A Vintage Advertising Film Intelligently Satirizes the Selling of the American Dream: Watch The Your Name Here Story (1960)

When did the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca attain peak earnest­ness? It had to have hap­pened some­time in the long 1950s, begin­ning with vic­to­ry in the Sec­ond World War and end­ing with the cul­tur­al shifts of the ear­ly 60s. Though indi­vid­ual Amer­i­cans back then might express dis­con­tent and even cyn­i­cism about the nation, U.S. mass cul­ture kept the dial set to tri­umphant opti­mism. And in mid­cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca there was no cul­tur­al force quite as mass as adver­tis­ing, which broad­cast its mes­sages in not just the media of print, radio, tele­vi­sion, and bill­board, but film as well. This gold­en age of Amer­i­can earnest­ness coin­cides with the gold­en age of the Calvin Com­pa­ny, once the coun­try’s dom­i­nant mak­er of adver­tis­ing, edu­ca­tion­al, and indus­tri­al films.

Found­ed in Kansas City in 1931, the Calvin Com­pa­ny cap­i­tal­ized ear­ly on the adver­tis­ing poten­tial of 16-mil­lime­ter film. At first con­sid­ered suit­able only for “home movies,” the for­mat turned out to be ide­al for sales pitch­es, cor­po­rate train­ing ses­sions, and class­room screen­ings. Calv­in’s client list soon grew to include Gen­er­al Mills, Goodyear, Mon­san­to, West­ing­house, and Ency­clo­pe­dia Bri­tan­ni­ca, as well as the Navy, the Air Force, and the Office of Edu­ca­tion.

That we can still watch some of the com­pa­ny’s many pro­duc­tions today we owe to the efforts of Rick Prelinger, whose epony­mous film archives we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture. At the Inter­net Archive you can watch such Calvin clas­sics as Cof­fee BreakForty Bil­lion Ene­miesFifty Years of Pow­ered FlightThe Bright Young New­com­er, and Enforc­ing Rules and Pro­ce­dures.

None have the rep­u­ta­tion of The Your Name Here Sto­ry, pro­duced by Calvin in 1960 as “the first tru­ly all-pur­pose film.” While pre­vi­ous jobs were made to order, painstak­ing­ly tai­lored by an ever-expand­ing staff of film­mak­ers to the needs the com­mis­sion­ing clients, The Your Name Here Sto­ry is com­plete­ly gener­ic. “From the dawn of human his­to­ry, a bet­ter way of life has been man’s dream,” booms its nar­ra­tor, launch­ing into an open­ing whose epic form will be famil­iar to any­one who’s put off writ­ing a term paper until the night before. After telling the sto­ry of civ­i­liza­tion — espe­cial­ly Amer­i­can civ­i­liza­tion — in a brisk two min­utes, the film arrives in high-tech moder­ni­ty. Alas, “despite the world’s high­est liv­ing stan­dards, the aver­age Amer­i­can remained vague­ly dis­con­tent, aware that his goal of a bet­ter way of life had still not been ful­ly real­ized. There was some­thing miss­ing.”

“Gad, it’s iron­ic,” says a pro­to­typ­i­cal Amer­i­can hus­band of the day, lying awake along­side his wife, both of them sleep­less with dis­sat­is­fac­tion. “With all our tech­nol­o­gy and indus­tri­al know-how, we still don’t have the one thing that could give us a bet­ter way of life.” That “one thing” is any­thing the com­pa­ny that licens­es The Your Name Here Sto­ry hap­pens to make, footage of which they can eas­i­ly insert into the var­i­ous spaces pro­vid­ed through­out the film. “In count­less ways, direct­ly and indi­rect­ly, YOUR PRODUCT HERE serves the nation and its cit­i­zens,” says the nar­ra­tor, cred­it­ing what­ev­er it may be with play­ing a vital role in help­ing them to “achieve suc­cess,” “enjoy health­ful recre­ation,” “grow big­ger crops,” “strength­en our nation­al defense,” and of course “get real smok­ing sat­is­fac­tion.”

Some may now watch most of The Your Name Here Sto­ry before catch­ing on to the film’s satir­i­cal intent. That owes to the fact that the Calvin Com­pa­ny itself defined the look and feel of the orga­ni­za­tion­al cul­ture of the 1950s, at least as it remains in cul­tur­al mem­o­ry. Orig­i­nal­ly cre­at­ed as a bit of fun for the “Calvin Work­shop,” the com­pa­ny’s annu­al gath­er­ing of indus­tri­al film pro­duc­ers and tech­ni­cians, the film’s spoofs of what Sapi­ens author Yuval Noah Harari has termed the “mil­i­tary-indus­tri­al-sci­en­tif­ic com­plex” almost feel made for audi­ences of the future. Among the Calvin Com­pa­ny’s sur­viv­ing films we also find 1956’s A Mag­ic Bond, direct­ed by no less notable a son of Kansas City than Robert Alt­man. Know­ing what we now do of its self-aware cor­po­rate cul­ture, does it comes as a sur­prise that Calvin would have been the train­ing ground for Hol­ly­wood’s pre-emi­nent smart-aleck?

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the First Com­mer­cial Ever Shown on Amer­i­can TV, 1941

Eisen­how­er Answers Amer­i­ca: The First Polit­i­cal Adver­tise­ments on Amer­i­can TV (1952)

Before Mad Men: Famil­iar and For­got­ten Ads from 1950s to 1980s Now Online

A Gallery of Mad Magazine’s Rol­lick­ing Fake Adver­tise­ments from the 1960s

Sell & Spin: The His­to­ry of Adver­tis­ing, Nar­rat­ed by Dick Cavett (1999)

Down­load 6600 Free Films from The Prelinger Archives and Use Them How­ev­er You Like

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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.

