The stoÂry behind the writÂing of FrankenÂstein is famous. In 1816, Mary ShelÂley and PerÂcy Bysshe ShelÂley, sumÂmerÂing near Lake GeneÂva in SwitzerÂland, were chalÂlenged by Lord Byron to take part in a comÂpeÂtiÂtion to write a frightÂenÂing tale. Mary, only 18 years old, latÂer had a wakÂing dream of sorts where she imagÂined the premise of her book:
When I placed my head on my pilÂlow, I did not sleep, nor could I be said to think. My imagÂiÂnaÂtion, unbidÂden, posÂsessed and guidÂed me, giftÂing the sucÂcesÂsive images that arose in my mind with a vividÂness far beyond the usuÂal bounds of reverÂie. I saw — with shut eyes, but acute menÂtal vision, — I saw the pale stuÂdent of unhalÂlowed arts kneelÂing beside the thing he had put togethÂer. I saw the hideous phanÂtasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the workÂing of some powÂerÂful engine, show signs of life, and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion.
This became the kerÂnel of FrankenÂstein; or, The ModÂern Prometheus, the novÂel first pubÂlished in LonÂdon in 1818, with only 500 copies put in cirÂcuÂlaÂtion. In writÂing FrankenÂstein, ShelÂley used a series of noteÂbooks that “can now be viewed in high qualÂiÂty, resizÂable page images.” Each hand-writÂten page comes accomÂpaÂnied by a typed tranÂscript. Find them all here.
Down the line, the ShelÂley-GodÂwin Archive “will proÂvide the digÂiÂtized manÂuÂscripts of PerÂcy Bysshe ShelÂley, Mary WollÂstonecraft ShelÂley, William GodÂwin, and Mary WollÂstonecraft, bringÂing togethÂer online for the first time ever the wideÂly disÂpersed handÂwritÂten legaÂcy of this uniqueÂly giftÂed famÂiÂly of writÂers.” So stay tuned for more.
Note: The Archive recÂomÂmends using recent verÂsions of Google’s Chrome browsÂer or the latÂest verÂsion of Safari or MozilÂla FireÂfox when viewÂing the manÂuÂscripts.
There was lots of monÂey to be made at the end of the 19th cenÂtuÂry and DudÂley DockÂer made his share of it. He was what they called a “baron of indusÂtry” at a time when manÂuÂfacÂturÂing was explodÂing in Britain. DockÂer made his forÂtune in paint, motorÂcyÂcles, arms manÂuÂfacÂturÂing, railÂways, and bankÂing. He was an indusÂtriÂal boostÂer, actÂing as one of the three major financiers behind Ernest Shackleton’s Trans-AntarcÂtic ExpeÂdiÂtion. In 1916, he foundÂed a major assoÂciÂaÂtion of British indusÂtry to proÂmote busiÂness interÂests.
A charmÂing result of that work is a recentÂly digÂiÂtized film made in 1925 to demonÂstrate the work inside Oxford UniÂverÂsiÂty Press. For book arts lovers, this is a fasÂciÂnatÂing peek into the earÂly days of mechÂaÂnized printÂing.
Above we watch a workÂer use a mould to make lead type, hunÂdreds of them, by pourÂing the molten lead in at the top, makÂing a quick upward motion and releasÂing the quickÂly dried type. A sepÂaÂrate team of workÂers then sets up monoÂtype comÂposÂing machines, and we watch as men demonÂstrate their use.
The film folÂlows the process of printÂing a run of Oxford EngÂlish DicÂtioÂnarÂies. Books were bound by genÂder-dividÂed teams: A room of women labored in the “girls” bindery secÂtion while men bound books in their own sepÂaÂrate room. We see the sewing, cutÂting and the fasÂciÂnatÂing process of gildÂing the page edges.
In our digÂiÂtal age, the old anaÂlog processÂes take on a new, deepÂer sigÂnifÂiÂcance. This film presents a terÂrifÂic 18-minute tutoÂrÂiÂal on one of the greatÂest achieveÂments of the modÂern age: printÂing mass quanÂtiÂties of bound books.
