“The Wonderground Map of London Town,” the Iconic 1914 Map That Saved the World’s First Subway System

underground-1913-map

Most major world cities now boast far-reach­ing and con­ve­nient sub­way sys­tems, but Lon­don will always have the orig­i­nal from which all the rest descend. It will also, arguably, always have, in the Tube, by far the most icon­ic. The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Rail­way, the first under­ground train line to open in Lon­don and thus the first in the world, entered ser­vice in 1863. Oth­er lines fol­lowed, run by sev­er­al dif­fer­ent com­pa­nies, until, says Make Big Plans, all the oper­a­tors “agreed on a joint mar­ket­ing strat­e­gy in 1908 that fea­tured the now famil­iar logo with a red disk and the word ‘Under­ground.’ ”

wonderground5

But by 1913, writes the BBC’s Emma Jane Kir­by, “pas­sen­gers are moan­ing about unpunc­tu­al­i­ty, about over­crowd­ing, about con­fu­sion and dirt. The Tube, crammed on work­days (some 400,000 peo­ple now work in the heart of the city) is vir­tu­al­ly emp­ty at week­ends and hol­i­days and the com­pa­ny is fast los­ing mon­ey and pub­lic sup­port. What we need, thinks [Lon­don Under­ground com­mer­cial direc­tor Frank] Pick, is stronger brand­ing.” In addi­tion to the immor­tal logo, he want­ed “some eye-catch­ing posters, dis­tinct from gen­er­al adver­tise­ment bills, that will make Lon­don­ers of all social class­es proud to jour­ney around their city and vis­it its attrac­tions.”

wonderground

But a tran­sit sys­tem, even the for­mi­da­ble Lon­don Under­ground, is only as good as its maps. Eric Gill, the Arts and Crafts move­ment lumi­nary who helped design the Tube’s type­face, asked his archi­tect-car­tog­ra­ph­er-graph­ic design­er broth­er Mac­Don­ald to come up with an eye-catch­ing one. In the result, writes the Anti­quar­i­an Book­sellers’ Asso­ci­a­tion of Amer­i­ca’s Elis­a­beth Bur­don, “all the attrac­tions and ameni­ties of Lon­don are laid before the view­er in a man­ner which is both visu­al­ly excit­ing and yet with­in a com­pre­hen­si­ble struc­ture; the city is pre­sent­ed in the man­ner of a medieval walled town, the curved hori­zon recall­ing the medieval world map’s enclos­ing cir­cle, all bound­ed by a dec­o­ra­tive bor­der in which coats of arms evoke a sense of sta­bil­i­ty and tra­di­tion.”

wonderground-detail-2

Apart from its degree of his­tor­i­cal astute­ness and car­to­graph­i­cal sound­ness, Gill’s “Won­der­ground Map,” as Lon­don­ers came to call it, con­tained enough humor that some of the pas­sen­gers who con­sult­ed it missed their trains due to sheer amuse­ment. Kir­by points out that, “on the Har­row Road, a farm work­er till­ing the soil cries ‘Har­row­ing work, this!’ an excla­ma­tion which is coun­tered by the query ‘What is work, is it a herb?’ deliv­ered by an effete gen­tle­man near­by.” A sign placed at the map’s east­ern edge points the way to “Vic­to­ria Park, Wanstead Flats, Har­wich, Rus­sia and oth­er vil­lages,” while “at Regen­t’s Park Zoo a pre­his­toric-look­ing bird eats a child through the bars of its cage as the child laments, ‘and I promised moth­er I’d be home for tea by five!’ ”

wondergound-detail-1

The Won­der­ground Map attained such pop­u­lar­i­ty that it became the first Lon­don Under­ground poster sold com­mer­cial­ly for homes and offices, and remains on sale more than a cen­tu­ry lat­er. You can view the whole thing online, and in zoomable detail, here; if you’d like a print­able ver­sion, you can find one here. The his­to­ry of Lon­don now cred­its it as hav­ing effec­tive­ly “saved” the Tube, whose rep­u­ta­tion for dys­func­tion and dis­com­fort had reached a crit­i­cal point. New­er sub­way sys­tems else­where may have since made great tech­no­log­i­cal leaps beyond the Lon­don Under­ground (as my ex-Lon­don­er friends here in Seoul don’t hes­i­tate to remind me), but we can safe­ly say that none will ever inspire quite so beloved a work of car­tog­ra­phy.

