Piketty’s Capital in a Nutshell

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It’s hard to fath­om, but some­how Thomas Piket­ty’s 696-page book Cap­i­tal in the Twen­ty-First Cen­tu­ry is No. 1 on the Ama­zon best­seller list. It’s a seri­ous eco­nom­ics book that takes a long, hard look at the dynam­ics affect­ing the dis­tri­b­u­tion of cap­i­tal, the con­cen­tra­tion of wealth, and the long-term evo­lu­tion of inequal­i­ty in advanced economies. Not exact­ly light read­ing. And yet it’s out­selling Michael Lewis’ Flash Boys: A Wall Street Revolt (a lighter, more col­or­ful study of the inequal­i­ties in the finan­cial sys­tem); Don­na Tart­t’s The Goldfinch (the new­ly-named win­ner of the Pulitzer Prize in Fic­tion); and even The Lit­tle Gold­en Book ver­sion of Dis­ney’s Frozen.

So what’s the book all about? One way to answer that ques­tion is to read the intro­duc­tion to Cap­i­tal, which you can find on the Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty Press web­site. There Piket­ty, a pro­fes­sor at the Paris School of Eco­nom­ics, gets right into the heart of the ques­tions he’s  try­ing to answer in Cap­i­tal:

The dis­tri­b­u­tion of wealth is one of today’s most wide­ly dis­cussed and con­tro­ver­sial issues. But what do we real­ly know about its evo­lu­tion over the long term? Do the dynam­ics of pri­vate cap­i­tal accu­mu­la­tion inevitably lead to the con­cen­tra­tion of wealth in ever few­er hands, as Karl Marx believed in the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry? Or do the bal­anc­ing forces of growth, com­pe­ti­tion, and tech­no­log­i­cal progress lead in lat­er stages of devel­op­ment to reduced inequal­i­ty and greater har­mo­ny among the class­es, as Simon Kuznets thought in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry? What do we real­ly know about how wealth and income have evolved since the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry, and what lessons can we derive from that knowl­edge for the cen­tu­ry now under way?

As for the answers, those are pret­ty well explained in a digest by the Har­vard Busi­ness Review. Sum­ma­riz­ing the book’s argu­ment, HBR writes:

Cap­i­tal (which by Piketty’s def­i­n­i­tion is pret­ty much the same thing as wealth) has tend­ed over time to grow faster than the over­all econ­o­my. Income from cap­i­tal is invari­ably much less even­ly dis­trib­uted than labor income. Togeth­er these amount to a pow­er­ful force for increas­ing inequal­i­ty. Piket­ty doesn’t take things as far as Marx, who saw capital’s growth even­tu­al­ly stran­gling the econ­o­my and bring­ing on its own col­lapse, and he’s with­er­ing­ly dis­dain­ful of Marx’s data-col­lec­tion tech­niques. But his real beef is with the main­stream eco­nom­ic teach­ings that more cap­i­tal and low­er tax­es on cap­i­tal bring faster growth and high­er wages, and that eco­nom­ic dynamism will auto­mat­i­cal­ly keep inequal­i­ty at bay. Over the two-plus cen­turies for which good records exist, the only major decline in capital’s eco­nom­ic share and in eco­nom­ic inequal­i­ty was the result of World Wars I and II, which destroyed lots of cap­i­tal and brought much high­er tax­es in the U.S. and Europe. This peri­od of cap­i­tal destruc­tion was fol­lowed by a spec­tac­u­lar run of eco­nom­ic growth. Now, after decades of peace, slow­ing growth, and declin­ing tax rates, cap­i­tal and inequal­i­ty are on the rise all over the devel­oped world, and it’s not clear what if any­thing will alter that tra­jec­to­ry in the decades to come.