Last week we highÂlightÂed a feaÂture from the excelÂlent webÂsite NeglectÂed Books detailÂing two artiÂcles that appeared in The New RepubÂlic in 1934 on “good books that almost nobody has read.” The artiÂcles were the prodÂuct of a query the magazine’s ediÂtor, MalÂcolm CowÂley, sent out to the litÂerÂary comÂmuÂniÂty of his day, askÂing them to list their favorite unsung books. Such lists are bound fast to their hisÂtorÂiÂcal conÂtext; fame is fleetÂing, and great works are forÂgotÂten and redisÂcovÂered in every genÂerÂaÂtion. Some of the books named then—like Franz Kafka’s The CasÂtle or Nathaniel West’s Miss LoneÂlyÂhearts—have since gone on to notoÂriÂety. Most of them have not. This week, we thought we’d conÂtinÂue the theme with our own list of “neglectÂed books.” I offer mine below, and I encourÂage readÂers to name your own in the comÂments. We’ll feaÂture many of your sugÂgesÂtions in a folÂlow-up post.
A few words about my by-no-means-definÂiÂtive-and-cerÂtainÂly-incomÂplete list. These are not obscure works. And you’ll note that there are almost no recent works on it. This is due at least as much to my own lamÂenÂtaÂble ignoÂrance of much conÂtemÂpoÂrary litÂerÂaÂture as to a conÂvicÂtion that a work that isn’t wideÂly read months after its pubÂliÂcaÂtion is not, thereÂby, “neglectÂed.” In the age of the interÂnet, books can age well even after they’re remainÂdered, since instant comÂmuÂniÂties of readÂers spring up overnight on fanÂsites and places like Goodreads. Instead, my list conÂsists of a few neglectÂed clasÂsics and a book of poetÂry that I perÂsonÂalÂly think should all be read by many more peoÂple than they are, and that I think are timeÂly for one reaÂson or anothÂer. Maybe some of these books have gotÂten their due in some small cirÂcles, and in some casÂes, their influÂence is much greater than sales figÂures can ever reflect. But they’re works more peoÂple should read, not simÂply read about, so I offer you below five titles I think are “neglectÂed books.” You may interÂpret that phrase any way you like when you subÂmit your own sugÂgesÂtions.
Jean Toomer’s Cane is well-known to stuÂdents of the Harlem RenaisÂsance, but it isn’t read much outÂside that acaÂdÂeÂmÂic conÂtext, I think, which is a shame because it is a beauÂtiÂful book. Not a novÂel, but a colÂlecÂtion of short stoÂries, poems, and litÂerÂary sketchÂes inspired by Toomer’s stint as a subÂstiÂtute prinÂciÂpal in SparÂta, GeorÂgia in 1921, Cane pracÂtiÂcalÂly vibrates with the furiÂous and fragÂile lives of a colÂlecÂtion of charÂacÂters in the Jim Crow South. Yet like all great books, it tranÂscends its setÂting, eleÂvatÂing its subÂjects to archeÂtypÂal staÂtus and immorÂtalÂizÂing a time and place that seems to live only in carÂiÂcaÂture now. Read the first sketch, “Karintha,” and see what I mean.
Olive SchreinÂer is anothÂer writer who receives her due in scholÂarÂly cirÂcles but is litÂtle read outÂside the classÂroom. SchreinÂer was a white South African woman who turned her expeÂriÂences of race, genÂder, and nation to litÂerÂary fame with her novÂel The StoÂry of an African Farm in 1883. The novel’s sucÂcess at the time did not necÂesÂsarÂiÂly grant its author lastÂing fame, and while SchreinÂer has been laudÂed for transÂformÂing VicÂtoÂriÂan litÂerÂaÂture with her freeÂthinkÂing, femÂiÂnist views, the book that once made her famous is an almost shockÂingÂly un-VicÂtoÂriÂan work. Short, stark, impresÂsionÂisÂtic, and very unsenÂtiÂmenÂtal, The StoÂry of an African Farm may find purÂchase with scholÂars for hisÂtorÂiÂcal or politÂiÂcal reaÂsons, but it should be read for its stunÂning prose descripÂtions and piercÂing diaÂlogue.