An alter­na­tive ver­sion of the map can be viewed and down­loaded at the David Rum­sey Map Col­lec­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Won­der­ful Archive of His­toric Tran­sit Maps: Expres­sive Art Meets Pre­cise Graph­ic Design

Lon­don Mashed Up: Footage of the City from 1924 Lay­ered Onto Footage from 2013

1927 Lon­don Shown in Mov­ing Col­or

2,000 Years of London’s His­tor­i­cal Devel­op­ment, Ani­mat­ed in 7 Min­utes

Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tion Lets You Fly Through 17th Cen­tu­ry Lon­don

The Curi­ous Sto­ry of London’s First Cof­fee­hous­es (1650–1675)

The Birth of London’s 1950s Bohemi­an Cof­fee Bars Doc­u­ment­ed in a Vin­tage 1959 News­reel

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

An Animated Aldous Huxley Identifies the Dystopian Threats to Our Freedom (1958)

20 years after Aldous Hux­ley pub­lished Brave New World (1931), he was still the medi­a’s go-to futur­ist. Let me cite two exam­ples:

In 1950, Red­book Mag­a­zine asked four experts (includ­ing Hux­ley) “what the world may look like fifty years hence?,” to which the author respond­ed:

Dur­ing the next fifty years mankind will face three great prob­lems: the prob­lem of avoid­ing war; the prob­lem of feed­ing and cloth­ing a pop­u­la­tion of two and a quar­ter bil­lions which, by 2000 A.D., will have grown to upward of three bil­lions, and the prob­lem of sup­ply­ing these bil­lions with­out ruin­ing the planet’s irre­place­able resources.

Then, in 1958, a young reporter named Mike Wal­lace had Hux­ley play prophet on a 30-minute TV show. Over­pop­u­la­tion gets dis­cussed again. But then Hux­ley returns to some famil­iar dystopi­an themes, iden­ti­fy­ing some emerg­ing threats to our free­doms. 

  • Overor­ga­ni­za­tion: “Well anoth­er force which I think is very strong­ly oper­a­tive in this coun­try is the force of what may be called of overor­ga­ni­za­tion. Er…As tech­nol­o­gy becomes more and more com­pli­cat­ed, it becomes nec­es­sary to have more and more elab­o­rate orga­ni­za­tions, more hier­ar­chi­cal orga­ni­za­tions, and inci­den­tal­ly the advance of tech­nol­o­gy is being accom­pa­nied by an advance in the sci­ence of orga­ni­za­tion.

    It’s now pos­si­ble to make orga­ni­za­tions on a larg­er scale than it was ever pos­si­ble before, and so that you have more and more peo­ple liv­ing their lives out as sub­or­di­nates in these hier­ar­chi­cal sys­tems con­trolled by bureau­cra­cy, either the bureau­cra­cies of big busi­ness­es or the bureau­cra­cies of big gov­ern­ment.”

  • Abuse of new tech­nolo­gies: “There are cer­tain­ly devices which can be used [to lim­it free­doms.] I mean, let us er…take after all, a piece of very recent and very painful his­to­ry is the pro­pa­gan­da used by Hitler, which was incred­i­bly effec­tive.

    I mean, what were Hitler’s meth­ods? Hitler used ter­ror on the one kind, brute force on the one hand, but he also used a very effi­cient form of pro­pa­gan­da, which er…he was using every mod­ern device at that time. He did­n’t have TV., but he had the radio which he used to the fullest extent, and was able to impose his will on an immense mass of peo­ple. I mean, the Ger­mans were a high­ly edu­cat­ed peo­ple.

  • Drugs: I mean, in this book that you men­tioned, this book of mine, “Brave New World,” er…I pos­tu­lat­ed it a sub­stance called ‘soma,’ which was a very ver­sa­tile drug. It would make peo­ple feel hap­py in small dos­es, it would make them see visions in medi­um dos­es, and it would send them to sleep in large dos­es.…

    If you want to pre­serve your pow­er indef­i­nite­ly, you have to get the con­sent of the ruled, and this they will do part­ly by drugs as I fore­saw in “Brave New World,” part­ly by these new tech­niques of pro­pa­gan­da. They will do it by bypass­ing the sort of ratio­nal side of man and appeal­ing to his sub­con­scious and his deep­er emo­tions, and his phys­i­ol­o­gy even, and so, mak­ing him actu­al­ly love his slav­ery.

