David Foster Wallace’s Love of Language Revealed by the Books in His Personal Library

PainlessEnglish

“I didn’t think much of Infi­nite Jest in the begin­ning,” writes Jacque­line Munoz, librar­i­an at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter. But as she read fur­ther into Wal­lace’s seem­ing­ly “wordy and unfo­cused” land­mark nov­el, the author’s mind, and how it dealt with “how unfor­giv­ing it is to be human” and how dif­fer­ent gen­er­a­tions “strug­gle inter­nal­ly with the same issues,” won her over: “I thought, this man is a genius; I want to know him bet­ter.” Many of us Wal­lace fans har­bor the same desire, and now that the Ran­som Cen­ter has acquired and made avail­able a con­sid­er­able chunk of the writer’s heav­i­ly anno­tat­ed library, a few more of us can. The books in Wal­lace’s library, as Munoz puts it, reveal “a philoso­pher, math­ophile, physics buff, gram­mar­i­an, pop-fic­tion read­er, lit pro­fes­sor, cre­ative writer, and spir­i­tu­al seek­er,” and Maria Bustil­los, writ­ing in The Awl back in 2011, traced Wal­lace’s seem­ing­ly strange but ulti­mate­ly mean­ing­ful pres­ence of titles like The Spir­i­tu­al­i­ty of Imper­fec­tion and The Dra­ma of the Gift­ed Child.

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Bustil­los’ explo­ration of Wal­lace’s pro­cliv­i­ty for self-help brings in a vol­ume writ­ten by Sal­ly Fos­ter Wal­lace, David’s moth­er: a gram­mar text­book called Prac­ti­cal­ly Pain­less Eng­lish, “the only book of Eng­lish gram­mar I know of that can hold a can­dle to the works of the Fowler broth­ers.” Her book has a place in the Ran­som Cen­ter’s col­lec­tion, and any­one who’s read Wal­lace’s Harper’s arti­cle “Tense Present” may smile at its pres­ence, remem­ber­ing sto­ries of the songs about sole­cisms and oth­er lin­guis­tic mis­us­es his fam­i­ly would sing on car trips. Osten­si­bly a review of Bryan A. Gar­ner’s A Dic­tio­nary of Mod­ern Amer­i­can Usage, a copy of which also made it into the col­lec­tion, the piece reveals Wal­lace’s thor­ough­go­ing inter­est in the mechan­ics, well-func­tion­ing or oth­er­wise, of Eng­lish. You can fol­low the thread through sev­er­al oth­er titles in his pos­ses­sion, includ­ing Albert Baugh­’s A His­to­ry of the Eng­lish Lan­guage, John D. Ram­age’s Rhetoric: A User’s Guide, all the way to Peter Lade­foged’s Ele­ments of Acoustic Phoe­net­ics. And when you’re done, you will want to keep fol­low­ing the thread a lit­tle fur­ther by check­ing out our pre­vi­ous post: David Fos­ter Wal­lace Breaks Down Five Com­mon Word Usage Mis­takes in the Eng­lish Lan­guage.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

30 Free Essays & Sto­ries by David Fos­ter Wal­lace on the Web

David Fos­ter Wal­lace: The Big, Uncut Inter­view (2003)

David Fos­ter Wallace’s 1994 Syl­labus

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Read Ulysses Seen, A Graphic Novel Adaptation of James Joyce’s Ulysses

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You’ve start­ed read­ing Ulysses, James Joyce’s mod­ernist clas­sic, and nev­er quite made it the whole way through. Sound famil­iar? You’re in good com­pa­ny.