Why is Vermeer’s “Girl with the Pearl Earring” Considered a Masterpiece?: An Animated Introduction

Long­time Open Cul­ture read­ers will have encoun­tered Johannes Ver­meer here in var­i­ous forms: his paint­ings have appeared as ani­ma­tions, as the sub­ject of a doc­u­men­tary, and even free for the down­load in high res­o­lu­tion as well as view­able in aug­ment­ed real­i­ty. Though paint­ed in the mid-17th-cen­tu­ry Nether­lands, the Dutch mas­ter’s work now appeals to mod­ern view­ers every­where. Most who enter Ver­meer’s world pass through the gate­way of Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring, his 1665 por­trait of just that. What is it about that young lady against a plain black back­ground, so much sim­pler an image than the detailed domes­tic inte­ri­ors that con­sti­tute most of Ver­meer’s oeu­vre, that cap­ti­vates us?

In the TED-Ed les­son above, art his­to­ri­an James Ear­le places Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring in con­text with the rest of Ver­meer’s work, reveal­ing how it fits in as well as how it stands apart. “Instead of being like a set piece in a the­atri­cal nar­ra­tive scene, she becomes a psy­cho­log­i­cal object,” Ear­le says. “Her eye con­tact and slight­ly part­ed lips, as if she is about to say some­thing, draw us into her gaze” — one aspect of what’s made the paint­ing’s rep­u­ta­tion as “the Mona Lisa of the North.”

Though not a mem­ber of the nobil­i­ty or cler­gy, the tra­di­tion­al sources for sub­jects of por­trai­ture in Ver­meer’s day, this “anony­mous girl” is enno­bled by how the artist depicts her. This reflects the chang­ing polit­i­cal and eco­nom­ic real­i­ties of the Nether­lands at the time, a coun­try that had “turned against the rul­ing aris­toc­ra­cy and the Catholic Church.”

Cities like Ver­meer’s home­town of Delft, Ear­le tells us, “were unsu­per­vised by kings or bish­ops, so many artists like Ver­meer were left with­out tra­di­tion­al patrons.” But the ascen­dant mer­chant class, dri­ven by the inno­va­tion of the Dutch East India Com­pa­ny, pro­duced new ones. These mid­dle-class patrons pre­ferred to be depict­ed with sym­bols of their own world­li­ness: maps hang­ing on the wall in domes­tic inte­ri­ors, or more osten­ta­tious­ly the “ori­en­tal tur­ban” worn by the sub­ject of Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring. They also tend­ed to appear with sym­bols of wealth of the kind almost par­o­died by the implau­si­bly large pearl ear­ring itself. “Like­ly just a glass or tin drop var­nished to look like a pearl,” the object nonethe­less appears to poss­es con­sid­er­able shape and weight” — at least before “a detailed view shows that it’s just a float­ing smudge of paint.” But what a smudge, in the behold­ing of which “we are remind­ed of Ver­meer’s pow­er as an illu­sion-mak­er.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load All 36 of Jan Vermeer’s Beau­ti­ful­ly Rare Paint­ings (Most in Bril­liant High Res­o­lu­tion)

Mas­ter of Light: A Close Look at the Paint­ings of Johannes Ver­meer Nar­rat­ed by Meryl Streep

Paint­ings by Car­avag­gio, Ver­meer, & Oth­er Great Mas­ters Come to Life in a New Ani­mat­ed Video

See the Com­plete Works of Ver­meer in Aug­ment­ed Real­i­ty: Google Makes Them Avail­able on Your Smart­phone

Inge­nious Impro­vised Recre­ations of Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring, Using Mate­ri­als Found Around the House

Meet Noto­ri­ous Art Forg­er Han Van Meegeren, Who Fooled the Nazis with His Coun­ter­feit Ver­meers

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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.

One of the Earliest Known Uses of the “F‑word” Discovered: It Appears in a 1568 Anthology Compiled During a Plague

“Wan fukkit fun­ling”: as an insult, these words would today land a minor blow at most. Not so in Scot­land of the ear­ly 16th cen­tu­ry, in which William Dun­bar and Wal­ter Kennedy, two of the land’s well-known poets, faced off before the court of King James IV in a con­test of rhyme. The event is memo­ri­al­ized in the poem “The Fly­t­ing of Dun­bar and Kennedie,” one of 400 anthol­o­gized in what’s known as the Ban­natyne Man­u­script. Com­piled in 1568 by an Edin­burgh mer­chant named George Ban­natyne, stuck at home while a plague swept his city — a con­di­tion many can relate to these days — it now enjoys pride of place at the Nation­al Library of Scot­land as a cul­tur­al trea­sure, not least because it con­tains what may be the old­est record­ed use of the F‑word.

The Ban­natyne Man­u­script and “wan fukkit fun­ling” (whose appear­ance you can see in the image at the top of the post, in the sixth line from the bot­tom) play an impor­tant part in the new BBC Scot­land doc­u­men­tary Scot­land – Con­tains Strong Lan­guage. The hour-long pro­gram, writes The Scots­man’s Bri­an Fer­gu­son, “sees actress, singer and the­atre-mak­er Cora Bis­sett trace the nation’s long love affair with swear­ing and insults, despite the long-stand­ing efforts of reli­gious lead­ers to con­demn it as a sin.” Fer­gu­son quotes Bis­sett describ­ing the impor­tance of this par­tic­u­lar “fly­t­ing” (“the 16th cen­tu­ry equiv­a­lent of a rap bat­tle”) as fol­lows: “When Kennedy address­es Dun­bar, there is the ear­li­est sur­viv­ing record of the word ‘f***’ in the world.”