Above, you can watch ani­mat­ed excerpts from Wal­lace’s inter­view with Hux­ley, cour­tesy of Blank on Blank. Find the com­plete orig­i­nal inter­view below, along with a tran­script here

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aldous Hux­ley Pre­dicts in 1950 What the World Will Look Like in the Year 2000

Hear Aldous Hux­ley Read Brave New World

Hux­ley to Orwell: My Hell­ish Vision of the Future is Bet­ter Than Yours (1949)

Deconstructing Saving Private Ryan’s Epic Opening Battle Scene: How Spielberg Captures Chaos with Clarity

Not long after Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan came out, the buzz had it that, had noth­ing but a two-hour blank screen fol­lowed its open­ing sequence depict­ing the Oma­ha Beach assault of June 6, 1944, Steven Spiel­berg would still win an Oscar. The genre of war movies, which goes almost as far back as the medi­um of cin­e­ma itself, falls into peri­od­ic exhaus­tion, but the direc­tor of block­busters like Jaws and E.T. had man­aged to revi­tal­ize it. How did he and his col­lab­o­ra­tors pull it off, start­ing with the har­row­ing World War II bat­tle scene to end all har­row­ing World War II bat­tle scenes? 

Spiel­berg and com­pa­ny faced one chal­lenge above all oth­ers: “the sequence had to be chaot­ic and coher­ent at the same time,” says video essay­ist Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as the Nerd­writer, in his exam­i­na­tion of Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan’s first 28 min­utes. All bat­tle scenes try, in one way or anoth­er and to vary­ing degrees of suc­cess, to depict the near-incom­pre­hen­si­ble unpre­dictabil­i­ty and vio­lence of mil­i­tary com­bat in a com­pre­hen­si­ble man­ner, but this one accom­plish­es that goal to an extent many aston­ished view­ers may nev­er have thought pos­si­ble.

A dozen years ear­li­er, Tony Scot­t’s Top Gun did some­thing sim­i­lar with its unusu­al­ly non-dis­ori­ent­ing depic­tion of aer­i­al dog­fight­ing, but no two films could have a more dif­fer­ent atti­tude to war itself. In Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan, Spiel­berg set the glo­ry to one side and showed all the (often lit­er­al­ly) gory details that even avid view­ers of World War II movies don’t usu­al­ly see. Bor­row­ing the visu­al style from the his­tor­i­cal news­reel footage shot on the ground at Oma­ha Beach and else­where, Spiel­berg also delib­er­ate­ly fills every frame with as much detail of the action as pos­si­ble, which those real-life cam­era­men had to shoot on the fly.

“The Oma­ha Beach scene might seem like the cra­zi­est, fastest, most intense scene in all of film,” says Puschak, but he cal­cu­lates an “incred­i­bly high” aver­age shot length of 7.2 sec­onds. Instead of cut­ting, cut­ting, and cut­ting some more, Spiel­berg uses his sig­na­ture pur­pose­ful cam­era move­ment and (rel­a­tive­ly) long takes to place, and keep, the view­er in the midst of this har­row­ing event. The scene came out feel­ing so real that it actu­al­ly trig­gered post-trau­mat­ic stress dis­or­der symp­toms in some of the vet­er­ans who went to see it — sure­ly not Spiel­berg’s inten­tion, but proof pos­i­tive of his abil­i­ty to “cap­ture chaos with clar­i­ty.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Great “Fil­mu­men­taries” Take You Inside the Mak­ing of Spielberg’s Raiders of the Lost Ark & Jaws

Shot-By-Shot Break­downs of Spielberg’s Film­mak­ing in Jaws, Scorsese’s in Cape Fear, and De Palma’s in The Untouch­ables

Learn the Ele­ments of Cin­e­ma: Spielberg’s Long Takes, Scorsese’s Silence & Michael Bay’s Shots

Res­ur­rect­ing the Sounds of Abra­ham Lin­coln in Steven Spielberg’s New Biopic

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Inventor of a Wearable Parachute Takes a Flying Leap Off of the Eiffel Tower in 1912, and It Doesn’t End Well

In 1912, a Parisian tai­lor named Franz Reichelt took a fly­ing leap off of the Eif­fel Tow­er. And it did­n’t end well. Squea­mish read­ers, you’ve been warned.

