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

ZhivagoTitlePage

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)

Practicarum-Cover-and-Spine

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.

Read an Excerpt of J.R.R. Tolkien’s 1926 Translation of Beowulf Before It’s Finally Published Next Month

TolkienBeowulf

For the first time, J.R.R. Tolkien’s 1926 trans­la­tion of the 11th cen­tu­ry epic poem Beowulf will be pub­lished this May by Harper­Collins, edit­ed and with com­men­tary by his son Christo­pher. The elder Tolkien, says his son, “seems nev­er to have con­sid­ered its pub­li­ca­tion.” He left it along with sev­er­al oth­er unpub­lished man­u­scripts at the time of his death in 1973. The edi­tion will also include a sto­ry called Sel­l­ic Spell and excerpts from a series of lec­tures on Beowulf Tolkien deliv­ered at Oxford in the 1930s. Tolkien did pub­lish one of those lec­tures, “The Mon­ster and the Crit­ic,” in 1936. In this “epoch-mak­ing paper,” writes Sea­mus Heaney in the intro­duc­tion to his huge­ly pop­u­lar 1999 dual lan­guage verse edi­tion, Tolkien treat­ed the Beowulf poet as “an imag­i­na­tive writer,” not a his­tor­i­cal recon­struc­tion. His “bril­liant lit­er­ary treat­ment changed the way the poem was val­ued and ini­ti­at­ed a new era—and new terms—of appre­ci­a­tion.” This very same thing could be said of Heaney’s trans­la­tion which, true to his stat­ed goals, brought the poem out of aca­d­e­m­ic con­fer­ences and class­rooms and into liv­ing rooms and cof­fee shops every­where. (You can hear Heaney read from that trans­la­tion here.)

Nowhere in Heaney’s intro­duc­tion to his ver­sion does he men­tion Tolkien’s trans­la­tion of the poem, so we must pre­sume he did not know of it. Long before Tolkien’s lec­tures and trans­la­tion, Beowulf had been per­haps the most revered poem in the Eng­lish lan­guage, at least since the 18th cen­tu­ry, when the sole man­u­script was res­cued from fire and and trans­lat­ed and dis­sem­i­nat­ed wide­ly. Despite that sta­tus, Beowulf was not actu­al­ly writ­ten in English—not an Eng­lish we would recognize—but in Old Eng­lish, or Anglo-Sax­on. As read­ers of Heaney’s dual trans­la­tion will know, that dis­tant provin­cial ances­tor of the mod­ern glob­al lan­guage, named for the mix­ture of Ger­man­ic peo­ples who inhab­it­ed Eng­land 1000 years ago, appears most­ly alien to us now. (To add to the strange­ness, its unfa­mil­iar alpha­bet once con­sist­ed entire­ly of runes).

The poem, more­over, is not set in Eng­land, but where Shake­speare set his Ham­let, Den­mark. Its tit­u­lar hero, a prince from Geat (ancient Swe­den), stalks a mon­ster named Gren­del on behalf of Dan­ish king Hroð­gar, killing the monster’s moth­er along the way. Tolkien’s almost uni­ver­sal­ly beloved body of fic­tion was deeply influ­enced by Beowulf. Nev­er­the­less, his trans­la­tion may be less acces­si­ble than Heaney’s, though no less beau­ti­ful, per­haps, for dif­fer­ent rea­sons. In Heaney’s verse, one hears Ted Hugh­es, some echoes of Mil­ton, Heaney’s own voice. If we are to cred­it the red­di­tor who post­ed a now-defunct 2003 arti­cle from Cana­di­an news­pa­per Nation­al Post that quotes from Tolkien’s trans­la­tion, the Hob­bit author’s verse hews to a more direct cor­re­spon­dence with the Anglo Sax­on, a lan­guage made of giant rocks and tim­ber and crash­ing waves, not ele­gant, elab­o­rat­ed claus­es. The Nation­al Post arti­cle announces the dis­cov­ery at Oxford of the Tolkien trans­la­tion by Eng­lish Pro­fes­sor Michael Drout (a sto­ry he’s since debunked), and quotes from both Heaney and Tolkien. See the com­par­i­son below:

Heaney’s trans­la­tion:

Time went by, the boat was
on water,
in close under the cliffs.
Men climbed eager­ly up the
gang­plank,
sand churned in surf, war­riors
loaded
a car­go of weapons, shin­ing
war-gear
in the ves­sel’s hold, then
heaved out,
away with a will in their
wood-wreathed ship.

