and aliens to androids, alter­nate real­i­ties, and altered states of con­scious­ness, Dick always had the abil­i­ty to turn the genre of sci­ence fic­tion into a lit­er­ary tool for the most dar­ing of philo­soph­i­cal inves­ti­ga­tions.

Learn more about the two-vol­ume Folio Soci­ety Select­ed Sto­ries of Philip K. Dick here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

33 Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Philip K. Dick as Free Audio Books & Free eBooks

Hear Philip K. Dick’s Famous Metz Speech: “If You Find this World Bad, You Should See Some of the Oth­ers” (1977)

Hear 6 Clas­sic Philip K. Dick Sto­ries Adapt­ed as Vin­tage Radio Plays

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

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: An Animated Chapter-by-Chapter Breakdown of the Ancient Chinese Treatise

Though not a long book, The Art of War is nev­er­the­less an intim­i­dat­ing one. Com­posed in the Chi­na of the fifth cen­tu­ry BC, it comes down to us as per­haps the defin­i­tive analy­sis of mil­i­tary strat­e­gy, applic­a­ble equal­ly to East, West, antiq­ui­ty, and moder­ni­ty alike. Hence the minor but still-pro­duc­tive indus­try that puts forth adap­ta­tions, exten­sions, and rein­ter­pre­ta­tions of The Art of War for non-mil­i­tary set­tings, trans­pos­ing its lessons into law, busi­ness, sports, and oth­er realms besides. But if you want a han­dle on what its author, the gen­er­al and strate­gist Sun Tzu, actu­al­ly wrote, watch the illus­trat­ed video above.

A pro­duc­tion of Youtube chan­nel Eudai­mo­nia, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for a sim­i­lar­ly ani­mat­ed exe­ge­sis of Machi­avel­li’s The Prince, it runs more than two and a half hours in full. Far though it exceeds the length of the aver­age explain­er video, it does reflect the ten­den­cy of Sun Tzu’s suc­cinct obser­va­tions to expand, when seri­ous­ly con­sid­ered, into much wider and more com­plex dis­cus­sions. To each of the orig­i­nal tex­t’s chap­ters the Eudai­mo­nia video devotes a ten-to-fif­teen-minute sec­tion, con­vey­ing not just the con­tent of its lessons but also their rel­e­vance to the his­to­ry of human con­flict in the rough­ly two and a half mil­len­nia since they were writ­ten.

In chap­ter two, on wag­ing war, Sun Tzu writes that “in order to kill the ene­my, our men must be roused to anger.” It was in this spir­it that, dur­ing the Sec­ond World War, the Unit­ed King­dom’s Min­istry of Infor­ma­tion launched a media “anger cam­paign” meant to “increase resolve against the Ger­mans, as until then, the British had lit­tle sense of real hos­til­i­ty towards the aver­age Ger­man.” In the chap­ter on weak­ness­es and strengths, Sun Tzu rec­om­mends “the divine art of sub­tle­ty and secre­cy” as a means of becom­ing invis­i­ble and inaudi­ble to the ene­my — much as Julius Cae­sar did in the Gal­lic Wars, when he sent scout­ing ships “paint­ed in Venet­ian blue, which was a sim­i­lar col­or to that of the sea.”

Oth­er exam­ples come from diverse chap­ters of his­to­ry. These include the Amer­i­can Civ­il War, Gand­hi’s nego­ti­a­tion of Indi­an inde­pen­dence, the Napoleon­ic Wars, the British defeat in Zul­u­land, Joan of Arc’s siege of Orléans, the revolt against the Turk­ish led by T. E. Lawrence (bet­ter known as Lawrence of Ara­bia), and even Steve Jobs’ turn­around of a near­ly bank­rupt Apple. Most of us will nev­er find our­selves in sit­u­a­tions of quite these stakes. But giv­en that none of us can entire­ly avoid deal­ing with con­flict, we’d could do worse than to keep the guid­ance of Sun Tzu on our side.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Machiavelli’s The Prince Explained in an Illus­trat­ed Film

10 Rea­sons Why Hannibal’s Mil­i­tary Genius Still Cap­tures Our Imag­i­na­tion Today

What Ancient Chi­nese Phi­los­o­phy Can Teach Us About Liv­ing the Good Life Today: Lessons from Harvard’s Pop­u­lar Pro­fes­sor, Michael Puett

Hear an Ancient Chi­nese His­to­ri­an Describe The Roman Empire (and Oth­er Voic­es of the Past)

How Many U.S. Marines Could Bring Down the Roman Empire?