As for how this impacts life in the U.S., HBR sum­ma­rizes Piket­ty’s argu­ment as fol­lows:

On this side of the Atlantic, wealth and income were less con­cen­trat­ed in the 19th cen­tu­ry than in Europe. After a spike in top incomes that topped out in the late 1920s, the income dis­tri­b­u­tion flat­tened out here again, albeit in less dra­mat­ic fash­ion than in Europe. Since the 1970s, though, the U.S. has seen a sharp and unpar­al­leled increase in the per­cent­age of income going to the top 1% and espe­cial­ly 0.1%. This has not been dri­ven by the cap­i­tal and inher­i­tance dynam­ics at the heart of Piketty’s sto­ry. He attrib­ut­es it instead to the rise of what he calls “super­man­agers.” Piket­ty cites recent research that shows man­agers and finan­cial pro­fes­sion­als mak­ing up 60% of the top 0.1% of the income dis­tri­b­u­tion in the U.S., and pro­pos­es that their sky­rock­et­ing pay is main­ly the prod­uct of sharp declines in top mar­gin­al tax rates that made it worth man­agers’ while to bar­gain hard­er for rais­es. This isn’t the only expla­na­tion avail­able, and Piketty’s dis­cus­sion of U.S. inequal­i­ty doesn’t car­ry the same his­tor­i­cal author­i­ty as oth­er parts of the book. But it sure­ly is inter­est­ing that, as he and sev­er­al co-authors report in a new arti­cle in the Amer­i­can Eco­nom­ic Jour­nal: Eco­nom­ic Pol­i­cy, the rise in the top-per­centile income share in 13 coun­tries was almost per­fect­ly cor­re­lat­ed with declines in top mar­gin­al tax rates in those coun­tries. It’s also inter­est­ing that this huge rise in rel­a­tive income inequal­i­ty has brought no dis­cernible eco­nom­ic ben­e­fit. Yes, the U.S. econ­o­my has grown a bit faster than those of oth­er devel­oped economies, but that’s pure­ly because of pop­u­la­tion growth. Per-capi­ta eco­nom­ic growth has been almost iden­ti­cal in the U.S. and West­ern Europe since 1980, and because of the skew towards the top here, U.S. medi­an income has actu­al­ly lost ground rel­a­tive to oth­er nations.

But why let HBR give you insight into Piket­ty’s think­ing when Piket­ty can do it him­self. Below we have a talk he gave at the Eco­nom­ic Pol­i­cy Insti­tute ear­li­er this month. He starts speak­ing at the 5:30 mark.

And final­ly Paul Krug­man’s review in the New York Review of Books — “We’re in a New Gild­ed Age” — is worth a read.

 Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Eco­nom­ics Cours­es Online

Read­ing Marx’s Cap­i­tal with David Har­vey (Free Online Course)

The His­to­ry of Eco­nom­ics & Eco­nom­ic The­o­ry Explained with Comics, Start­ing with Adam Smith

60-Sec­ond Adven­tures in Eco­nom­ics: An Ani­mat­ed Intro to The Invis­i­ble Hand and Oth­er Eco­nom­ic Ideas

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Read Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, as It Was Originally Published in Rolling Stone (1971)

Last week, we revis­it­ed John­ny Dep­p’s read­ing of the famous “wave speech” from Hunter S. Thomp­son’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Would­n’t you know it, a week lat­er, we’ve dis­cov­ered that you can read the entire text of the orig­i­nal nov­el, online, for free.  The Gonzo jour­nal­ism clas­sic first appeared as a two-part series in Rolling Stone mag­a­zine in Novem­ber 1971, com­plete with illus­tra­tions from Ralph Stead­man, before being pub­lished as a book in 1972.  Rolling Stone has post­ed the orig­i­nal ver­sion on its web site. The 23,000 word man­u­script famous­ly begins:

We were some­where around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remem­ber say­ing some­thing like “I feel a bit light­head­ed; maybe you should dri­ve. …” And sud­den­ly there was a ter­ri­ble roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swoop­ing and screech­ing and div­ing around the car, which was going about 100 miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was scream­ing: “Holy Jesus! What are these god­damn ani­mals?”

Down the line, you can find this text per­ma­nent­ly list­ed in our col­lec­tion of Free eBooks, as well as in our List of 10 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005). Enjoy.

via @SteveSilberman

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Ernest Hemingway’s Very First Published Stories, Free as an eBook