Tolkien’s trans­la­tion of Beowulf and his men set­ting sail:

On went the hours:
on
ocean afloat
under cliff was their craft.
Now climb blithe­ly
brave man aboard;
break­ers pound­ing
ground the shin­gle.
Gleam­ing har­ness
they hove to the bosom of the
bark, armour
with cun­ning forged then cast
her forth
to voy­age tri­umphant,
valiant-tim­bered
fleet foam twist­ed.

One won­ders what the recent­ly depart­ed Irish poet would have said had he lived to read this Tolkien edi­tion. Might it, as Heaney said of his lec­tures, change the way the poem is val­ued? Or might he see it resem­bling oth­er dif­fi­cult attempts to make mod­ern Eng­lish repli­cate the strong­ly inflect­ed built-in rhythms of Anglo-Saxon—a lan­guage, Tolkien once said, from “the dark hea­then ages beyond the mem­o­ry of song.”

You can pre-order a copy of Tolkien’s trans­la­tion of Beowulf here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sea­mus Heaney Reads His Exquis­ite Trans­la­tion of Beowulf and His Mem­o­rable 1995 Nobel Lec­ture

Dis­cov­er J.R.R. Tolkien’s Per­son­al Book Cov­er Designs for The Lord of the Rings Tril­o­gy

“The Tolkien Pro­fes­sor” Presents Three Free Cours­es on The Lord of the Rings

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

Lists of the Best Sentences — Opening, Closing, and Otherwise — in English-Language Novels

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I go to encounter for the mil­lionth time the real­i­ty of expe­ri­ence and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncre­at­ed con­science of my race.

— James Joyce, A Por­trait of the Artist as a Young Man

For what do we live, but to make sport for our neigh­bors, and laugh at them in our turn?

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prej­u­dice

There is noth­ing more atro­cious­ly cru­el than an adored child.

— Vladimir Nabokov, Loli­ta

You’ve almost cer­tain­ly read all three of these sen­tences before, or even if you don’t remem­ber the lines in par­tic­u­lar, you’ve prob­a­bly read the famous nov­els they come from. The Amer­i­can Schol­ar high­lights them as three of the ten finest in Eng­lish-lan­guage lit­er­a­ture, along­side oth­er sen­tences com­posed by the likes of F. Scott Fitzger­ald, John Hersey, and Ernest Hem­ing­way. Writ­ing at Poynter.org, Roy Peter Clark explains just what makes these sen­tences so great, from Joyce’s use of “forge” (“For the nar­ra­tor it means to strength­en met­al in fire. But it also means to fake, to coun­ter­feit, per­haps a gen­tle tug at [the pro­tag­o­nist’s] hubris”) to Austen’s struc­tur­al ele­gance (“Who could not admire a sen­tence with such a clear demar­ca­tion begin­ning, mid­dle, and end?”) to Nabokov’s reflec­tion of his nar­ra­tor’s self-delu­sion.

At The Atlantic, Joe Fassler has sep­a­rate­ly col­lect­ed 22 writ­ers’ own favorite nov­el-open­ing lines, a list that includes the one from Nabokov’s high­ly quotable nov­el and anoth­er from lat­er in Joyce’s oeu­vre:

Loli­ta, light of my life, fire of my loins.

— Vladimir Nabokov, Loli­ta, cho­sen by Jonathan Santofler

State­ly, plump Buck Mul­li­gan came from the stair­head, bear­ing a bowl of lath­er on which a mir­ror and a razor lay crossed.