So here’s anoth­er approach. Start read­ing Ulysses Seen, the graph­ic nov­el adap­ta­tion of Joyce’s tome. The artist behind Ulysses Seen is Rob Berry, and he’s devot­ed to using “the visu­al aid of the graph­ic nov­el” to “fos­ter under­stand­ing of pub­lic domain lit­er­ary mas­ter­works.” He’s clear to point out that Ulysses Seen isn’t meant to replace Ulysses. Rather it’s meant to be a visu­al com­pan­ion to the orig­i­nal work. It uses the com­ic nar­ra­tive to “cut through jun­gles of unfa­mil­iar ref­er­ences” and to help read­ers “appre­ci­ate the sub­tle­ty and artistry” of Joyce’s text. So far Berry has com­plet­ed about 138 pages of Ulysses Seen, and more pages will be com­ing online at the Joyce Cen­ter web site in the near future. Accord­ing to Pub­lish­er’s Week­ly, the artist esti­mates that it will take rough­ly a decade to com­plete the full adap­ta­tion. (The orig­i­nal nov­el spans more than 700 pages after all.) In the mean­time, here are some more resources to help you get through Joyce’s great work:

James Joyce’s Ulysses: Down­load the Free Audio Book

Read Joyce’s Ulysses Line by Line, for the Next 22 Years, with Frank Delaney’s Pod­cast

James Joyce Man­u­scripts Online, Free Cour­tesy of The Nation­al Library of Ire­land

Stephen Fry Explains His Love for James Joyce’s Ulysses

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Watch a Whimsical Animation of Italo Calvino’s Short Story “The Distance of the Moon”

“What was Ita­lo Calvi­no?,” asks sci-fi doyenne Ursu­la K. Le Guin in a Guardian review of the Ital­ian author’s col­lec­tion of short sto­ries Cos­mi­comics. “A pre­post­mod­ernist? Maybe it’s time to dis­pense with mod­ernism and all its pre­fix­es.” Calvi­no cer­tain­ly exists in a cat­e­go­ry all of his own. In short nov­els like Invis­i­ble Cities and his numer­ous sto­ry col­lec­tions, the “prepostmodernist”—or whatever—created a voice as won­drous and indi­vid­ual as his con­tem­po­rary, Borges. Calvi­no coined his own genre, which he called “Cos­mi­comics,” and which Le Guin describes as “a sub­species of sci­ence fic­tion [which] con­sists typ­i­cal­ly of the state­ment of a sci­en­tif­ic hypoth­e­sis (most­ly gen­uine, though some­times not cur­rent­ly accept­ed) which sets the stage for a nar­ra­tive, in which the nar­ra­tor is usu­al­ly a per­son called Qfwfq.”

One of the sto­ries from the col­lec­tion, “The Dis­tance of the Moon,” gets an ani­mat­ed treat­ment in the video above, scored by Erik Satie’s “Gnossi­enne No. 1.” The fan­tas­tic sto­ry, nar­rat­ed by the mys­te­ri­ous Qfwfq, also includes char­ac­ters like Cap­tain Vhd Vhd and Xlth­lx, and, like all of Calvino’s work, it com­bines a child-like won­der with his play­ful, myth­ic imag­i­na­tion and sci­en­tif­ic intel­li­gence. The ani­ma­tion, nar­rat­ed in Hebrew with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles, beau­ti­ful­ly illus­trates the strange whim­sy of the sto­ry with stop-motion cut-outs. And in the audio above, you can hear actor Liev Schreiber explain the sci­en­tif­ic the­o­ry behind Calvino’s sto­ry, then read the sto­ry itself. The read­ing took place at a live event host­ed by Radi­o­lab and orig­i­nal­ly aired on WNYC and PRI’s show “Select­ed Shorts.”

And if this leaves you desir­ing more ani­mat­ed Calvi­no, then don’t miss our pre­vi­ous post: John Tur­tur­ro Reads Ita­lo Calvino’s Ani­mat­ed Fairy Tale, The False Grand­moth­er.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Piotr Dumala’s Won­der­ful Ani­ma­tions of Lit­er­ary Works by Kaf­ka and Dos­to­evsky

Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Mas­ter and Mar­gari­ta, Ani­mat­ed in Two Min­utes

Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea Ani­mat­ed Not Once, But Twice