CarÂpenÂtier was a Cuban novÂelÂist, scholÂar, and musiÂcolÂoÂgist who is not much read in the EngÂlish-speakÂing world, and perÂhaps not much in Latin AmerÂiÂca. Although he coined the term “magÂiÂcal realÂism” (lo real marÂavilÂloso)—as part of his theÂoÂry that Latin AmerÂiÂcan hisÂtoÂry is so outÂlandish as to seem unreal—his litÂerÂary fame in the States has nevÂer reached the degree of more fanÂtasÂtic pracÂtiÂtionÂers of the style. Although perÂhaps best known, where he is known, for his harsh tale of Haiti’s first king, the bruÂtal HenÂri Christophe, in The KingÂdom of this World, Carpentier’s comÂplex and mysÂteÂriÂous 1953 The Lost Steps is a novÂel that jusÂtiÂfies my callÂing him the Nabokov of Latin AmerÂiÂcan letÂters.
Melville was cerÂtainÂly a neglectÂed writer in his time. He is, it should go withÂout sayÂing, no more. But while everyÂone knows Moby Dick (if not many finÂish it), BilÂly Budd, and “BartelÂby,” few peoÂple read his, yes difÂfiÂcult, novÂel The ConÂfiÂdence Man. Also called The ConÂfiÂdence Man: His MasÂquerÂade, this was Melville’s last pubÂlished novÂel in his lifeÂtime. It’s a darkÂly comÂic book that someÂtimes sounds a bit like Twain in its colÂorÂful verÂnacÂuÂlar and shiftÂing regÂisÂters, but grows stranger and more unsetÂtling as it proÂgressÂes, becomÂing almost a cacophÂoÂny of disÂemÂbodÂied voicÂes in a state of moral panÂic. The cenÂtral charÂacÂter, a nameÂless shape-shiftÂing grifter on a steamÂboat called the Fidele, takes on a sucÂcesÂsion of AmerÂiÂcan idenÂtiÂties, all of them thorÂoughÂly perÂsuaÂsive and all of them thorÂoughÂly, calÂcuÂlatÂedÂly, false.
The only book of poetÂry on my list also hapÂpens to be the only book by a livÂing writer. It also hapÂpens to be a book that makes me tremÂble each time I think of it. De Kok, a South African poet, takes as her inspiÂraÂtion for her 2002 TerÂresÂtriÂal Things the tranÂscripts from her country’s Truth and RecÂonÂcilÂiÂaÂtion ComÂmisÂsion. I’ll leave you with an excerpt from “The Sound EngiÂneer,” a poem prefÂaced by the matÂter-of-fact stateÂment that the “highÂest turnover” durÂing the ComÂmisÂsion, “was apparÂentÂly among reporters editÂing sound for radio.”
LisÂten, cut; comÂma, cut;
stamÂmer, cut;
edit, pain; conÂnect, pain; broadÂcast, pain;
lisÂten, cut; comÂma, cut.
Bind gramÂmar to horÂror,
blood heatÂing to the earÂphones,
beatÂing the airÂwaves’ wings.
For truth’s sound bite,
tape the teeth, mouth, jaw,
put hesÂiÂtaÂtion in, take it out:
maybe the breath too.
Take away the lips.
Even the tongue.
Leave just sound’s throat.
So there you have my list. I hope it has inspired you to go disÂcovÂer someÂthing new (or old). If not, I hope you will subÂmit your own neglectÂed books in the comÂments below and share your hidÂden litÂerÂary treaÂsures with our readÂers.
PubÂlic domain books listÂed above will be added to our colÂlecÂtion of 500 Free eBooks.
Once upon a time BlotÂto Design, a design firm based in Berlin, wonÂdered: what would hapÂpen if you printÂed an entire book on a sinÂgle poster? Could you still read it? How would it look when framed and hung on a wall?
And so they develÂoped a proÂtoÂtype, liked what they saw, and have since turned 20 large books into posters — books like HomeÂr’s IliÂad, Jane Austen’s Pride and PrejÂuÂdice, Melville’s Moby Dick, and Joyce’s Ulysses, all 265,222 words of it. Posters cost 20 euros a piece. Browse through the shop here. And get more backÂstoÂry from Wired here.