Known today as the “Fly­ing Tai­lor,” Reichelt made a lit­tle mark on his­to­ry by design­ing a wear­able para­chute for aviators–something avi­a­tors could use dur­ing those dan­ger­ous ear­ly days of fly­ing. Ini­tial­ly, Reichelt test­ed his wear­able para­chute by strap­ping dum­mies into them, and drop­ping them from the fifth floor of his apart­ment build­ing. Lat­er, he looked for some­thing that could approx­i­mate a real flight. And nat­u­ral­ly he chose the Eif­fel Tow­er, the tallest build­ing in town. When city offi­cials agreed to let him use the mon­u­ment, they assumed that Reichelt planned to use a dum­my again. Nev­er did they imag­ine that he’d wear the para­chute him­self. The news­reel footage above cap­tures the fatal jump–the ner­vous hes­i­ta­tion at the begin­ning, the short flight, the unfor­tu­nate hole left in the ground.

It’s all a bit macabre, to be sure. And yet Reichelt was onto some­thing. Across the ocean, a suc­cess­ful para­chute jump from a plane took place in the Unit­ed States, lead­ing to a patent for a pack­able para­chute.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Hou­di­ni Escape From a Strait Jack­et, Then See How He Did It (Cir­ca 1917)

Beau­ti­ful, Col­or Pho­tographs of Paris Tak­en 100 Years Ago—at the Begin­ning of World War I & the End of La Belle Époque

Build­ing The Eif­fel Tow­er: Three Google Exhi­bi­tions Revis­it the Birth of the Great Parisian Mon­u­ment

Thomas Edison’s Silent Film of the “Fartiste” Who Delight­ed Crowds at Le Moulin Rouge (1900)

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Hear 21 Hours of Lectures & Talks by Howard Zinn, Author of the Bestselling A People’s History of the United States

Reg­u­lar­ly in these pres­sure cook­er days we hear plau­si­ble argu­ments from lib­er­als and con­ser­v­a­tives about how demo­c­ra­t­ic insti­tu­tions have recent­ly failed us, and how unique­ly polar­ized we have become as a peo­ple. We also hear often high­ly implau­si­ble claims about how cur­rent con­tenders intend to restore some kind of jus­tice or fair­ness. Read­ers of Howard Zinn’s A People’s His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States will have a dif­fer­ent per­spec­tive, one in which sup­pos­ed­ly demo­c­ra­t­ic insti­tu­tions were nev­er designed to work for the major­i­ty of the country’s inhab­i­tants. And in which, by design, cer­tain minori­ties have always remained at the bot­tom of the hier­ar­chy.

“There is not a coun­try in world his­to­ry,” writes Zinn in his famous rad­i­cal his­to­ry, “in which racism has been more impor­tant, for so long a time, as the Unit­ed States.” Far from a flawed yet excep­tion­al form of gov­ern­ment, the U.S.  sys­tem, Zinn argued, began as a means by which the founders seized the pre­rog­a­tives of the British for them­selves, with no inten­tion of expand­ing these lib­er­ties wide­ly. On the con­trary. As Zinn puts it in a chap­ter called “Tyran­ny is Tyran­ny”:

Around 1776, cer­tain impor­tant peo­ple in the Eng­lish colonies made a dis­cov­ery that would prove enor­mous­ly use­ful for the next two hun­dred years. They found that by cre­at­ing a nation, a sym­bol, a legal uni­ty called the Unit­ed States, they could take over land, prof­its, and polit­i­cal pow­er from favorites of the British Empire. In the process, they could hold back a num­ber of poten­tial rebel­lions and cre­ate a con­sen­sus of pop­u­lar sup­port for the rule of a new, priv­i­leged lead­er­ship.

The Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion swapped out one rule by elites for anoth­er, in oth­er words, and one empire for anoth­er. Or as Zinn wrote in his mem­oir, there is “some­thing rot­ten at the root.” Those who object to Zinn’s work may find flaws in his schol­ar­ly method­ol­o­gy. Accu­sa­tions of bias, however—even couched in polite pejo­ra­tives like “polem­i­cal” and “revisionist”—are pret­ty much moot. Zinn, who died in 2010, would agree. The neces­si­ty of tak­ing a posi­tion, after all, was inte­gral to the his­to­ri­an and activist’s entire ethos, such that he titled his auto­bi­og­ra­phy You Can’t Be Neu­tral on a Mov­ing Train. “The state and its police were not neu­tral ref­er­ees in a soci­ety of con­tend­ing inter­ests,” wrote Zinn, “They were on the side of the rich and pow­er­ful.” He always made it plain whose side he took, an approach by nature con­tro­ver­sial.

Was he a lib­er­al par­ti­san? Hard­ly. After tak­ing a beat­ing by police at a protest, Zinn writes, “I was no longer a lib­er­al, a believ­er in the self-cor­rect­ing char­ac­ter of Amer­i­can democ­ra­cy. I was a rad­i­cal, believ­ing that some­thing fun­da­men­tal was wrong in this coun­try.” A Com­mu­nist? “Marx,” wrote Zinn, “was often wrong, often dog­mat­ic… too insis­tent that the indus­tri­al work­ing class must be the agent of rev­o­lu­tion.” Zinn admired Marx. He wrote a play about him, Marx in Soho, and describes in the for­ward how his ear­ly read­ing of Marx, while grow­ing up in work­ing-class Brook­lyn, great­ly influ­enced his view of the world.

But after “grow­ing evi­dence of the hor­rors of Stal­in­ism” and his expe­ri­ence with the grass­roots “par­tic­i­pa­to­ry democ­ra­cy” of the Stu­dent Non­vi­o­lent Coor­di­nat­ing Com­mit­tee (SNCC), Zinn became drawn to anar­chism. Decid­ed­ly left­ist and fun­da­men­tal­ly egal­i­tar­i­an, Zinn’s analy­sis has proven broad enough to war­rant admi­ra­tion from sev­er­al dif­fer­ent polit­i­cal per­sua­sions: from mod­ern lib­er­als to Marx­ists to lib­er­tar­i­an com­mu­nists to free mar­ket lib­er­tar­i­ans like Rea­son’s Thad­deus Rus­sell, who pro­nounced him “no bet­ter exem­plar of that thor­ough­go­ing, anti-sta­tist left.”

Like anoth­er famous anar­chist intel­lec­tu­al of the rad­i­cal cam­pus left, Noam Chom­sky, Zinn first came to nation­al promi­nence in the 60s while orga­niz­ing protests against the Viet­nam War—and like Chom­sky, he debat­ed con­ser­v­a­tive stan­dard-bear­er William F. Buck­ley. Zinn pre­vi­ous­ly protest­ed seg­re­ga­tion with SNCC while he taught at Spel­man Col­lege, writ­ing an influ­en­tial his­to­ry of the orga­ni­za­tion. His tire­less activism con­tin­ued until the very end of his life, and he deliv­ered notable speech­es and lec­tures through­out his involve­ment in the civ­il rights, anti-war, envi­ron­men­tal, and eco­nom­ic jus­tice move­ments.

In the Spo­ti­fy playlist above, you can hear 22 of those talks for a total of 21 hours of Zinn, includ­ing that his­toric Buck­ley debate, which you can also hear in full at the top of the post. (If you need Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.) After their Tufts Uni­ver­si­ty meet­ing, notes Ed Welchel, Zinn reflect­ed, “I found it curi­ous that Buck­ley did not seem to under­stand that unspar­ing crit­i­cism of gov­ern­ment is an essen­tial ele­ment of a demo­c­ra­t­ic soci­ety.”

The playlist of Zinn lec­tures and talks will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Illus­trat­ed Video: Howard Zinn’s “What the Class­room Didn’t Teach Me About the Amer­i­can Empire”

Adorn Your Gar­den with Howard the Zinn Monk

Noam Chom­sky vs. William F. Buck­ley, 1969

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

New Archive Presents The Chicagoan, Chicago’s Jazz-Age Answer to The New Yorker (1926 to 1935)

Chicagoan April 12

Copy­right The Quigley Pub­lish­ing Com­pa­ny, a Divi­sion of QP Media, Inc.