“In the poem, Dun­bar makes fun of Kennedy’s High­land dialect, for instance, as well as his per­son­al appear­ance, and he sug­gests his oppo­nent enjoys sex­u­al inter­course with hors­es,” writes Ars Tech­ni­ca’s Jen­nifer Ouel­lette. “Kennedy retal­i­ates with attacks on Dun­bar’s diminu­tive stature and lack of bow­el con­trol, sug­gest­ing his rival gets his inspi­ra­tion from drink­ing ‘frogspawn’ from the waters of a rur­al pond.” All high­ly amus­ing, to be sure, but giv­en how few of us Eng­lish-speak­ers will imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­nize in “wan fukkit fun­ling” the curse with which we’ve grown so inti­mate­ly famil­iar, does this real­ly count as an exam­ple of usage in Eng­lish?

‘To me, that looks more like Scots than Mid­dle Eng­lish,” writes Boing Boing’s Thom Dunn, “although both lan­guages were derived from Olde Eng­lish.” (He also reminds us not to con­fuse Scots with the sep­a­rate lan­guage of Scot­tish Gael­ic.) Medieval his­to­ri­an Kristin Uscin­s­ki writes in to Ars Tech­ni­ca to point out a cer­tain “Roger F$#%-by-the-Navel who appears in some court records from 1310–11” — pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured, of course, here on Open Cul­ture. His­to­ri­ans and lin­guists will sure­ly con­tin­ue doing their own kind of bat­tle to deter­mine what counts as the first true F‑word, mak­ing more dis­cov­er­ies about the Eng­lish lan­guage’s her­itage of swear­ing along the way. One thing is cer­tain: if any nation has made a rich use of that her­itage, it’s Scot­land.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ear­li­est Known Appear­ance of the F‑Word, in a Bizarre Court Record Entry from 1310

The Very First Writ­ten Use of the F Word in Eng­lish (1528)

Steven Pinker Explains the Neu­ro­science of Swear­ing (NSFW)

Stephen Fry, Lan­guage Enthu­si­ast, Defends The “Unnec­es­sary” Art Of Swear­ing

Read A Clas­si­cal Dic­tio­nary of the Vul­gar Tongue, a Hilar­i­ous & Infor­ma­tive Col­lec­tion of Ear­ly Mod­ern Eng­lish Slang (1785)

A Lec­ture About the His­to­ry of the Scots Lan­guage … in Scots: How Much Can You Com­pre­hend?

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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.

Meet Notorious Art Forger Han Van Meegeren, Who Fooled the Nazis with His Counterfeit Vermeers

Peo­ple love sto­ries of suc­cess­ful crim­i­nals. They must pos­sess some admirable qual­i­ties, we assume, some great dar­ing or cun­ning or keen insight. Myths sup­plant real­i­ty, and we for­get about the net­works of enablers that help ruth­less but not espe­cial­ly bright peo­ple suc­ceed. But suc­cess­ful art forg­ers present us with anoth­er case entire­ly. “Forg­ers, by nature, pre­fer anonymi­ty,” notes the site Essen­tial Ver­meer 3.0, “and there­fore are rarely remem­bered.” Yet the evi­dence of their mas­tery lies incon­tro­vert­ibly before us, fool­ing col­lec­tors, cura­tors, and even art his­to­ri­ans. Fakes, may be “the great art of our age.”

Or so claims the sub­ti­tle of 2013 book Forged, in which philoso­pher and con­cep­tu­al artist Jonathon Keats sur­veys the careers of six noto­ri­ous forg­ers, includ­ing Dutch artist Han van Meegeren, who “tricked the world—and the Nazis—with his coun­ter­feit Ver­meer paint­ings,” the TED-Ed les­son above tells us.

Van Meegeren’s biog­ra­phy seems almost script­ed. Hav­ing failed to inter­est crit­ics in his work as a young man, he became embit­tered and decid­ed to revenge him­self upon the art world with fakes. His choice of Ver­meer was “ambi­tious” to say the least, giv­en the Baroque painter’s rep­u­ta­tion for a unique tech­ni­cal bril­liance.

He worked for six years to re-cre­ate Vermeer’s mate­ri­als and tech­niques and per­fect an aging process for his can­vas­es. The foren­sic sci­ence that would today detect such meth­ods was not suf­fi­cient­ly advanced at the time. Yet “even today,” the les­son notes, authen­tic­i­ty is a mat­ter of the “sub­jec­tive judg­ment of spe­cial­ists.” Van Meegeren used such depen­dence on author­i­ty against the experts by cre­at­ing a work he knew would fill in a his­tor­i­cal gap, an ear­ly reli­gious peri­od of Vermeer’s from which no works sur­vived; also, con­ve­nient­ly, a peri­od when the artist’s tal­ents were less devel­oped.

“In 1937,” Essen­tial Ver­meer writes, “Abra­ham Bredius… one of the most author­i­ta­tive art his­to­ri­ans,” who had “ded­i­cat­ed a great part of his life to the study of Ver­meer” pro­nounced van Meegeren’s fake Ver­meer, Christ and the Dis­ci­ples at Emmaus (detail above), “a hith­er­to unknown paint­ing by a great mas­ter, untouched, on the orig­i­nal can­vas, and with­out any restora­tion, just as it left the painter’s stu­dio.” His praise was so effu­sive it allowed no room for doubt. This was “the mas­ter­piece of Johannes Ver­meer of Delft… every inch a Ver­meer.”