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Enter the Franz Kafka Caption Contest for a Chance to Win a New Book of the Author’s Drawings (Until June 13)

Imag­ine if Franz Kaf­ka were charged with pick­ing the win­ning entries in The New York­er’s week­ly car­toon cap­tion con­test.

The punch­lines might become a lit­tle more obscure.

If that idea fills you with per­verse plea­sure, per­haps you should tod­dle over to Yale Uni­ver­si­ty Press’s Insta­gram to con­tribute some pos­si­ble cap­tions for eight of the inky draw­ings the tor­tured author made in a black note­book between 1901 and 1907.

The intend­ed mean­ing of these images, includ­ed in the new book, Franz Kaf­ka: The Draw­ings, are as up for grabs as any uncap­tioned car­toon on the back page of The New York­er.

In Con­ver­sa­tions with Kaf­ka, author Gus­tav Janouch recalled how their sig­nif­i­cance proved elu­sive even to their cre­ator, and also the frus­tra­tion his friend expressed regard­ing his artis­tic abil­i­ties:

I should so like to be able to draw. As a mat­ter of fact, I am always try­ing to. But noth­ing comes of it. My draw­ings are pure­ly per­son­al pic­ture writ­ing, whose mean­ing even I can­not dis­cov­er after a time.

Kaf­ka seems to have gone eas­i­er on him­self in a 1913 let­ter to fiancée Felice Bauer:

I was once a great drafts­man, you know… These draw­ings gave me greater sat­is­fac­tion in those days—it’s years ago—than any­thing else.

Artist Philip Har­ti­gan, who ref­er­enced the draw­ings in a jour­nal and sketch­book class for writ­ing stu­dents nails it when he describes how Kafka’s “quick min­i­mum move­ments … con­vey the typ­i­cal despair­ing mood of his fic­tion in just a few lines.”

You have until June 13 to make explic­it what Kaf­ka did not by leav­ing your pro­posed cap­tion for each draw­ing as a com­ment on Yale Uni­ver­si­ty Press’s Insta­gram, along the hash­tag #Kafka­Cap­tion­Con­test.

Win­ners will receive a copy of  Franz Kaf­ka: The Draw­ings. Entries will be judged by edi­tor Andreas Kilch­er of and the­o­rist Judith But­ler, who con­tributed an essay that you might con­sid­er min­ing for mate­r­i­al:

Was it a muf­fled death? Or per­haps it was no death at all, just a tum­bling of inter­course, a sex­u­al flur­ry?

Yes, that might go nice­ly with Kafka’s draw­ing of a seat­ed fig­ure col­lapsed over a table, below.

https://images.app.goo.gl/mGfZzLcpRXuyqqU68

Some alter­nate pro­pos­als from con­test hope­fuls:

I need­ed to bathe my bat­tered knuck­les with my tears.

He stud­ied his new­ly acquired rare stamp with a pow­er­ful loupe.

How can I make sure that all my let­ters and papers will be destroyed after my death? I know — I’ll ask my clos­est friend to take care of it!

This last is a ref­er­ence to Kafka’s lit­er­ary execu­tor, Max Brod, who defied Kafka’s explic­it wish that all of his work be burned upon his death, save The Meta­mor­pho­sis, and five short sto­ries: The Judg­ment, The Stok­er, In the Penal Colony, A Coun­try Doc­tor and A Hunger Artist.

Brod cut Kafka’s draw­ing of the stand­ing fig­ure, above, from his sketch­book and kept in an enve­lope with a few oth­ers. Some of the cur­rent cap­tion sug­ges­tions for this haunt­ing, nev­er before seen image:

my face is an umbrel­la to my tears

I could­n’t face myself.