Here’s a chalÂlenge: for every book recÂomÂmendÂed to you by AmaÂzon, pick one from the site NeglectÂed Books. No fanÂcy algoÂrithms here, just old-fashÂioned serendipÂiÂty, and you’re unlikeÂly to see much overÂlap. You will be rewardÂed with book after fasÂciÂnatÂing book that has slipped through the usuÂal marÂketÂing chanÂnels and fallÂen into obscuÂriÂty. Most of the authors come recÂomÂmendÂed by well-known names, makÂing them writÂers’ writers—people whose writerÂly difÂfiÂculÂty or pecuÂliar subÂject matÂter can narÂrow their readÂerÂship.
This is not entireÂly a fair assessÂment, and in many casÂes, the work that achieves litÂerÂary notoÂriÂety does so by chance, not mass appeal, but it is undoubtÂedÂly the case that cerÂtain kinds of writÂers write for cerÂtain kinds of readÂers. The litÂerÂary ediÂtor MalÂcolm CowÂley, helmÂing The New RepubÂlic in 1934, thought so, and lamentÂed a sysÂtem that preÂventÂed books from reachÂing their intendÂed readÂers. In a call to “America’s leadÂing novÂelÂists and critÂics,” CowÂley asked for lists of such books—and in perÂhaps a retroacÂtive vinÂdiÂcaÂtion of the listicle—published them in two artiÂcles, “Good Books That Almost Nobody Has Read” and “More About NeglectÂed Books.” NeglectÂed Books, the webÂsite, quotes Cowley’s announceÂment:
Each year… a few good books get lost in the shufÂfle. It may not be the fault of the pubÂlishÂer, the critÂic, the bookÂseller, it may not be anybody’s fault except that of the genÂerÂal sysÂtem by which too many books are disÂtribÂuted with an enorÂmous lot of balÂlyÂhoo to not enough readÂers. Most of the good books are favorÂably reviewed, yet the fact remains that many of them nevÂer reach the peoÂple who would like and profÂit by them, the peoÂple for whom they are writÂten.
CowÂley asked his tarÂgets to sugÂgest “two or three or four” names and “a few senÂtences idenÂtiÂfyÂing them.” He got lists from about a dozen writÂers, includÂing lions like F. Scott FitzgerÂald, John Dos PasÂsos, SinÂclair Lewis, ThornÂton Wilder and critÂic Edmund WilÂson, who gets a menÂtion in both Fitzgerald’s and Dos PasÂsos’ lists. (FitzgerÂald also offered three othÂer titles Miss LoneÂlyÂhearts by Nathanael West; Sing Before BreakÂfast by VinÂcent McHugh and Through the Wheat by Thomas Boyd.) Dos PasÂsos, unlike most of the men, names a few women writÂers, includÂing Agnes SmedÂley, now revealed to have been a triple agent for the SoviÂets, the ChiÂnese, and IndiÂan nationÂalÂists, “one of the most proÂlifÂic female spies of the 20th cenÂtuÂry.” Dos PasÂsos’ comÂmenÂtary on her autoÂbiÂogÂraÂphy DaughÂter of Earth—which he misÂreÂmemÂbers as Woman of Earth—is mostÂly underÂstatÂed: “An uneven but impresÂsive I supÂpose autoÂbiÂoÂgraphÂiÂcal narÂraÂtive of a young woman’s life in a WestÂern minÂing camp and in New York.”
LibÂerÂtarÂiÂan jourÂnalÂist Susan La FolÂlette, one of the few women writÂers surÂveyed, offers only one sugÂgesÂtion, Ilya Ilf and EvgeÂny Petrov’s 1931 comedic RussÂian novÂel The GoldÂen Calf. The descripÂtion alone in this L.A. Times review of a 2010 transÂlaÂtion has me thinkÂing this may indeed be an overÂlooked masÂterÂwork of totalÂiÂtarÂiÂan satire. La FolÂlette said as much three years after its pubÂliÂcaÂtion, writÂing of her disÂapÂpointÂment, “I take this quite perÂsonÂalÂly, because so few peoÂple even know about it that I rarely find anyÂone who can laugh over it with me.”