Van Meegeren coun­ter­feit­ed works by sev­er­al oth­er Dutch mas­ters and “was so good,” says the nar­ra­tor of a Sotheby’s pro­file, above, “that he duped art experts, muse­ums, and even Hitler’s right-hand man Her­mann Göring.” And here, the usu­al admi­ra­tion for art forgers—who can seem like hero­ic trick­sters next to their greedy, over­con­fi­dent marks—takes a patri­ot­ic turn. Tried for col­lab­o­ra­tion, the forg­er argued he was in fact a nation­al hero for trad­ing anoth­er coun­ter­feit Ver­meer, Christ with the Woman Tak­en in Adul­tery (below), to Göring for 200 works of loot­ed Dutch art.

Van Meegeren’s defense depend­ed on him con­vinc­ing the court that he had made the paint­ing. This took some doing. He had even for­gone using mod­els so there would be no wit­ness­es. As Sotheby’s Direc­tor of Sci­en­tif­ic Research James Mar­tin and art his­to­ri­an Jonathan Lopez show us, van Meegeren’s work real­ly was that con­vinc­ing, its flaws near­ly unde­tectable. He did serve two years for forgery and fraud, but in the end achieved his ear­ly desire for artis­tic fame and his lat­er wish to be regard­ed as an out­law hero. Per­haps more than most art world forg­ers, he is deserv­ing of both rep­u­ta­tions.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Anato­my of a Fake: Forgery Experts Reveal 5 Ways To Spot a Fake Paint­ing by Jack­son Pol­lock (or Any Oth­er Artist)

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

F for Fake: Orson Welles’ Short Film & Trail­er That Was Nev­er Released in Amer­i­ca

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

A 1665 Advertisement Promises a “Famous and Effectual” Cure for the Great Plague

There is a lev­el of avarice and deprav­i­ty in defraud­ing vic­tims of an epi­dem­ic that should shock even the most jad­ed. But a look into the archives of his­to­ry con­firms that venal moun­te­banks and con artists have always fol­lowed dis­as­ter when it strikes. In 1665, the Black Death reap­peared in Lon­don, a dis­ease that had rav­aged medieval Europe for cen­turies and left an indeli­ble impres­sion on cul­tur­al mem­o­ry. After the rats began to spread dis­ease, ter­ror spread with it. Then came the adver­tise­ments for sure cures.

“Every­one dread­ed catch­ing the dis­ease,” notes the British Library. “Vic­tims were often nailed into their hous­es in an attempt to stop the spread… They usu­al­ly died with­in days, in agony and mad­ness from fevers and infect­ed swellings.” This grotesque scene of pan­ic and pain seemed like a growth mar­ket to “quack doc­tors sell­ing fake reme­dies. There were many dif­fer­ent pills and potions,” and they “were often very expen­sive to buy and claimed, false­ly, to have been suc­cess­ful­ly used in pre­vi­ous epi­demics.”

Sure­ly, there were many in the med­ical pro­fes­sion, such as it was, who gen­uine­ly want­ed to help, but no hon­est doc­tor could claim, as the broad­side above does, to have dis­cov­ered a “Famous and Effec­tu­al MEDICINE TO CURE THE PLAGUE.” So con­fi­dent is this ad that it lists the names and loca­tions of sev­er­al peo­ple sup­pos­ed­ly cured (and promis­es to have cured “above fifty more”). You can go look up “Andrew Baget, in St. Gile’s,” or “Mrs. Adkings. In Coven Gar­den,” or “Mary-Waight, in Bed­ford-Bury.” Ask them your­self! Only, that might be a lit­tle dif­fi­cult as you’ve cur­rent­ly got the plague…. (See a tran­scrip­tion of the adver­tise­ment here.)

This par­tic­u­lar exam­ple appears to have been a guild effort. At the bot­tom of the pam­phlet we find a list of mer­chants offer­ing the need­ed ingre­di­ents for the med­i­cine, which suf­fer­ers would pre­sum­ably mix them­selves, hav­ing first vis­it­ed the shops of Mr. Leonard Sow­ers­by, Mr. Hey­woods, Mr. Owens, Mr. Good­laks, a sec­ond Mr. Hey­woods, and Mrs. Eliz­a­beth Calverts (poten­tial­ly infect­ing oth­ers all the time.) Cus­tomers were clear­ly des­per­ate. They aren’t even giv­en the stamp of a physician’s approval, only the mer­chants’ promise that oth­ers have returned from the brink by means of an “infal­li­ble Pow­der” that also cures “Small-Pox, Fevers, Agues, and Sur­feits.” Chil­dren should take half a dose.

17th cen­tu­ry physi­cians fared lit­tle bet­ter against the plague than doc­tors had over 300 years ear­li­er when the dis­ease first made its appear­ance in Europe in 1347, trav­el­ing from Asia to Italy. They did what they could, as the BBC points out, rec­om­mend­ing “mus­tard, mint sauce, apple sauce and horse­rad­ish” as dietary aids. Oth­er attempt­ed 14th cen­tu­ry cures includ­ed “rub­bing onions, herbs or a chopped up snake (if avail­able) on the boils or cut­ting up a pigeon and rub­bing it over an infect­ed body.”