I am the Wal­rus goo goo g’joob

https://images.app.goo.gl/e6v8xbuRin3qWcS56

Of the eight draw­ings in the cap­tion con­test, Drinker, may offer the most nar­ra­tive pos­si­bil­i­ties. A rep­re­sen­ta­tive sam­pling of the inven­tive­ness that’s come over the tran­som thus­far:

I, peri­od

Angered by the impu­dence of the caber­net, i had only the courage to berate its shad­ow

Wait­er! There’s a roach in my wine.

Enter Yale Uni­ver­si­ty Press’ Kaf­ka Cap­tion Con­test (or get a feel for the com­pe­ti­tion) here. Entries will be accept­ed through June 13. Full con­test rules are here. Good luck!

Explore the draw­ings and oth­er con­tents of Franz Kafka’s black note­book here.

Pur­chase Franz Kaf­ka: The Draw­ings, the first book to pub­lish the entire­ty of the author’s graph­ic out­put, here.

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Werner Herzog’s New Novel, The Twilight World, Tells the Story of the WWII Japanese Soldier Who Famously Refused to Surrender

As every­one knows, Japan con­ced­ed defeat in the Sec­ond World War on August 15, 1945. But as many also know, cer­tain indi­vid­ual Japan­ese sol­diers refused to sur­ren­der, each con­tin­u­ing to fight the war for decades in his own way. The most famous was Lieu­tenant Ono­da Hiroo, who hid out in the Philip­pines mount­ing guer­ril­la attacks — at first with a few fel­low sol­diers, and final­ly alone — until 1974. Ono­da became a celebri­ty upon retun­ing to his home­land, and his admir­ers weren’t only Japan­ese. In Tokyo to direct an opera in 1997, Wern­er Her­zog request­ed an intro­duc­tion to one man only: the sol­dier who’d fought the war for 30 years.

Now Ono­da has become the sub­ject of one of Her­zog’s lat­est projects: not a film, but a nov­el called The Twi­light World. In his native Ger­man (brought into Eng­lish by trans­la­tor-crit­ic Michael Hof­mann), Her­zog has writ­ten of not just his own meet­ing with Ono­da but nar­rat­ed Onoda’s own long expe­ri­ence in the Philip­pines.

“Onoda’s war is of no mean­ing for the cos­mos, for his­to­ry, for the course of the war,” goes one pas­sage quot­ed by A. O. Scott in The Atlantic. “Onoda’s war is formed from the union of an imag­i­nary noth­ing and a dream, but Onoda’s war, sired by noth­ing, is nev­er­the­less over­whelm­ing, an event extort­ed from eter­ni­ty.”

One thinks of the pro­tag­o­nists of Her­zog’s films, both imag­ined and real: the steamship-drag­ging rub­ber baron Bri­an Sweeney Fitzger­ald, the downed Navy pilot Dieter Den­gler, the delud­ed con­quis­ta­dor Lope de Aguirre, the ill-fat­ed wildlife activist Tim­o­thy Tread­well. In Onoda’s case as well, Scott writes, “Her­zog declines to treat him as a joke. He is clear­ly fas­ci­nat­ed by the absur­di­ty of this hero’s sit­u­a­tion, and also deter­mined to defend the dig­ni­ty of a man who had no choice but to per­se­vere in an impos­si­ble mis­sion.” Any­one famil­iar with Her­zog’s career, full of har­row­ing encoun­ters and unpre­dictable turns but clear­ly oper­at­ing by an iron log­ic all its own, can imag­ine why he saw in Ono­da a kin­dred spir­it.

Eight years after his death at the age of 91, Ono­da remains a fig­ure of gen­er­al fas­ci­na­tion, the sub­ject of his­to­ry videos viewed by mil­lions as well as last year’s Ono­da: 10,000 Nights of the Jun­gle, a fea­ture by French direc­tor Arthur Harari. Of course,  “the guy who stays in the field long after the war is over is, to mod­ern eyes, a com­i­cal, cau­tion­ary fig­ure, an avatar of patri­o­tism car­ried to ridicu­lous extremes,” writes Scott. “We rarely pause to look for motives oth­er than blind obe­di­ence, or to imag­ine what those years of phan­tom com­bat in the wilder­ness must have felt like.” Per­haps we twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry West­ern­ers sim­ply lack the imag­i­na­tive pow­er nec­es­sary to do so — all of us, that, is except Wern­er Her­zog. You can pre-order his nov­el, The Twi­light World, now. It hits the shelves next week, on June 14th.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Wern­er Her­zog Offers 24 Pieces of Film­mak­ing and Life Advice