While The New RepubÂlic is well-known as a left-of-cenÂter pubÂliÂcaÂtion, the meanÂing of the AmerÂiÂcan Left in the thirÂties was much more incluÂsive, even of avowed MarxÂists like The New MassÂes ediÂtor Isidor SchneiÂder, who names ImpeÂriÂalÂism, and The State and RevÂoÂluÂtion by Lenin and LeninÂism by Joseph StalÂin. Next to the irony of namÂing two books that thouÂsands have been coerced to read, SchneiÂder conÂtrarÂiÂly names the The Poems of GerÂard ManÂley HopÂkins, from the aesÂthetÂiÂcalÂly radÂiÂcal, but earnestÂly reliÂgiousÂly conÂserÂvÂaÂtive Irish Jesuit poet. (The latÂter two sugÂgesÂtions did not make pubÂliÂcaÂtion since Schneider’s list was already quite long.)
As interÂestÂing as the lists themÂselves is the selecÂtion of responsÂes to the secÂond artiÂcle. William SaroyÂan writes in to recÂomÂmend Grace Stone Coates’ Black CherÂry as the “finest prose you ever saw.” And legÂendary pubÂlishÂer Alfred A. Knopf writes with a lengthy and detailed explaÂnaÂtion of the books listÂed that he pubÂlished. Of one book named, Franz Kafka’s The CasÂtle, Knopf writes, “The CasÂtle is one of my realÂly ingloÂriÂous failÂures. It is, as ConÂrad Aiken says, a masÂterÂpiece. But in the origÂiÂnal ediÂtion it sold only 715 copies, and since JanÂuÂary 3, 1933, we have been offerÂing it at the reaÂsonÂable price of $1 and only 120 copies have been purÂchased.”
In the mid-1930s, some beauÂtiÂful, high-qualÂiÂty books were pubÂlished by a comÂpaÂny called LimÂitÂed EdiÂtions Club, which, accordÂing to Antiques RoadÂshow appraisÂer Ken Sanders, was “famous for re-issuÂing clasÂsics of litÂerÂaÂture and comÂmisÂsionÂing conÂtemÂpoÂrary livÂing artists to illusÂtrate 1500-copy signed limÂitÂed ediÂtions.” One of those books—the 1934 Pablo PicasÂso-illusÂtratÂed ediÂtion of AristoÂphanes’ LysisÂtraÂta—is, next to HenÂri Matisse’s 1935 ediÂtion of Joyce’s Ulysses, one of “the most sought after and desirÂable limÂitÂed ediÂtions on the marÂket today.”
The book’s rarÂiÂty, of course, renÂders it more valuÂable on the marÂket than a mass-proÂduced object, but whether it was worth $5,000 or $50, I think I’d hold onto my copy if I had one (here’s one for $12,000 if you’re buyÂing). While Aubrey Beardsley’s 1896 illusÂtraÂtions do full and stylÂish jusÂtice to the satirÂiÂcal Greek comedy’s bawdy nature, Picasso’s drawÂings renÂder sevÂerÂal scenes as tenÂder, softÂly senÂsuÂal tableaux. The almost childÂlike simÂplicÂiÂty of these illusÂtraÂtions of a play about female powÂer and the limÂits of patriÂarchy do not seem like the work of a rumored misogÂyÂnist, but then again, neiÂther do any of Picasso’s othÂer domesÂtic scenes in this spare, roundÂed style of his.
In AristoÂphanes’ play, the women of Greece refuse their husÂbands sex until the men agree to end the PeloÂponÂnesian War. The play makes much of the men’s mountÂing sexÂuÂal frusÂtraÂtion, with sevÂerÂal humorÂous gesÂtures toward its physÂiÂcal manÂiÂfesÂtaÂtions. Beardsley’s drawÂings offend VicÂtoÂriÂan eyes by makÂing these scenes into exagÂgerÂatÂed nudÂist farce. PicasÂso’s modÂernist sketchÂes all but ignore the overt sexÂuÂalÂiÂty of the play, picÂturÂing two lovers (2nd from top) almost in the posÂture of mothÂer and child, the pent up men (image above) as dejectÂed and downÂcast genÂtle souls, and the reunion of the sexÂes (below) as a highÂly stylÂized, none too erotÂic, feast. These images are three of six signed proofs feaÂtured on the blog Book GraphÂics. See their site to view all six illusÂtraÂtions.