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“I like the ear­ly stuff”: the clas­sic mas­cu­line com­ment to make about the work of a well-known cre­ator, demon­strat­ing as it does the cul­tur­al con­sumer’s ded­i­ca­tion, purism, judg­men­tal rig­or, and even endurance (giv­en the rel­a­tive acces­si­bil­i­ty, in the intel­lec­tu­al as well as the col­lec­tor’s sens­es, of most “ear­ly stuff”). Now you have a chance to say it about that most osten­si­bly mas­cu­line of all 20th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can writ­ers, Ernest Hem­ing­way. Above, see the cov­er of a cov­et­ed edi­tion of the then-young “Papa“ ‘s very first book, 1923’s Three Sto­ries & Ten Poems. The print run num­bered only “300 copies, put out by friend and fel­low expa­tri­ate, the writer- pub­lish­er Robert McAl­mon,” writes Steve King at Today in Lit­er­a­ture. “Both had arrived in Paris in 1921, Hem­ing­way an unpub­lished twen­ty-two-year-old jour­nal­ist with a recent bride, a hand­ful of let­ters of intro­duc­tion pro­vid­ed by Sher­wood Ander­son, and a clear imper­a­tive: ‘All you have to do is write one true sen­tence.’ ”

Instead of shelling out to a rare-book deal­er for Three Sto­ries & Ten Poems — admire the sac­ri­fice involved though a true Hem­ing­wayite may — you can read even more of the Old Man and the Sea author’s ear­ly stuff in the free e‑book embed­ded just above: 1946’s The First Forty Nine Sto­ries. It con­tains not just “Up in Michi­gan,” “Out of Sea­son,” and “My Old Man,” those three sto­ries of Hem­ing­way’s bound debut, but, yes, 46 more of his ear­li­est pub­lished pieces of short-form fic­tion. Today in Lit­er­a­ture quotes one notable con­tem­po­rary reac­tion to Three Sto­ries & Ten Poems, from a time before Hem­ing­way had become Hem­ing­way, much less Papa: “I should say that Hem­ing­way should stick to poet­ry and intel­li­gence and eschew the hot­ter emo­tions and the more turgid vision. Intel­li­gence and a great deal of it is a good thing to use when you have it, it’s all for the best.” And who could have writ­ten such an astute ear­ly assess­ment of the ulti­mate lit­er­ary man’s man? A cer­tain Gertrude Stein.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

18 (Free) Books Ernest Hem­ing­way Wished He Could Read Again for the First Time

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

Ernest Hem­ing­way Cre­ates a Read­ing List for a Young Writer, 1934

Ernest Hemingway’s Favorite Ham­burg­er Recipe

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

Johnny Depp Reads Hunter S. Thompson’s Famous “Wave Speech” from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Hunter S. Thomp­son was a lit­er­ary icon – a moral­ist, a gun nut, and the orig­i­nal gonzo jour­nal­ist. He was the inven­tor of the true break­fast of cham­pi­ons and author of the most hilar­i­ous­ly pro­fane pres­i­den­tial obit­u­ary ever.

Of all his writ­ing though, his book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a jour­ney through bat coun­try and into the twist­ed dark heart of the Amer­i­can soul, is his most famous and beloved. And aside from per­haps the book’s open­ing line – “We were some­where around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold” – the most mem­o­rable sec­tion of the work is his “wave speech” which shows up in the eighth chap­ter. It is a poet­ic, heart­felt mono­logue about the ide­al­ism and the crushed dreams of the 1960s. Thomp­son him­self said that the pas­sage is “one of the best things I’ve ever fuck­ing writ­ten.”

You can see John­ny Depp — who has played Thomp­son twice on the sil­ver screen — read an abbre­vi­at­ed ver­sion of the speech above. You can read along below. And make sure you turn up your speak­ers a bit.

Strange mem­o­ries on this ner­vous night in Las Vegas. Five years lat­er? Six? It seems like a life­time, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that nev­er comes again. San Fran­cis­co in the mid­dle six­ties was a very spe­cial time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant some­thing. Maybe not, in the long run… but no expla­na­tion, no mix of words or music or mem­o­ries can touch that sense of know­ing that you were there and alive in that cor­ner of time and the world. What­ev­er it meant.…

His­to­ry is hard to know, because of all the hired bull­shit, but even with­out being sure of “his­to­ry” it seems entire­ly rea­son­able to think that every now and then the ener­gy of a whole gen­er­a­tion comes to a head in a long fine flash, for rea­sons that nobody real­ly under­stands at the time—and which nev­er explain, in ret­ro­spect, what actu­al­ly hap­pened.
[…]

There was mad­ness in any direc­tion, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Gold­en Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Hon­da.… You could strike sparks any­where. There was a fan­tas­tic uni­ver­sal sense that what­ev­er we were doing was right, that we were win­ning.…

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable vic­to­ry over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or mil­i­tary sense; we did­n’t need that. Our ener­gy would sim­ply pre­vail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momen­tum; we were rid­ing the crest of a high and beau­ti­ful wave.…

So now, less than five years lat­er, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave final­ly broke and rolled back.