Chicago’s famed “sec­ond city com­plex” did­n’t spring from organ­ic feel­ings of infe­ri­or­i­ty, but rather from the poi­so­nous pen of vis­it­ing New Yorker writer, A.J. Liebling:

Seen from the taxi, on the long ride in from the air­port, the place looked slow­er, shab­bier, and, in defi­ance of all chronol­o­gy, old­er than New York… the low build­ings, the indus­tri­al plants, and the rail­road cross­ings at grade pro­duced less the feel­ing of being in a great city than of rid­ing through an end­less suc­ces­sion of fac­to­ry-town main streets. 

- A.J. Liebling, Chica­go: The Sec­ond City, 1952

The Man­hat­tan born jour­nal­ist’s obser­va­tions about the tod­dlin’ town are plain­ly those formed by an out­sider, albeit one who har­bored no designs on becom­ing an insid­er.

The Chicagoan, a home­grown pub­li­ca­tion that inten­tion­al­ly mim­ic­ked The New York­er in both design and con­tent, offers a dif­fer­ent take. From 1926 to 1935, it strove to coun­ter­act the city’s thug­gish rep­u­ta­tion (Al Capone, any­one?) by draw­ing atten­tion to its cul­tur­al offer­ings and high soci­ety doings.

Out­side of Chica­go, no one cared much. Hav­ing failed to repli­cate The New Yorker’s nation­al suc­cess, it fold­ed, leav­ing behind very few sur­viv­ing copies.

Neil Har­ris, a Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go Pro­fes­sor Emer­i­tus of His­to­ry, has right­ed that wrong by arrang­ing for the uni­ver­si­ty library’s near com­plete col­lec­tion of Chicagoans to be uploaded to a search­able online data­base.

The cov­ers have a Jazz Age vibran­cy, as do arti­cles, adver­tise­ments, and car­toons aimed at Chicago’s smart set. There’s even a Helen Hokin­son car­toon, in the form of a Bor­den cheese ad.

A search for Lieblings yield­ed but two:

Chicagoan December

Copy­right The Quigley Pub­lish­ing Com­pa­ny, a Divi­sion of QP Media, Inc.

One from Decem­ber 1, 1934, above, name checks pianist Emil Liebling in an arti­cle revis­it­ing the 1897 Christ­mas issue of anoth­er bygone Chica­go paper, the Sat­ur­day Evening Her­ald.

Chicagoan April 26

Copy­right The Quigley Pub­lish­ing Com­pa­ny, a Divi­sion of QP Media, Inc.

Four years ear­li­er, in Vol. 9, No. 3, Robert Pollack’s Musi­cal Notes col­umn made men­tion of Leonard Liebling, a crit­ic for the New York Amer­i­can… (I can hear A.J. beyond-the-grave snick­er­ing even now).

You can browse the pages of The Chicagoan here. For fur­ther read­ing, see Pro­fes­sor Har­ris’ book, The Chicagoan: A Lost Mag­a­zine of the Jazz Age.

via Messy N Chic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Par­ti­san Review Now Free Online: Read All 70 Years of the Pre­em­i­nent Lit­er­ary Jour­nal (1934–2003)

The Pulp Fic­tion Archive: The Cheap, Thrilling Sto­ries That Enter­tained a Gen­er­a­tion of Read­ers (1896–1946)

The Best Mag­a­zine Arti­cles Ever, Curat­ed by Kevin Kel­ly

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her lat­est script, Fawn­book, is avail­able in a dig­i­tal edi­tion from Indie The­ater Now.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Things to Come, the 1936 Sci-Fi Film Written by H.G. Wells, Accurately Predicts the World’s Very Dark Future

“We live in inter­est­ing, excit­ing, and anx­ious times,” declares the boom­ing nar­ra­tion that opens the movie trail­er above. Truer words were nev­er spo­ken about our age — or about the mid-1930s, the times to which the nar­ra­tor actu­al­ly refers. But the pic­ture itself tells a sto­ry about the future, one extend­ing deep into the 21st cen­tu­ry: a hun­dred-year saga of decades-long war, a new Dark Age, and, by the mid-2050s, a rebuild­ing of soci­ety as a kind of indus­tri­al Utopia run by a tech­no­crat­ic world gov­ern­ment. It will sur­prise no one famil­iar with his sen­si­bil­i­ty that the screen­play for the film, Things to Come, came from the mind of H.G. Wells. Watch it in full on YouTube or Archive.org.