This sound­ed spe­cious to many peo­ple at the time. One 1380 source, Jean Froissart’s Chron­i­cles, stat­ed sar­cas­ti­cal­ly, “doc­tors need three qual­i­fi­ca­tions: to be able to lie and not get caught; to pre­tend to be hon­est; and to cause death with­out guilt.” Such qual­i­fi­ca­tions have always suit­ed those intent on careers in gov­ern­ment or finance, where times of trou­ble can be high­ly prof­itable. We are for­tu­nate, how­ev­er, for the advances of mod­ern med­i­cine, and for med­ical pro­fes­sion­als who risk their lives dai­ly for vic­tims of COVID-19, even if some oth­er human qual­i­ties haven’t changed since peo­ple tried to end pan­demics by march­ing through the streets whip­ping them­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the Plague: Every Major Epi­dem­ic in an Ani­mat­ed Map

Down­load Clas­sic Works of Plague Fic­tion: From Daniel Defoe & Mary Shel­ley, to Edgar Allan Poe

Why You Should Read The Plague, the Albert Camus Nov­el the Coro­n­avirus Has Made a Best­seller Again

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

Pandemic Literature: A Meta-List of the Books You Should Read in Coronavirus Quarantine

Describ­ing con­di­tions char­ac­ter­is­tic of life in the ear­ly 21st cen­tu­ry, future his­to­ri­ans may well point to such epi­dem­ic viral ill­ness­es as SARS, MERS, and the now-ram­pag­ing COVID-19. But those focused on cul­ture will also have their pick of much more benign recur­ring phe­nom­e­na to explain: top­i­cal book lists, for instance, which crop up in the 21st-cen­tu­ry press at the faintest prompt­ing by cur­rent events. As the coro­n­avirus has spread through the Eng­lish-speak­ing world over the past month, pan­dem­ic-themed read­ing lists have appeared in all man­ner of out­lets: TimePBS, the Hol­ly­wood Reporter, the Guardian, the Globe and MailHaaretzVul­tureElec­tric Lit­er­a­ture, and oth­ers besides.

As mankind’s old­est dead­ly foe, dis­ease has pro­vid­ed themes to lit­er­a­ture since lit­er­a­ture’s very inven­tion. In the Euro­pean canon, no such work is more ven­er­a­ble than The Decameron, writ­ten by Renais­sance human­ist Gio­van­ni Boc­cac­cio in the late 1340s and ear­ly 1350s. “His pro­tag­o­nists, sev­en women and three men, retreat to a vil­la out­side Flo­rence to avoid the pan­dem­ic,” writes The Guardian’s Lois Beck­ett, refer­ring to the bubon­ic plague, or “Black Death,” that rav­aged Europe in the mid-14th cen­tu­ry. “There, iso­lat­ed for two weeks, they pass the time by telling each oth­er sto­ries” — and “live­ly, bizarre, and often very filthy sto­ries” at that — “with a dif­fer­ent theme for each day.”

A lat­er out­break of the bubon­ic plague in Lon­don inspired Robin­son Cru­soe author Daniel Defoe to write the A Jour­nal of the Plague Year. “Set in 1655 and pub­lished in 1722, the nov­el was like­ly based, in part, on the jour­nals of the author’s uncle,” writes the Globe and Mail’s Alec Scott. Defoe’s diarist “speaks of bod­ies pil­ing up in mass graves, of sud­den deaths and unlike­ly recov­er­ies from the brink, and also blames those from else­where for the out­break.” A Jour­nal of the Plague Year appears on these read­ing lists as often as Albert Camus’ The Plaguepre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture. “Camus’ famous work about the inhab­i­tants of an Alger­ian town who are strick­en by the bubon­ic plague was pub­lished back in 1947,” writes PBS’ Court­ney Vinopal, “but it has struck a chord with read­ers today liv­ing through the coro­n­avirus.”

Of nov­els pub­lished in the past decade, none has been select­ed as a must-read in coro­n­avirus quar­an­tine as often as Emi­ly St. John Man­del’s Sta­tion Eleven. “After a swine flu pan­dem­ic wipes out most of the world’s pop­u­la­tion, a group of musi­cians and actors trav­el around new­ly formed set­tle­ments to keep their art alive,” says Time. “Man­del show­cas­es the impact of the pan­dem­ic on all of their lives,” weav­ing togeth­er “char­ac­ters’ per­spec­tives from across the plan­et and over sev­er­al decades to explore how human­i­ty can fall apart and then, some­how, come back togeth­er.” Ling Ma’s dark­ly satir­i­cal Sev­er­ance also makes a strong show­ing: Elec­tric Lit­er­a­ture describes it as “a pan­dem­ic-zom­bie-dystopi­an-nov­el, but it’s also a relat­able mil­len­ni­al com­ing-of-age sto­ry and an intel­li­gent cri­tique of exploita­tive cap­i­tal­ism, mind­less con­sumerism, and the drudgery of bull­shit jobs.”

Since a well-bal­anced read­ing diet (and those of us stuck at home for weeks on end have giv­en much thought to bal­anced diets) requires both fic­tion and non­fic­tion, sev­er­al of these lists also include works of schol­ar­ship, his­to­ry, and jour­nal­ism on the real epi­demics that have inspired all this lit­er­a­ture. Take Richard Pre­ston’s best­seller The Hot Zone: The Ter­ri­fy­ing True Sto­ry of the Ori­gins of the Ebo­la Virus, which Gre­go­ry Eaves at Medi­um calls “a hair-rais­ing account of the appear­ance of rare and lethal virus­es and their ‘crash­es’ into the human race.” For an episode of his­to­ry more com­pa­ra­ble to the coro­n­avirus, there’s John M. Bar­ry’s The Great Influen­za: The Sto­ry of the Dead­liest Pan­dem­ic in His­to­ry, “a tale of tri­umph amid tragedy, which pro­vides us with a pre­cise and sober­ing mod­el as we con­front the epi­demics loom­ing on our own hori­zon.”