Fear and Loathing was, of course, adapt­ed into a 1998 film star­ring Depp after a very long devel­op­ment stage. Alex Cox – who direct­ed the punk cult hit Repo Man – was orig­i­nal­ly slat­ed to make the movie until he made the mis­take of propos­ing to turn the wave speech into an ani­mat­ed sequence. Thomp­son was extreme­ly unim­pressed. Cox got canned and soon after Ter­ry Gilliam was giv­en the reins to the film. You can see the Gilliam’s treat­ment of the wave speech sequence below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 10 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Inter­views Kei­th Richards

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters from Hunter S. Thomp­son

Hunter S. Thomp­son Gets Con­front­ed by The Hell’s Angels

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.

How the CIA Turned Doctor Zhivago into a Propaganda Weapon Against the Soviet Union

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Human­i­ty has long pon­dered the rel­a­tive might of the pen and the sword. While one time-worn apho­rism does grant the advan­tage to the pen, most of us have enter­tained doubts: the sword, metaphor­i­cal­ly or lit­er­al­ly, seems to have won out across an awful­ly wide swath of his­to­ry. Still, the pen has scored some impres­sive vic­to­ries, some even in liv­ing mem­o­ry. Take, for exam­ple, the CIA’s recent­ly revealed use of Boris Paster­nak’s nov­el Doc­tor Zhiva­go as a pro­pa­gan­da weapon. Repressed in Paster­nak’s native Rus­sia, the book first appeared in Italy in 1957. The fol­low­ing year, the British sug­gest­ed to Amer­i­ca’s Cen­tral Intel­li­gence Agency that the book stood a decent chance of win­ning hearts and minds behind the Iron Cur­tain — if, of course, they could get a few copies in there. A CIA memo sent across its own Sovi­et Rus­sia Divi­sion sub­se­quent­ly pro­nounced Doc­tor Zhiva­go as pos­sessed of “great pro­pa­gan­da val­ue, not only for its intrin­sic mes­sage and thought-pro­vok­ing nature, but also for the cir­cum­stances of its pub­li­ca­tion. We have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to make Sovi­et cit­i­zens won­der what is wrong with their gov­ern­ment, when a fine lit­er­ary work by the man acknowl­edged to be the great­est liv­ing Russ­ian writer is not even avail­able in his own coun­try in his own lan­guage for his own peo­ple to read.”

That eval­u­a­tion comes from one of the over 130 declas­si­fied doc­u­ments used by Peter Finn and Petra Cou­vée in their brand new his­to­ry of this act of real-life lit­er­ary espi­onage, The Zhiva­go Affair: The Krem­lin, the CIA and the Bat­tle Over a For­bid­den Book. You can read an in-depth arti­cle on some of the events involved in this oper­a­tion — the CIA’s print­ing of both hard­cov­er and minia­ture paper­back Russ­ian-lan­guage edi­tions, the not-so-clan­des­tine dis­tri­b­u­tion of copies at 1958’s Brus­sels Uni­ver­sal and Inter­na­tion­al Expo­si­tion, the CIA’s unex­pect­ed alliance with the Vat­i­can in this mis­sion, the inept prob­ing by Sovi­et “researchers” — at the Wash­ing­ton Post.

You can also watch a CBS This Morn­ing clip on the book just above. Dra­mat­ic though this “Zhiva­go Affair” sounds, it came as nei­ther the first nor last Amer­i­can use of cul­ture as a means of desta­bi­liz­ing the Sovi­et Union. We’ve even pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured two oth­ers: secret­ly-fund­ed abstract expres­sion­ist paint­ing, and Louis Arm­strong’s 1965 East Berlin and Budapest con­certs. Cold War Amer­i­ca may have had the sword, in the form of its vast nuclear arse­nal, pol­ished and ready, but clear­ly it retained a cer­tain regard for the pen — and brush, and trum­pet — as well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Louis Arm­strong Plays His­toric Cold War Con­certs in East Berlin & Budapest (1965)

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

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

Old Books Bound in Human Skin Found in Harvard Libraries (and Elsewhere in Boston)