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

The Writing Life of Joyce Carol Oates

Joyce Car­ol Oates is often described as Amer­i­ca’s fore­most woman of let­ters. Since 1963 she has pub­lished more than 50 nov­els and a great many short sto­ries, plays, essays, poems and chil­dren’s sto­ries — all of unusu­al­ly high qual­i­ty. Her pro­duc­tiv­i­ty has been leg­endary, almost from the start. When her for­mer Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty class­mate Robert Phillips inter­viewed Oates for the Paris Review in 1978, he recount­ed a rumor that cir­cu­lat­ed cam­pus about how she would fin­ish a nov­el, turn it over, and begin com­pos­ing anoth­er one on the oth­er side–only to throw the man­u­script away when both sides were cov­ered and begin again. Oates did­n’t deny the rumor. “I began writ­ing in high school,” she said, “con­scious­ly train­ing myself by writ­ing nov­el after nov­el and always throw­ing them out when I com­plet­ed them.” But sheer vol­ume was nev­er the point, as Oates told Phillips:

Pro­duc­tiv­i­ty is a rel­a­tive mat­ter. And it’s real­ly insignif­i­cant: What is ulti­mate­ly impor­tant is a writer’s strongest books. It may be the case that we all must write many books in order to achieve a few last­ing ones — just as a young writer or poet might have to write hun­dreds of poems before writ­ing his first sig­nif­i­cant one. Each book as it is writ­ten, how­ev­er, is a com­plete­ly absorb­ing expe­ri­ence, and feels always as if it were the work I was born to write.

Oates has won many hon­ors for her work, includ­ing the Nation­al Book Award, the Pen/Malamud Award, the Nation­al Medal of the Human­i­ties, and a life­time achieve­ment award from the Nation­al Book Crit­ics Cir­cle. Her lat­est nov­el, The Accursed, is a Goth­ic tale of a super­nat­ur­al curse vis­it­ed upon Prince­ton, New Jer­sey, the town where she lives and teach­es. Last month the New York­er vis­it­ed Oates at her home in Prince­ton. The short film above offers a rare look inside the writer’s pri­vate world. Oates talks about her work rou­tine, her inter­est in lan­guage and struc­ture, and her sense of her own per­son­al­i­ty. “I can basi­cal­ly write almost all day long with inter­rup­tions,” she says in the film. “It’s not real­ly that I sit down to write as if it were some extra­or­di­nary act. It’s basi­cal­ly what I do.”

You can read online Oates’ ear­ly short sto­ry, “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?”. It was writ­ten for Bob Dylan in 1966.

via Page-Turn­er

Can Science Fiction Save the Liberal Arts? (Asks The New Republic)

Both the lit­er­ary and sci­ence fic­tion worlds have come out in the past few weeks with poignant trib­utes and acco­lades for recent­ly deceased Scot­tish writer Iain Banks. The remem­brances from both quar­ters are very well deserved, and very rare. Banks was an unusu­al kind of artist; he main­tained a high­ly respect­ed pres­ence as both a writer of real­ist lit­er­ary fic­tion (as Iain Banks) and superbly well-craft­ed, high­ly imag­i­na­tive sci­ence fic­tion (as Iain M. Banks). In the brief video inter­view above, you can hear Banks recount the ori­gin of the two names and make an impas­sioned case for sci­ence fic­tion as “the most impor­tant genre” of fic­tion.

Banks’ accom­plish­ments are all the more extra­or­di­nary giv­en that so-called lit­er­ary fic­tion and so-called genre writing—sci-fi, hor­ror, romance, etc.—have for so long occu­pied entire­ly dif­fer­ent cul­tur­al spheres, worlds, to use the words of Thomas Pyn­chon, as dif­fer­ent as “the hot­house and the street.” There were the obvi­ous exceptions—the work of Franz Kaf­ka, Drac­u­la and Franken­stein, 1984, Fahren­heit 451—that slipped through the gates, grand­fa­thered in as lega­cy cas­es or exem­plars of “Spec­u­la­tive Fic­tion,” the respectable term for genre writ­ing deemed “seri­ous” by aca­d­e­mics and the literati. Lit­er­ary schol­ar Fred­er­ic Jame­son has long been a fan of sci-fi. Crit­i­cal the­o­rist Felix Guatari once wrote a sci­ence fic­tion film script. Again, more excep­tions.