Below you’ll find a meta-list of all the nov­els and non­fic­tion books includ­ed on the read­ing lists linked above. As for the books them­selves — libraries and book­stores being a bit dif­fi­cult to access in many parts of the world at the moment — you might check for them in our col­lec­tion of books free online, the tem­porar­i­ly opened Nation­al Emer­gency Library at the Inter­net Archive, and our recent post on clas­sic works of plague lit­er­a­ture avail­able to down­load. How­ev­er you find these books, hap­py read­ing — or, more to the point, healthy read­ing.

Fic­tion

  • Ammonite by Nico­la Grif­fith
  • The Androm­e­da Strain by Michael Crich­ton
  • Beau­ty Salon by Mario Bel­latin
  • Bird Box by Josh Maler­man
  • Blind­ness by José Sara­m­a­go
  • The Book of M by Peng Shep­herd
  • The Bro­ken Earth tril­o­gy by N.K. Jemisin
  • Bring Out Your Dead by J.M. Pow­ell
  • The Child Gar­den by Geoff Ryman
  • The Children’s Hos­pi­tal by Chris Adri­an
  • The Com­pan­ion by Katie M. Fly­nn
  • The Decameron by Gio­van­ni Boc­cac­cio
  • The Dog Stars by Peter Heller
  • The Dooms­day Book by Con­nie Willis
  • The Dream­ers by Karen Thomp­son Walk­er
  • Earth Abides by George R. Stew­art
  • The Eyes of Dark­ness by Dean Koontz
  • Find Me by Lau­ra van den Berg
  • The Great Believ­ers by Rebec­ca Makkai
  • Jane Eyre by Char­lotte Bron­të
  • Jour­nal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe
  • Jour­nal of the Plague Years by Nor­man Spin­rad
  • The Last Man by Mary Shel­ley
  • The Last Town on Earth by Thomas Mullen
  • Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez
  • My Side of the Moun­tain by Jean Craig­head George
  • My Year of Rest and Relax­ation by Ottes­sa Mosh­fegh
  • The Old Drift by Namwali Ser­pell
  • Oryx and Crake by Mar­garet Atwood
  • Pale Horse, Pale Rid­er by Kather­ine Anne Porter
  • The Pas­sage tril­o­gy by Justin Cronin
  • The Plague by Albert Camus
  • The Pow­er by Nao­mi Alder­man
  • Real Life by Bran­don Tay­lor
  • The Road by Cor­mac McCarthy
  • Room by Emma Donoghue
  • Sev­er­ance by Ling Ma
  • Sta­tion Eleven by Emi­ly St. John Man­del
  • The Stand by Stephen King
  • They Came Like Swal­lows by William Maxwell
  • The Train­ing Com­mis­sion by Ingrid Bur­ring­ton and Bren­dan Byrne
  • The Trans­mi­gra­tion of Bod­ies by Yuri Her­rera
  • The White Plague by Frank Her­bert
  • Wilder Girls by Rory Pow­er
  • World War Z by Max Brooks
  • The Year of the Flood by Mar­garet Atwood
  • Year of Won­ders by Geral­dine Brooks
  • The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stan­ley Robin­son
  • Zone One by Col­son White­head

 

Non­fic­tion

  • The Amer­i­can Plague: The Untold Sto­ry of Yel­low Fever, The Epi­dem­ic That Shaped Our His­to­ry by Mol­ly Cald­well Cros­by
  • And the Band Played On by Randy Shilts
  • The Com­ing Plague: New­ly Emerg­ing Dis­eases in a World Out of Bal­ance by Lau­rie Gar­rett
  • A Dis­tant Mir­ror: The Calami­tous 14th Cen­tu­ry by Bar­bara W. Tuch­man
  • Flu: The Sto­ry Of the Great Influen­za Pan­dem­ic of 1918 and the Search for the Virus That Caused It by Gina Kola­ta
  • The Ghost Map: The Sto­ry of London’s Most Ter­ri­fy­ing Epidemic–and How It Changed Sci­ence, Cities, and the Mod­ern World by Steven John­son
  • The Great Influen­za: The Sto­ry of the Dead­liest Pan­dem­ic in His­to­ry by John Bar­ry
  • The Great Mor­tal­i­ty: An Inti­mate His­to­ry of the Black Death, the Most Dev­as­tat­ing Plague of All Time by John Kel­ly
  • His­to­ry of the Pelo­pon­nesian War by Thucy­dides
  • The Hot Zone The Ter­ri­fy­ing True Sto­ry of the Ori­gins of the Ebo­la Virus by Richard Pre­ston
  • Net­worked Dis­ease: Emerg­ing Infec­tions in the Glob­al City by A. Har­ris Ali and Roger Keil
  • Pale Rid­er: The Span­ish Flu of 1918 and How it Changed the World by Lau­ra Spin­ney
  • Pox: An Amer­i­can His­to­ry by Michael Will­rich

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Clas­sic Works of Plague Fic­tion: From Daniel Defoe & Mary Shel­ley, to Edgar Allan Poe

Why You Should Read The Plague, the Albert Camus Nov­el the Coro­n­avirus Has Made a Best­seller Again

The His­to­ry of the Plague: Every Major Epi­dem­ic in an Ani­mat­ed Map

Free Cours­es on the Coro­n­avirus: What You Need to Know About the Emerg­ing Pan­dem­ic

The Nation­al Emer­gency Library Makes 1.5 Mil­lion Books Free to Read Right Now

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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.