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For at least a decade now, the “death of print” has seemed all but inevitable. Amidst all the nos­tal­gia for print­ed lit­er­a­ture, it’s easy to for­get that mass-pro­duced books and media, and a lit­er­ate pop­u­la­tion, are fair­ly recent phe­nom­e­na in human his­to­ry. Books—whether print­ed or hand-copied—had a totemic sta­tus for thou­sands of years, giv­en that they were kept under the pro­tec­tion of an edu­cat­ed elite, who were among the few able to read and inter­pret them. Even after the age of print­ing, books were rare and hard to come by, large­ly too expen­sive for most peo­ple to afford until the advent of paper­backs.

A gris­ly reminder of the book’s sta­tus as an almost mag­i­cal object sur­faced in Harvard’s rare book col­lec­tion a few years ago. In 2006, librar­i­ans dis­cov­ered at least three vol­umes bound in human skin—and as trav­el site Road­trip­pers reports, “in one case, skin har­vest­ed from a man who was flayed alive.” Grue­some as all this seems, the prac­tice of skin-bind­ing was appar­ent­ly not the sole province of ser­i­al killers:

As it turns out, the prac­tice of using human skin to bind books was actu­al­ly pret­ty pop­u­lar dur­ing the 17th cen­tu­ry. It’s referred to as Anthro­po­der­mic bib­liop­e­gy and proved pret­ty com­mon when it came to anatom­i­cal text­books. Med­ical pro­fes­sion­als would often use the flesh of cadav­ers they’d dis­sect­ed dur­ing their research.

The book sup­pos­ed­ly made of flayed skin is a Span­ish law text from the sev­en­teenth cen­tu­ry titled Prac­ti­carum quaes­tion­um cir­ca leg­es regias (above). Despite an inscrip­tion nam­ing the deceased and claim­ing his skin as the bind­ing, this vol­ume has actu­al­ly just been iden­ti­fied as sheepskin—according to a Har­vard Law Library blog post from yesterday—“thanks to a tech­nique for iden­ti­fy­ing pro­teins that was devel­oped in the last twen­ty years.” Spec­u­lates the Law Library post:

Per­haps before it arrived at HLS [Har­vard Law School] in 1946, the book was bound in a dif­fer­ent bind­ing at some point in its his­to­ry. Or per­haps the inscrip­tion was sim­ply the prod­uct of someone’s macabre imag­i­na­tion.

Nev­er­the­less, oth­er human skin-bound books exist—as far as librar­i­ans and sci­en­tists can deter­mine. For­mer direc­tor of libraries for the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ken­tucky Lawrence S. Thomp­son claims that the prac­tice dates as far back as a 13th cen­tu­ry French Bible and became more com­mon in the 16th and 17th cen­turies. A 1933 Crim­son arti­cle men­tioned anoth­er skin-bound book in a col­lec­tion of minia­ture books, includ­ing this graph­ic detail: “removal of 20 square inch­es of skin from his back failed to impair the health of its donor, who is still alive and in the best of con­di­tion.”

Anoth­er skin-bound vol­ume, which Thomp­son calls “the most famous of all anthro­po­der­mic bind­ings,” resides across the riv­er from Har­vard at inde­pen­dent library the Boston Athenaeum. Called The High­way­man: Nar­ra­tive of the Life of James Allen alias George Wal­ton (above), the book is a mem­oir of the tit­u­lar out­law. The author, reports the Crim­son, “was impressed by the courage of a man whom he once attacked, and when Wal­ton was fac­ing exe­cu­tion, he asked to have his mem­oir bound in his own skin and pre­sent­ed to the brave man.” Thumb through (so to speak) a dig­i­tal copy of Walton’s 1837 mem­oir above, and imag­ine being the recip­i­ent of such a gift.

via Road­trip­pers

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

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

How a Book Thief Forged a Rare Edi­tion of Galileo’s Sci­en­tif­ic Work, and Almost Pulled it Off