Welles had made his name long before with imag­i­na­tive nov­els like The Time MachineThe Island of Doc­tor More­auThe Invis­i­ble Man, and The War of the Worlds (find them in our list of Free eBooks), all pub­lished in the pre­vi­ous cen­tu­ry. By the time the oppor­tu­ni­ty came around to make a big-bud­get cin­e­ma spec­ta­cle with pro­duc­er Alexan­der Kor­da and direc­tor William Cameron Men­zies, con­ceived in part as a rebuke to Fritz Lang’s Metrop­o­lis, the writer had set­tled into his role as a kind of “emi­nent for­tune teller,” as New York Times crit­ic Frank Nugent described him in his review of the col­lab­o­ra­tion’s final prod­uct.

“Typ­i­cal Well­sian con­jec­ture,” Nugent con­tin­ues, “it ranges from the rea­son­ably pos­si­ble to the rea­son­ably fan­tas­tic; but true or false, fan­ci­ful or log­i­cal, it is an absorb­ing, provoca­tive and impres­sive­ly staged pro­duc­tion.” It includ­ed work from not just impor­tant fig­ures in the his­to­ry of film­mak­ing (Men­zies, for instance, invent­ed the job of pro­duc­tion design­er) but the his­to­ry of art as well, such as the Bauhaus’ Lás­zló Moholy-Nagy. You can watch and judge for your­self the free ver­sion of Things to Come avail­able on YouTube or, much prefer­able to the cinephile, the restored and much-sup­ple­ment­ed Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion edi­tion, whose extras include unused footage that more ful­ly shows Moholy-Nagy’s con­tri­bu­tions.

At the time, this much-bal­ly­hooed spec­ta­cle-prophe­cy drew respons­es not just from movie crit­ics, but from oth­er emi­nent writ­ers as well. In his Cri­te­ri­on essay “Whith­er Mankind?”, Geof­frey O’Brien quotes those of both Jorge Luis Borges and George Orwell. “The heav­en of Wells and Alexan­der Kor­da, like that of so many oth­er escha­tol­o­gists and set design­ers, is not much dif­fer­ent than their hell, though even less charm­ing,” Borges com­plained of the envi­sioned near-per­fec­tion of its dis­tant future. Wells, like many 19th-cen­tu­ry vision­ar­ies, instinc­tive­ly asso­ci­at­ed tech­no­log­i­cal progress with the moral vari­ety, but Borges saw a dif­fer­ent sit­u­a­tion in the present, when “the pow­er of almost all tyrants aris­es from their con­trol of tech­nol­o­gy.”

Things to Come has, how­ev­er, received ret­ro­spec­tive cred­it for pre­dict­ing glob­al war just ahead. In its first act, the Lon­don-like Every­town suf­fers an aer­i­al bomb­ing raid which sets the whole civ­i­liza­tion-destroy­ing con­flict in motion. Not long after the real Blitz came, Orwell looked back at the film and wrote, omi­nous­ly, that “much of what Wells has imag­ined and worked for is phys­i­cal­ly there in Nazi Ger­many. The order, the plan­ning, the State encour­age­ment of sci­ence, the steel, the con­crete, the air­planes, are all there, but all in the ser­vice of ideas appro­pri­ate to the Stone Age.” Or, in Nugen­t’s chill­ing words of 1936, “There’s noth­ing we can do now but sit back and wait for the holo­caust. If Mr. Wells is right, we are in for an inter­est­ing cen­tu­ry.”

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Great Leonard Nimoy Reads H.G. Wells’ Sem­i­nal Sci-Fi Nov­el The War of the Worlds

H.G. Wells Inter­views Joseph Stal­in in 1934; Declares “I Am More to The Left Than You, Mr. Stal­in”

The Dead Authors Pod­cast: H.G. Wells Com­i­cal­ly Revives Lit­er­ary Greats with His Time Machine

Metrop­o­lis: Watch a Restored Ver­sion of Fritz Lang’s Mas­ter­piece (1927)

Jules Verne Accu­rate­ly Pre­dicts What the 20th Cen­tu­ry Will Look Like in His Lost Nov­el, Paris in the Twen­ti­eth Cen­tu­ry (1863)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The History of Literature Podcast Takes You on a Literary Journey: From Ancient Epics to Contemporary Classics