Download Classic Works of Plague Fiction: From Daniel Defoe & Mary Shelley, to Edgar Allan Poe

The apoth­e­o­sis of pres­tige real­ist plague film, Steven Soderburgh’s 2011 Con­ta­gion, has become one of the most pop­u­lar fea­tures on major stream­ing plat­forms, at a time when peo­ple have also turned increas­ing­ly to books of all kinds about plagues, from fan­ta­sy, hor­ror, and sci­ence fic­tion to accounts that show the expe­ri­ence as it was in all its ugliness—or at least as those who expe­ri­enced it remem­bered the events. Such a work is Daniel Defoe’s semi-fic­tion­al his­to­ry “A Jour­nal of the Plague Year,” a book he wrote “in tan­dem with an advice man­u­al called ‘Due Prepa­ra­tions for the Plague,’ in 1722,” notes Jill Lep­ore at The New York­er.

In 1722, Defoe had rea­son to believe the plague might come back to Lon­don, and wreak the dev­as­ta­tion it caused in 1665, the “plague year” he detailed, when one in every five Lon­don­ers died. This was not a sto­ry of heroes mak­ing sac­ri­fices to save the city. “Every­one behaved bad­ly, though the rich behaved the worst,” Lep­ore writes. “Hav­ing failed to heed warn­ings to pro­vi­sion, they sent their poor ser­vants out for sup­plies,” spread­ing the infec­tion through­out the city. Defoe earnest­ly hoped to head off such cat­a­stro­phe. He wrote to issue an admo­ni­tion, as he put it, “both to us and to pos­ter­i­ty, though we should be spared from that por­tion of this bit­ter cup.”

The cup, Lep­ore writes, “has come out of its cup­board.” But so too has the resilience found in Albert Camus’ 1946 nov­el Le Peste (The Plague), based on a real cholera out­break in Alge­ria in 1849. Though fic­tion­al, it draws on Camus’ study of his­tor­i­cal plagues and his expe­ri­ence as a mem­ber of the French Resis­tance. Camus seems to have found the plague as metaphor par­tic­u­lar­ly uplift­ing, nick­nam­ing his twins Cather­ine and Jean, “Plague” and “Cholera,” respec­tive­ly.

Whether we see it as a sto­ry of a siege brought on by sick­ness, or an alle­go­ry of an occu­pa­tion, Camus wrote of the nov­el that “the inhab­i­tants, final­ly freed, would nev­er for­get the dif­fi­cult peri­od that made them face the absurd­ness of their exis­tence and the pre­car­i­ous­ness of the human con­di­tion. What’s true of all the evils in the world is true of plagues as well. It helps men to rise above them­selves.” Defoe might dis­agree, but plagues in his time were not also accom­pa­nied by wide­spread Nazism, a dou­ble cri­sis that might dou­bly force us to “reflect on what is real, what is impor­tant, and become more human,” says Cather­ine Camus of the soar­ing new pop­u­lar­i­ty of her father’s nov­el.

We can do this through read­ing in our real-life quar­an­tine. “Read­ing is an infec­tion,” Lep­ore writes, “a bur­row­ing into the brain: books con­t­a­m­i­nate, metaphor­i­cal­ly, and even micro­bi­o­log­i­cal­ly” as phys­i­cal objects capa­ble of fer­ry­ing germs. Plagues are mass-exis­ten­tial crises on the lev­el of WWII or the Lis­bon earth­quake that shook the faith of Europe’s intel­lec­tu­als. They are also set­tings for love and ter­ror, from Boc­cac­cio and Gabriel Gar­cia Mar­quez to Edgar Allan Poe and Mar­garet Atwood.

Vul­ture has pub­lished an “essen­tial list” of 20 plague books to read, includ­ing many of the clas­sics men­tioned above, and a book that is hard­ly remem­bered but might be thought of as an ances­tor to Atwood’s plague-rid­den futures: Mary Shelley’s The Last Man, pub­lished in 1826 dur­ing the sec­ond of two vir­u­lent cholera pan­demics. In the nov­el, Shel­ley claims to have dis­cov­ered the sto­ry in prophet­ic writ­ing about the end of the 21st cen­tu­ry, telling of a dis­ease that wipes out the human race. If you’d rather not indulge that kind of fan­ta­sy just yet, you’ll find vary­ing degrees of imag­i­na­tive and sober­ly real­ist fic­tion and his­to­ry in the list of plague clas­sics below, all freely avail­able at Project Guten­berg.

A Jour­nal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe

His­to­ry of the Plague in Lon­don by Daniel Defoe

Loimolo­gia: or, an His­tor­i­cal Account of the Plague in Lon­don in 1665 by Hodges et al.