Wern­er Her­zog Tells a Book Club Why The Pere­grine Is One of His Favorite Books, a 20th-Cen­tu­ry Mas­ter­piece

Wern­er Her­zog Dis­cov­ers the Ecsta­sy of Skate­board­ing: “That’s Kind of My Peo­ple”

The Dream Dri­ven Film­mak­ing of Wern­er Her­zog: Watch the Video Essay, “The Inner Chron­i­cle of What We Are: Under­stand­ing Wern­er Her­zog”

Time Trav­el Back to Tokyo After World War II, and See the City in Remark­ably High-Qual­i­ty 1940s Video

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Machiavelli’s The Prince Explained in an Illustrated Film

Nic­colò Machi­avel­li lived in a time before the inter­net, before radio and tele­vi­sion, before drones and weapons of mass destruc­tion. Thus one nat­u­ral­ly ques­tions the rel­e­vance of his polit­i­cal the­o­ries to the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry. Yet in dis­cus­sions about the dynam­ics of pow­er, no name has endured as long as Machi­avel­li’s. His rep­u­ta­tion as a the­o­rist rests most­ly on his 1532 trea­tise Il Principe, or The Prince, in which he pio­neered a way of ana­lyz­ing pow­er as it was actu­al­ly wield­ed, not as peo­ple would have liked it to be. How, he asked, does a ruler — a prince — attain his posi­tion in a state, and even more impor­tant­ly, how does he main­tain it?

You can hear Machi­avel­li’s answers to these ques­tions explained, and see them illus­trat­ed, in the 43-minute video above. It breaks The Prince down into sev­en parts sum­ma­riz­ing as many of the book’s main points, includ­ing “Do not be neu­tral,” “Destroy, do not would,” and “Be feared.”

These com­mand­ments would seem to align with Machi­avel­li’s pop­u­lar image as an apol­o­gist, even an advo­cate, for bru­tal and repres­sive forms of rule. But his enter­prise has less to do with offer­ing advice than with describ­ing how real fig­ures of pow­er, princes and oth­er­wise, had amassed and retained that pow­er.

The video comes from Eudai­mo­nia, a Youtube chan­nel that has also fea­tured sim­i­lar­ly ani­mat­ed exege­ses of Sto­icism and Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. Its cre­ator makes these ancient sources of knowl­edge acces­si­ble with not just his car­toon­ish illus­tra­tions, but also his inclu­sion of illu­mi­nat­ing exam­ples from more recent his­to­ry. In the case of The Prince, these come from eras like the Russ­ian Rev­o­lu­tion, World War II, and even our own time of instant glob­al com­mu­ni­ca­tion, atten­tion-hun­gry media, and a seem­ing­ly weak polit­i­cal class. In much of the world, we live in a time much less nasty and brutish than Machi­avel­li’s. But look­ing at the effec­tive­ness (or lack there­of) of our own lead­ers, we have to admit that the prin­ci­ples of The Prince may not have gone out of effect.

To delve deep­er into the world of Machi­avel­li, you can watch a BBC doc­u­men­tary on the Renais­sance polit­i­cal the­o­rist below.

Relat­ed con­tent:

What Does “Machi­avel­lian” Real­ly Mean?: An Ani­mat­ed Les­son

How Machi­avel­li Real­ly Thought We Should Use Pow­er: Two Ani­mat­ed Videos Pro­vide an Intro­duc­tion

Salman Rushdie: Machiavelli’s Bad Rap

Intro­duc­tion to Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy: A Free Yale Course

Allan Bloom’s Lec­tures on Machi­avel­li (Boston Col­lege, 1983)

6 Polit­i­cal The­o­rists Intro­duced in Ani­mat­ed “School of Life” Videos: Marx, Smith, Rawls & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

 

Haruki Murakami Jazz Mixes: Hear Playlists of Jazz Pieces Namechecked in Norwegian Wood and 1Q84