— James Joyce, Ulysses, cho­sen by Lydia Davis

I have nev­er seen any­thing like it: two lit­tle discs of glass sus­pend­ed in front of his eyes in loops of wire.

— J.M. Coet­zee, Wait­ing for the Bar­bar­ians, cho­sen by Antho­ny Mar­ra

If all these don’t sati­ate your appetite for well-wrought sen­tences, the Amer­i­can Book Review has not just its own run­down of the 100 best first lines from nov­els, but of the 100 best last lines as well, a list that fea­tures Coet­zee’s grim colo­nial fable as well as the work of Franzen him­self:

This is not the scene I dreamed of. Like much else nowa­days I leave it feel­ing stu­pid, like a man who lost his way long ago but press­es on along a road that may lead nowhere.

— J.M. Coet­zee, Wait­ing for the Bar­bar­ians

She was sev­en­ty-five and she was going to make some changes in her life.

— Jonathan Franzen, The Cor­rec­tions

“You can trust me,” R.V. says, watch­ing her hand.” “I’m a man of my

— David Fos­ter Wal­lace, The Broom of the Sys­tem

Before you leave a com­ment point­ing out that appar­ent frag­ment of Wal­lace’s sen­tence just above, let me reas­sure you that it appears exact­ly like that in The Broom of the Sys­tem — the nov­el just stops there — and that, if you read all the way to that point, you’ll find it a pret­ty bril­liant choice. This just goes to show that the sen­tence, though undoubt­ed­ly the fun­da­men­tal unit for any writer (“All you have to do is write one true sen­tence,” Hem­ing­way would say), always needs a con­text. This meta-list of best-sen­tence lists at Metafil­ter has many more high-qual­i­ty sen­tences for you to admire, and a fair few intrigu­ing enough to send you right out to go read them in con­text.

You can find some of the great books men­tioned above in our col­lec­tion of 575 Free eBooks.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Open­ing Sen­tences From Great Nov­els, Dia­grammed: Loli­ta, 1984 & More

Nabokov Reads Loli­ta, Names the Great Books of the 20th Cen­tu­ry

James Joyce Reads From Ulysses and Finnegans Wake In His Only Two Record­ings (1924/1929)

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.

George R.R. Martin Releases a Free Chapter From The Winds of Winter: Read It Online

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In recent days, George R.R. Mar­tin pub­lished a blog post that begins, “Hiya kids, hiya hiya hiya. With sea­son 4 of HBO’s GAME OF THRONES almost upon us, I thought the time was ripe for me to give my read­ers anoth­er taste of WINDS OF WINTER.” The new chap­ter, he tells us, “is actu­al­ly an old chap­ter.  But no, it’s not one I’ve pub­lished or post­ed before.” The chap­ter, called “Mer­cy,” opens with these words:

She woke with a gasp, not know­ing who she was, or where.

The smell of blood was heavy in her nos­trils… or was that her night­mare, lin­ger­ing? She had dreamed of wolves again, of run­ning through some dark pine for­est with a great pack at her hells, hard on the scent of prey.

Half-light filled the room, grey and gloomy. Shiv­er­ing, she sat up in bed and ran a hand across her scalp. Stub­ble bris­tled against her palm. I need to shave before Izem­baro sees. Mer­cy, I’m Mer­cy, and tonight I’ll be raped and mur­dered. Her true name was Merce­dene, but Mer­cy was all any­one ever called her…

Except in dreams. She took a breath to qui­et the howl­ing in her heart, try­ing to remem­ber more of what she’d dreamt, but most of it had gone already. There had been blood in it, though, and a full moon over­head, and a tree that watched her as she ran.

You can read the chap­ter in full here. Mar­tin notes that you can also enjoy a new Tyri­on chap­ter, “that is live and avail­able with the ICE & FIRE app.” It’s free on iTunes.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Gaiman’s Free Short Sto­ries

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

Free: Isaac Asimov’s Epic Foun­da­tion Tril­o­gy Dra­ma­tized in Clas­sic Audio

The Ware Tetral­o­gy: Free Sci­Fi Down­load

575 Free eBooks: Down­load Great Books for Free

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