Dutch TV jourÂnalÂist Wim Brands looks a bit dour to be inhabÂitÂing the role of World’s LuckÂiÂest Man, but that’s sureÂly how bazilÂlions of David Sedaris fans will view him, wishÂing they too had been invitÂed to cozy up to their favorite author’s kitchen table. ParÂticÂuÂlarÂly since that table is sitÂuÂatÂed in the rusÂtic, sixÂteenth-cenÂtuÂry West SusÂsex house that proÂvidÂed the setÂting for “ComÂpaÂny Man”, one of his more delightÂful New YorkÂer stoÂries of late.
Sedaris has made a forÂtune passÂing himÂself off as a self-involved fuss-pot, but in this episode of Boeken op Reis (Dutch for “Books on Tour”) he’s the perÂfect host.
He supÂplies thoughtÂful responsÂes to Brands’ unsmilÂing quesÂtions and affaÂbly points out the homeÂ’s notable feaÂtures, includÂing off-kilÂter doorÂways and a taxiÂderÂmied lapÂdog (“We call him Casey because he’s in a case.”)
He brings a plasÂtic bag on a stroll through the surÂroundÂing counÂtryÂside in order to colÂlect litÂter — an endearÂing rouÂtine, even if it’s a scoop Brands must share with the BBC’s Clare BaldÂing.
Best of all, he obligÂes his guest with a couÂple of live readÂings, the first from the aforeÂmenÂtioned New YorkÂer piece, the othÂer havÂing to do with his youngest sisÂter’s suiÂcide this sumÂmer.
“I always figÂure that whatÂevÂer most embarÂrassÂes you is someÂthing that everyÂone can relate to,” he musÂes, effecÂtiveÂly sumÂming up the secret of his sucÂcess. If you ever feel like Sedaris is overÂdoÂing the craven comÂplainÂer bit, this visÂit will set the record straight.
Watch the entire interÂview here. Non-Dutch speakÂers, please be advised that the segÂment switchÂes to EngÂlish once Brands sets the scene for his intendÂed audiÂence.
-Tip of the hat to Michael Ahn for the idea.
Ayun HalÂlÂiÂday’s teenage daughÂter wrote David Sedaris a fan letÂter and David Sedaris sent a handÂwritÂten reply on a postÂcard. Classy! FolÂlow her @AyunHalliday
A new study pubÂlished this week in SciÂenceconÂcludes that you may get someÂthing unexÂpectÂed from readÂing great litÂerÂary works: more fineÂly-tuned social and emoÂtionÂal skills. ConÂductÂed by Emanuele CasÂtano and David ComÂer Kidd (researchers in the psych departÂment at the New School for Social Research), the study deterÂmined that readÂers of litÂerÂary ficÂtion (as opposed to popÂuÂlar ficÂtion or non-ficÂtion) find themÂselves scorÂing betÂter on tests meaÂsurÂing empaÂthy, social perÂcepÂtion and emoÂtionÂal intelÂliÂgence. In some casÂes, it took readÂing litÂerÂary ficÂtion for only a few minÂutes for test scores to improve.
The New York Times has a nice overview of the study, where, among othÂer things, it feaÂtures a quote by Albert WendÂland, an EngÂlish proÂfesÂsor at Seton Hall, who puts the relaÂtionÂship between litÂerÂaÂture and social intelÂliÂgence into clear terms: “ReadÂing senÂsiÂtive and lengthy exploÂrations of people’s lives, that kind of ficÂtion is litÂerÂalÂly putting yourÂself into anothÂer person’s posiÂtion — lives that could be more difÂfiÂcult, more comÂplex, more than what you might be used to in popÂuÂlar ficÂtion. It makes sense that they will find that, yeah, that can lead to more empaÂthy and underÂstandÂing of othÂer lives.”
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