Haru­ki Muraka­mi has long since bro­ken with the tra­di­tion­al mod­el of the nov­el­ist, not least in that his books have their own sound­tracks. You can’t go out and buy the accom­pa­ny­ing album for a Muraka­mi nov­el as you would for a movie, grant­ed, but today you can even more eas­i­ly find online playlists of the music men­tioned in them. A die-hard music lover, Muraka­mi, has been name-check­ing not just musi­cians but spe­cif­ic songs in his work ever since his first nov­el, 1979’s Hear the Wind Sing. Eigh­teen years lat­er, he titled a whole book after a Bea­t­les num­ber; the tale of yearn­ing and dis­af­fec­tion in 1960s Tokyo that is Nor­we­gian Wood would become his break­out best­seller around the world.

When Nor­we­gian Wood first came out in Korea, where I live, it did so as The Age of Loss (상실의 시대). That title is still ref­er­enced in the video above, an hour­long mix of songs from the nov­el post­ed by the Kore­an Youtube chan­nel Jazz Is Every­where. (This does­n’t sur­prise me: here–where Murakami’s many avid fans in Korea refer to him sim­ply as “Haru­ki”–more of his work has been trans­lat­ed into Kore­an than ever will be into Eng­lish.)

Selec­tions include the Bill Evans Tri­o’s “Waltz for Deb­by,” Anto­nio Car­los Jobim’s “Desa­fi­na­do,” Thelo­nious Monk’s “Hon­ey­suck­le Rose,” and Miles Davis’ “So What.” More recent­ly, Jazz Is Every­where put up a mix of songs from Murakami’s 2011 nov­el 1Q84, fea­tur­ing the likes of Nat King Cole, Louis Arm­strong, Bil­lie Hol­i­day, and Duke Elling­ton.

These mix­es focus on jazz, one of Murakami’s most beloved gen­res; as is well known, he even ran his own jazz bar in Tokyo before turn­ing nov­el­ist. (Its name, Peter Cat, now adorns a book café here in Seoul.) But the 1Q84 mix ends with Leoš Janáček’s decid­ed­ly un-jazzy Sin­foni­et­ta, a some­what jar­ring orches­tral piece that became an unlike­ly hit in Japan soon after 1Q84’s pub­li­ca­tion. This only hints at the vari­ety of West­ern music of which Muraka­mi has made lit­er­ary use, much as he has trans­posed the tech­niques of the West­ern nov­el (a trans­la­tor from Eng­lish in his spare time, he has also pro­duced a Japan­ese ver­sion of The Great Gats­by) into his native lan­guage. An eclec­tic, impro­vi­sa­tion­al, and often under­stat­ed style of sto­ry­telling has result­ed — which, much like jazz, has proven to know no cul­tur­al bound­aries.

Relat­ed con­tent:

A 96-Song Playlist of Music in Haru­ki Murakami’s Nov­els: Miles Davis, Glenn Gould, the Beach Boys & More

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

A 26-Hour Playlist Fea­tur­ing Music from Haru­ki Murakami’s Lat­est Nov­el, Killing Com­menda­tore

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Day: Stream Sev­en Hours of Mix­es Col­lect­ing All the Jazz, Clas­si­cal & Clas­sic Amer­i­can Pop Music from His Nov­els

A 3,350-Song Playlist of Music from Haru­ki Murakami’s Per­son­al Record Col­lec­tion

Son­ic Explo­rations of Japan­ese Jazz: Stream 8 Mix­es of Japan’s Jazz Tra­di­tion Free Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Margaret Atwood Releases an Unburnable Edition of The Handmaid’s Tale, to Support Freedom of Expression

When first pub­lished in 1985, Mar­garet Atwood’s The Hand­maid­’s Tale drew acclaim for how it com­bined and made new the genre con­ven­tions of the dystopi­an, his­tor­i­cal, and fan­ta­sy nov­el. But the book has enjoyed its great­est fame in the past decade, thanks in part to a 2017 adap­ta­tion on Hulu and a sequel, The Tes­ta­ments, pub­lished two years there­after. It’s even become promi­nent in mass cul­ture, fre­quent­ly ref­er­enced in dis­cus­sions of real-life pol­i­tics and soci­ety in the man­ner of Nine­teen Eighty-Four or Fahren­heit 451.