LOGO-COVERS

Even before you start on a jour­ney through the his­to­ry of lit­er­a­ture, you know some of the stops you’ll make on the way: the Epic of Gil­gamesh, the Bible, Home­r’s Ili­ad and Odyssey, Greek tragedy, Shake­speare, Joyce. And so it comes as no sur­prise that Jacke Wil­son, cre­ator and host of the His­to­ry of Lit­er­a­ture pod­cast (from ancient epics to con­tem­po­rary clas­sics — AndroidRSS), has so far devot­ed whole episodes, and often more than one, to each of them. A self-described “ama­teur schol­ar,” Wil­son aims with this show, which he launched last Octo­ber, to take “a fresh look at some of the most com­pelling exam­ples of cre­ative genius the world has ever known.”

Wil­son also address­es ques­tions like “How did lit­er­a­ture devel­op? What forms has it tak­en? And what can we learn from engag­ing with these works today?” And yet he asks this rhetor­i­cal one in The His­to­ry of Lit­er­a­ture’s very first episodeIs it just me, or is lit­er­a­ture dying?” The also self-described “wild­ly unqual­i­fied host” admits that he at first tried to cre­ate a straight­for­ward, straight-faced march through lit­er­ary his­to­ry, but found the result staid and life­less. And so he loos­ened up, allow­ing in not just more of his per­son­al­i­ty but more of his doubts about the very lit­er­ary enter­prise in the 21st cen­tu­ry.

Giv­en that we get so much of our knowl­edge, human inter­ac­tion, and pure word­craft on the inter­net today, laments Wil­son, what remains for nov­els, sto­ries, poet­ry, and dra­ma to pro­vide us? As a His­to­ry of Lit­er­a­ture lis­ten­er, I per­son­al­ly see things dif­fer­ent­ly. The fact that we now have such abun­dant out­lets from which to receive all those oth­er things may strip lit­er­a­ture of some of the rel­e­vance it once held by default, but it also lifts from lit­er­a­ture a con­sid­er­able bur­den. Just as the devel­op­ment of pho­tog­ra­phy freed paint­ing from the oblig­a­tion to ever more faith­ful­ly rep­re­sent real­i­ty, lit­er­a­ture can now find forms and sub­jects bet­ter suit­ed to the artis­tic expe­ri­ence that it, and only it, can deliv­er.

Jorge Luis Borges counts as only one of the writ­ers who grasped the unex­plored poten­tial of lit­er­a­ture, and Wil­son uses one of the occa­sion­al episodes that breaks from the lin­ear­i­ty of his­to­ry to dis­cuss the “Gar­den of Fork­ing Paths” author’s thoughts on the mean­ing of life. He record­ed it (lis­ten above) in response to two deaths: that of “Fifth Bea­t­le” George Mar­tin, and even more so that of his uncle. Oth­er relat­able parts of Wilson’s life come into play in oth­er con­ver­sa­tions about writ­ers both ancient and mod­ern, such as the con­ver­sa­tion about the works of Gra­ham Greene and whether he can still get as much out of them as he did dur­ing his youth­ful trav­el­ing days. Lit­er­a­ture, after all, may have no greater val­ue than that it gets us ask­ing ques­tions — a val­ue The His­to­ry of Lit­er­a­ture demon­strates in every episode. 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Are Lit­er­a­ture, Phi­los­o­phy & His­to­ry For? Alain de Bot­ton Explains with Mon­ty Python-Style Videos

A Crash Course in Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture: A New Video Series by Best-Sell­ing Author John Green

Enti­tled Opin­ions, the “Life and Lit­er­a­ture” Pod­cast That Refus­es to Dumb Things Down

The Dead Authors Pod­cast: H.G. Wells Com­i­cal­ly Revives Lit­er­ary Greats with His Time Machine

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy With­out Any Gaps Pod­cast, Now at 239 Episodes, Expands into East­ern Phi­los­o­phy

The Com­plete His­to­ry of the World (and Human Cre­ativ­i­ty) in 100 Objects

78 Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es: From Ancient Greece to The Mod­ern World

55 Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es: From Dante and Mil­ton to Ker­ouac and Tolkien

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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