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

The Books You Think Every Intelligent Person Should Read: Crime and Punishment, Moby-Dick & Beyond (Many Free Online)

crime and punishment cover

While I nor­mal­ly try not to get involved with com­ments on web sites (you know what I mean), I’d rather get involved with the com­ments of some web sites than oth­ers. I doubt that under­neath any Youtube video, for exam­ple,  you’d find dozens and dozens of well-con­sid­ered sug­ges­tions for the canon of books every intel­li­gent per­son should read, as we did here at Open Cul­ture when we put the ques­tion to you on Wednes­day. In the com­ments to that post as well as on our Face­book Page, we received a host of respons­es scat­tered sat­is­fy­ing­ly across the tex­tu­al map: every­thing from Michel Fou­cault to Fou­cault’s Pen­du­lum, Gib­bon’s His­to­ry of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire to Bryson’s Short His­to­ry of Near­ly Every­thing, 18th-cen­tu­ry Ger­man philoso­pher Immanuel Kant to rep­til­ian con­spir­a­cy-envi­sion­ing ex-foot­baller David Icke. The top-rank­ing vol­ume? Fyo­dor Dos­toyevsky’s Crime and Pun­ish­ment (avail­able, inci­den­tal­ly, in our free eBook col­lec­tionKin­dle from Ama­zon – Read Online), fol­lowed by Her­man Melville’s Moby-Dick (avail­able there too: iPad/iPhone — Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats). Let none say that Open Cul­ture read­ers shy away from weighty lit­er­a­ture.

Oth­er, short­er nov­els pop­u­lar­ly sug­gest­ed include Voltaire’s Can­dide (iPad/iPhone — Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), Joseph Con­rad’s Heart of Dark­ness (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), and George Orwell’s 1984 (Read Online). We also received a num­ber of votes for books famous­ly pored over for thou­sands upon thou­sands of hours by their enthu­si­asts, such as the Bible, Dan­te’s Divine Com­e­dy (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), and Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. (Giv­en the for­mi­da­ble inter­net pres­ence of Rand’s read­ers, I expect­ed more of an inun­da­tion of her titles, but they must not have turned out in force this time.) Such clas­sic and decep­tive­ly uni­ver­sal guides to strat­e­gy as Sun Tzu’s The Art of War (iPad/iPhone — Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats – Read Online) and Nic­colò Machi­avel­li’s The Prince (iPad/iPhone — Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats) also placed well, as did books like Pla­to’s Repub­lic (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats — Read Online), Hen­ry David Thore­au’s Walden (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), and Her­mann Hes­se’s Sid­dartha (Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats) — the ones you prob­a­bly got assigned once, but that you may not then have under­stood why you should actu­al­ly read. 

The rec­om­men­da­tions fas­ci­nate, but so do their jus­ti­fi­ca­tions. (My per­son­al favorite: “It’s a book about shaman­ism, although it’s not what you would expect from a social­ly accept­ed descrip­tion of shaman­ism.”) Jo Stafford calls Crime and Pun­ish­ment and Moby-Dick, the two big win­ners, “per­fect exam­ples of how great fic­tion can pose the ‘big ques­tions’, par­tic­u­lar­ly around what it means to act moral­ly.” Moira pitch­es Robert M. Pir­sig’s Zen and the Art of Motor­cy­cle Main­te­nance as a “mod­ern study of the schism between clas­si­cist and roman­ti­cist think­ing.” Nick Williams says Can­dide “still feeds the inner cyn­ic,” and Jason con­sid­ers Walden “a bet­ter les­son on cap­i­tal­ism than The Wealth of Nations.” Arthur McMil­lan rec­om­mends Julian Barnes’ A His­to­ry of the World in 10½ Chap­ters by hold­ing out the promise that it “encap­su­lates the sheer futil­i­ty of everything[ness].” Anoth­er read­er sug­gests William Godwin’s Polit­i­cal Enquiry “to be remind­ed what books inspired us to be: free.” Wise words indeed, Mr. Beer N. Hock­ey.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

575 Free eBooks: Down­load Great Books for Free

What Books Should Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Read?: Tell Us Your Picks; We’ll Tell You Ours

See Nobel Lau­re­ate Joseph Brodsky’s Read­ing List For Hav­ing an Intel­li­gent Con­ver­sa­tion