Like George Orwell and Ray Brad­bury’s famous works, The Hand­maid­’s Tale also seems at risk of becom­ing less often read than pub­licly ref­er­enced — and there­fore, no small amount of the time, pub­licly mis­in­ter­pret­ed. The only way to for­ti­fy your­self against such abuse of lit­er­a­ture is, of course, actu­al­ly to read the book. For­tu­nate­ly, The Hand­maid­’s Tale is now wide­ly avail­able, unlike cer­tain books in cer­tain places that have been sub­ject to bans. It is against such ban­ning that the lat­est edi­tion of Atwood’s nov­el stands, print­ed and bound using only fire­proof mate­ri­als.

“Across the Unit­ed States and around the world, books are being chal­lenged, banned, and even burned,” says pub­lish­er Pen­guin Ran­dom House. “So we cre­at­ed a spe­cial edi­tion of a book that’s been chal­lenged and banned for decades.” This unique­ly “unburn­able” Hand­maid­’s Tale “will be pre­sent­ed for auc­tion by Sotheby’s New York from May 23 to June 7 with all pro­ceeds going to ben­e­fit PEN America’s work in sup­port of free expres­sion.” You can bid on it at Sothe­by’s site, where as of this writ­ing the price stands at USD $70,000.

Pen­guin has exper­i­ment­ed with phys­i­cal­ly metaphor­i­cal books before: the paper­back edi­tion of Nine­teen Eighty-Four, for exam­ple, whose cov­er becomes less “cen­sored” with use. More recent­ly, the graph­ic design stu­dio Super Ter­rain pub­lished Fahren­heit 451, its title long a byword for book-burn­ing, that only becomes read­able with the appli­ca­tion of heat. But it’s Bal­lan­ti­ne’s 1953 spe­cial edi­tion of that nov­el, “bound in Johns-Manville quin­ter­ra, an asbestos mate­r­i­al with excep­tion­al resis­tance to pyrol­y­sis,” that tru­ly set the prece­dent for this one-off Hand­maid’s tale. Those mak­ing bids cer­tain­ly under­stand the book’s place in today’s cul­tur­al debates — but let’s hope they also intend to read it.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Pret­ty Much Pop #10 Exam­ines Mar­garet Atwood’s Night­mare Vision: The Handmaid’s Tale

An Ani­mat­ed Mar­garet Atwood Explains How Sto­ries Change with Tech­nol­o­gy

An Asbestos-Bound, Fire­proof Edi­tion of Ray Bradbury’s Fahren­heit 451 (1953)

The Cov­er of George Orwell’s 1984 Becomes Less Cen­sored with Wear and Tear

To Read This Exper­i­men­tal Edi­tion of Ray Bradbury’s Fahren­heit 451, You’ll Need to Add Heat to the Pages

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Behold the Augsburg Book of Miracles, a Brilliantly-Illuminated Manuscript of Supernatural Phenomena from Renaissance Germany

When we speak of a “lost art,” we do not always mean that humans have for­got­ten cer­tain pro­duc­tion meth­ods. Mod­ern crafts­peo­ple can recov­er or rea­son­ably approx­i­mate old tech­niques and mate­ri­als, and pro­duce arti­facts that can be passed off as authen­tic by the unscrupu­lous. The spir­it of the thing, how­ev­er, can nev­er be recov­ered. Try as they might, schol­ars and con­ser­va­tors will nev­er be able to enter the mind of a Medieval scribe or man­u­script illu­mi­na­tor. Their social world has dis­ap­peared into a dis­tant mist; we can only dim­ly guess at what their lives were like.

Thus, for many years, the recep­tion of Hierony­mus Bosch — the bizarre fan­ta­sist from the Nether­lands whose visions of Earth, Heav­en, and Hell have amused and ter­ri­fied view­ers — stressed the pro­to-Sur­re­al­ism of his work, assum­ing he must have had oth­er inten­tions than pros­e­ly­tiz­ing.

Most recent inter­pre­ta­tion, how­ev­er, has pulled in the oth­er direc­tion, stress­ing the degree to which Bosch and his con­tem­po­raries believed in a uni­verse that was exact­ly as weird as he depict­ed it, no exag­ger­a­tion nec­es­sary; empha­siz­ing how Bosch felt an urgent need to spare view­ers of his work from the fates he showed in his art.