The Last Man by Mary Woll­stonecraft Shel­ley

Plague Ship by Andre Nor­ton

The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe

The Plague by Ted­dy Keller

The Decameron of Gio­van­ni Boc­cac­cio

A His­to­ry of Epi­demics in Britain by Charles Creighton

A His­to­ry of Epi­demics in Britain, Vol­ume II 

An account of the plague which raged at Moscow, in 1771 by Charles de Mertens

A brief Jour­nal of what passed in the City of Mar­seilles, while is was afflict­ed with the Plague, in the Year 1720 by Pichat­ty de Crois­lainte

Cher­ry & Vio­let: A Tale of the Great Plague by Anne Man­ning

Libraries may have shut their pos­si­bly con­t­a­m­i­nat­ed books behind closed doors, book­stores may be deemed nonessen­tial, but reading—and writing—about plague years feels like a nec­es­sary cul­tur­al activ­i­ty to help us under­stand who we are apt to become in such times.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Why You Should Read The Plague, the Albert Camus Nov­el the Coro­n­avirus Has Made a Best­seller Again

The His­to­ry of the Plague: Every Major Epi­dem­ic in an Ani­mat­ed Map

Isaac New­ton Con­ceived of His Most Ground­break­ing Ideas Dur­ing the Great Plague of 1665

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

 

Take a 3D Tour Through Ancient Giza, Including the Great Pyramids, the Sphinx & More

Imag­ine the pyra­mids of ancient Egypt, and a vivid image comes right to mind. But unless you hap­pen to be an Egyp­tol­o­gist, that image may pos­sess a great deal more vivid­ness than it does detail. We all have a rough sense of the pyra­mids’ size (impres­sive­ly large), shape (pyra­midi­cal), tex­ture (crumbly), and set­ting (sand), almost whol­ly derived from images cap­tured over the past cen­tu­ry. But what about the pyra­mids in their hey­day, more than 4,500 years ago? Do we know enough even to begin imag­in­ing how they looked, let alone how peo­ple made use of them? Har­vard Egyp­tol­o­gist Peter Der Manuelian does, and in the video above he gives us a tour through 3D mod­els that recon­struct the Giza pyra­mid com­plex (also known as the Giza necrop­o­lis) using both the best tech­nol­o­gy and the fullest knowl­edge avail­able today.

“You’ll see we’ve had to remove mod­ern struc­tures and exca­va­tors, debris dumps,” says Der Manuelian as the cam­era flies, drone­like, in the direc­tion of the Great Sphinx. “We stud­ied the Nile, and we had to move it much clos­er to the Giza pyra­mids, because in antiq­ui­ty, the Nile did flow clos­er. And we’ve tried to rebuild each and every struc­ture.”

Of the Sphinx, this mod­el boasts “the most accu­rate recon­struc­tion that has ever been attempt­ed so far,” and Der Manuelian shows it in two pos­si­ble col­ors schemes, one with only the head paint­ed, one with the entire body paint­ed in “the red­dish brown reserved for male fig­ures.” He also shows the pyra­mid tem­ple of Khafre, both in the near-com­plete­ly ruined state in which it exists today, and in full dig­i­tal recon­struc­tion, com­plete with seat­ed stat­ues the Fourth-Dynasty pharaoh Khafre him­self.

The mod­el accom­mo­dates more than just the built envi­ron­ment. Der Manuelian shows a mod­el bark with anoth­er stat­ue being car­ried into one of the cham­bers, explain­ing that it allows researchers to deter­mine “whether or not it’s big enough or small enough to actu­al­ly fit between the doors of the tem­ple.” Else­where in the mod­el we see a re-enact­ment of the “Open­ing of the Mouth cer­e­mo­ny,” the “rean­i­ma­tion cer­e­mo­ny for the deceased king, meant to mag­i­cal­ly and rit­u­al­ly bring him back to life for the nether­world.” The ren­der­ing takes place inside the tem­ple of the Pyra­mid of Khu­fu, peo­pled with human char­ac­ters. But “how many should there be? What should they be wear­ing? Where are the reg­u­lar Egyp­tians? Are they allowed any­where near this cer­e­mo­ny, or indeed are they allowed any­where near Giza at all?” The greater the detail in which researchers recon­struct the ancient world, the more such ques­tions come to the sur­face.

In the video just above, Der Manuelian explains more about the impor­tance of 3D mod­el­ing to Egyp­tol­ogy: how it uses the exist­ing research, what it has helped mod­ern researchers under­stand, and the promise it holds for the future. The lat­ter includes much of inter­est even to non-Egyp­tol­o­gists, such as tourists who might like to famil­iar­ize them­selves with Giza necrop­o­lis in the days when the Open­ing of the Mouth cer­e­monies still took place — or any era of their choice — before set­ting foot there them­selves. These videos come from “Pyra­mids of Giza: Ancient Egypt­ian Art and Archae­ol­o­gy,” Der Manuelian’s online course at edX, a worth­while learn­ing expe­ri­ence if you’ve got your own such trip planned — or just the kind of fas­ci­na­tion that has gripped peo­ple around the world since the Egyp­to­ma­nia of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry. The tech­nol­o­gy with which we study Egypt has advanced great­ly since then, but for many, the mys­ter­ies of ancient Egypt itself have only become more com­pelling.

via The Kid Should See This

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

What the Great Pyra­mid of Giza Would’ve Looked Like When First Built: It Was Gleam­ing, Reflec­tive White

The Met Dig­i­tal­ly Restores the Col­ors of an Ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple, Using Pro­jec­tion Map­ping Tech­nol­o­gy

Human All Too Human: A Roman Woman Vis­its the Great Pyra­mid in 120 AD, and Carves a Poem in Mem­o­ry of Her Deceased Broth­er

The Grate­ful Dead Play at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids, in the Shad­ow of the Sphinx (1978)

A Drone’s Eye View of the Ancient Pyra­mids of Egypt, Sudan & Mex­i­co

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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.

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