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

What Books Should Every Intelligent Person Read?: Tell Us Your Picks; We’ll Tell You Ours

intelligent books to read

Back in 2011 we fea­tured astro­physi­cist Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s list of the books “every sin­gle intel­li­gent per­son on the plan­et” should read. His picks include the Bible (“to learn that it’s eas­i­er to be told by oth­ers what to think and believe than it is to think for your­self”); Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations (“to learn that cap­i­tal­ism is an econ­o­my of greed, a force of nature unto itself”); and Machi­avel­li’s The Prince (“to learn that peo­ple not in pow­er will do all they can to acquire it, and peo­ple in pow­er will do all they can to keep it”). The list, which has gen­er­at­ed a great deal of inter­est and dis­cus­sion, leads you to think about the very nature of not just what con­sti­tutes essen­tial read­ing, but what defines an “intel­li­gent per­son.” Should every such indi­vid­ual real­ly read any book in par­tic­u­lar? Does it mat­ter if oth­ers already acknowl­edge these books as essen­tial, or can they have gone thus far undis­cov­ered?

Admirably, Tyson man­ages to com­pile his selec­tions of books well-known across the Eng­lish-speak­ing world into a list that, as a whole, some­how avoids dull­ness or pre­dictabil­i­ty. In eschew­ing obscu­ran­tism, he makes the per­haps dar­ing impli­ca­tion that an intel­li­gent per­son must con­nect to a wide­ly shared cul­ture, rather than demon­strat­ing their brain­pow­er by get­ting through vol­ume upon lit­tle-read vol­ume, writ­ten in the most labyrinthine lan­guage, expound­ing on the most abstract sub­ject mat­ter, or grap­pling with the knot­ti­est philo­soph­i­cal prob­lems. This inspires me to high­light five more pieces of read­ing mate­r­i­al, all intel­lec­tu­al­ly stim­u­lat­ing but acces­si­bly writ­ten, all ref­er­enced fre­quent­ly in count­less areas of human endeav­or, and all avail­able in our col­lec­tion of free eBooks:

  • Mar­cus Aure­lius’ Med­i­ta­tions (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), because the ideas that “you have pow­er over your mind, not out­side events,” or that “the hap­pi­ness of your life depends upon the qual­i­ty of your thoughts,” or that “every­thing we hear is an opin­ion, not a fact” and “every­thing we see is a per­spec­tive, not the truth” apply as much today as they did in antiq­ui­ty.
  • Miguel de Cer­vantes’ Don Quixote (iPad/iPhone (Vol 1 – Vol 2) – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), because we could all use a firmer grasp on what we mean when we label some­one “quixot­ic,” a sim­ple descrip­tion that takes its name from a sur­pris­ing­ly com­plex and unex­pect­ed­ly admirable char­ac­ter.
  • James Joyce’s A Por­trait of the Artist as a Young Man (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats) because, what­ev­er ideas you may have about Joyce — pos­i­tive or neg­a­tive — if you haven’t yet cracked his first nov­el, I guar­an­tee a read­ing expe­ri­ence unlike any you might expect.
  • Michel de Mon­taigne’s Essays (iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats), because not only do his pieces exem­pli­fy (because they prac­ti­cal­ly invent­ed) the strongest short form to cap­ture the paths of human thought, but they feel espe­cial­ly rel­e­vant now in this inter­net-dri­ven “age of the essay.”
  • Alex­is de Toc­queville’s Democ­ra­cy in Amer­i­ca (vol­ume 1: iPad/iPhone – Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats — Read Online; vol­ume 2: iPad/iPhone — Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats — Read Online), because the French­man’s diag­no­sis of the advan­tages and lia­bil­i­ties of this then-young and exper­i­men­tal coun­try still give us much to con­sid­er today, not just in regard to Amer­i­ca, but — now that so many coun­tries have gone demo­c­ra­t­ic, each in their own way — most of the world.

None will have come as news to you, but some it may take you a moment to real­ize that, hey, you nev­er did get around to them in the first place. Take in books like these, and not only will they res­onate rich­ly with every­thing else already knock­ing around your brain — you do read Open Cul­ture, after all — but they’ll let you in on what, exact­ly, all those read­ers and writ­ers around the world and through his­to­ry have meant when they cite them so read­i­ly.

We also invite you to tell us: which books, freely avail­able or oth­er­wise, do you con­sid­er essen­tial read­ing for the intel­li­gent? Have I missed the boat by fail­ing to include Finnegans Wake (Read Online), say, or the Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus (iPad/iPhone — Kin­dle + Oth­er For­mats — Read Online)? Let loose your own rec­om­men­da­tions and we’ll cre­ate a com­pi­la­tion of your best picks in the com­ings days.

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

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