What passed through the mind of the illu­mi­na­tor of the man­u­script shown here, the Augs­burg Book of Mirac­u­lous Signs? We can nev­er know. At best, schol­ars have set­tled on a name — artist and print­mak­er Hans Burgk­mair the Younger — though lit­tle is known about him And we have a date, 1552, when this “curi­ous and lav­ish­ly illus­trat­ed man­u­script appeared in the Swabi­an Impe­r­i­al Free city of Augs­burg, then a part of the Holy Roman Empire, locat­ed in present-day Ger­many,” Maria Popo­va writes at the Mar­gin­a­lian. In the video at the top from Hochela­ga, you can learn more about the “bizarre text” and the “mean­ing behind its unique con­tents” and “scenes of calami­ty and chaos.”

The strange book presents “in remark­able detail and wild­ly imag­i­na­tive art­work, Medieval Europe’s grow­ing obses­sions with signs sent from ‘God,’ ” Popo­va writes, “a tes­ta­ment to the basic human propen­si­ty for mag­i­cal think­ing.” More specif­i­cal­ly, The Book of Mir­a­cles recounts a host of Bib­li­cal signs and won­ders in chrono­log­i­cal order: from the first book of the Old Tes­ta­ment to the spec­tac­u­lar end of the New. In-between are “hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry accounts of clas­si­cal and con­tem­po­rary celes­tial phe­nom­e­na,” Tim Smith-Laing writes at Apol­lo. “The man­u­script com­pris­es noth­ing less than a pic­ture chron­i­cle of the world’s past, present and future, in 192 mir­a­cles.”

While Protes­tant Chris­tian­i­ty con­demned Medieval mag­ic, “the recur­rence of mir­a­cles in the Bible meant that the Protes­tant reform­ers of the six­teenth cen­tu­ry could not reject such won­ders as super­sti­tions in the way they scorned Catholic beliefs,” Mari­na Warn­er writes at The New York Review of Books. Ger­man reform­ers were on high alert for the mirac­u­lous and omi­nous: “The six­teenth-cen­tu­ry Zwinglian cler­gy­man Johann Jakob Wick filled twen­ty-four albums with reports of such won­ders in broad­sheets and pam­phlets,” see­ing signs in the birth of a two-head­ed calf or “an unfor­tu­nate, flip­per-hand­ed infant.”

All of which is to say that we have lit­tle rea­son to doubt that the cre­ator of The Book of Mir­a­cles meant the work as an earnest warn­ing to its read­ers, although its won­drous images might look to us like pro­to-fan­ta­sy or sci-fi illus­tra­tion. The book illus­trates 1533 reports of fly­ing drag­ons in Bohemia, an event, notes The Guardian, that “went on for sev­er­al days, with over four hun­dred of them, both big and small, fly­ing togeth­er.” It shows a comet appear­ing in 1506, one that stayed for sev­er­al days and nights “and turned its tail towards Spain.” There­by fol­lowed “a lot of fruit,” which was then “com­plete­ly destroyed by cater­pil­lars or rats,” then a vio­lent earth­quake in Con­stan­tino­ple.

The very ten­u­ous con­nec­tion between dis­parate nat­ur­al phe­nom­e­na, the hearsay reports of mag­i­cal hap­pen­ings, you can read about all of these signs and won­ders in a repub­lished ver­sion by Taschen, in Eng­lish, French, and Ger­man. It is, Popo­va writes, “a sin­gu­lar shrine to some of the most eter­nal of human hopes and fears, and, above all, our immutable long­ing for grace, for mer­cy, for the mirac­u­lous.” See more images from The Book of Mir­a­cles at The Guardian.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Dig­i­tal Archive of Hierony­mus Bosch’s Com­plete Works: Zoom In & Explore His Sur­re­al Art

The Medieval Mas­ter­piece, the Book of Kells, Has Been Dig­i­tized and Put Online

The Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts of Medieval Europe: A Free Online Course from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Col­orado

160,000+ Medieval Man­u­scripts Online: Where to Find Them

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

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