All of this has changed. After the suc­cess of pop­u­lar cul­ture stud­ies pro­grams in the free­wheel­ing post­mod­ern 90s, even the most tra­di­tion­al depart­ments have begun turn­ing toward genre fiction—the cur­rent pop­u­lar obses­sion with vam­pires and zom­bies, for example—as a means of re-invig­o­rat­ing the lib­er­al arts and reclaim­ing rel­e­vance. (I myself once helped an aca­d­e­m­ic press acquire and pub­lish a fun col­lec­tion called Bet­ter Off Dead: The Evo­lu­tion of the Zom­bie as Post-Human.)

FedFundingCharts

Is this a cyn­i­cal piece of strat­e­gy to mar­ket strug­gling human­i­ties pro­grams to increas­ing­ly busi­ness- and sci­ence-mind­ed stu­dents? A gen­er­a­tional turnover in the pro­fes­so­rate? An attempt to expand the mar­ket share of the human­i­ties in the over­all pic­ture of uni­ver­si­ty fund­ing? In a recent arti­cle in the New Repub­lic, sci­ence edi­tor Judith Shule­vitz argues, like Banks, that sci-fi is a genre of fic­tion that the acad­e­my should take more and more seri­ous­ly on prac­ti­cal grounds—sci-fi writ­ers show us the future of tech­nol­o­gy more accu­rate­ly than any tech­nol­o­gist. Shulavitz also writes that doing so will raise the pro­file, and fund­ing, of human­i­ties pro­grams.

As you can see from the charts above, the arts and sci­ences have reached a dire fund­ing asym­me­try. Shule­vitz quotes Vladimir Nabokov, who wrote, “There is no sci­ence with­out fan­cy and no art with­out fact” as part of her case for the impor­tance of lit­er­a­ture to the “prac­ti­cal arts” and vice-ver­sa. I don’t know if I’m entire­ly con­vinced, but Shulevitz’s argu­ment is wor­thy of con­sid­er­a­tion, unless you believe, with Oscar Wilde, that “all art is quite use­less” and in no need of an apolo­get­ics or a defense to bureau­crats.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Sci­ence Fic­tion Clas­sics Avail­able on the Web (Updat­ed)

Andy Sam­berg Announces Death of Lib­er­al Arts, Cool­ness of Sci­ence Majors at Har­vard Class Day

Ser­i­al Entre­pre­neur Damon Horowitz Says “Quit Your Tech Job and Get a Ph.D. in the Human­i­ties”

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

Virginia Woolf and Friends Dress Up as “Abyssinian Princes” and Fool the British Royal Navy (1910)

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Click image for larg­er ver­sion

On Feb­ru­ary 7th, 1910, Vir­ginia Woolf (then Vir­ginia Stephen) and five of her Blooms­bury companions—painter Dun­can Grant, Woolf’s broth­er Adri­an, Antho­ny Bux­ton, Guy Rid­ley, and Horace de Vere Cole—boarded the pride of the British Roy­al Navy, the HMS Dread­nought, dressed in black­face and out­landish stage cos­tumes. (In the pho­to above, from left to right.) In what became known as “The Dread­nought Hoax,” the six con­vinced the Dread­nought’s offi­cers that they were the “Emper­or of Abyssinia” (now Ethiopia) and his entourage, and they were received with high hon­ors.

The hoax, mas­ter­mind­ed by Cole, began when he sent a telegram to the ship telling the crew to expect a vis­it from some North African dig­ni­taries. Once on board, the group spoke in accent­ed Latin (quot­ing the Aeneid) and gib­ber­ish. Woolf kept qui­et so as to dis­guise her gen­der. One of the offi­cers on the ship was a cousin of Vir­ginia and Adri­an, but he failed to rec­og­nize them. It wasn’t a flaw­less per­for­mance on either side: at one point, Bux­ton sneezed and almost lost his mus­tache, and the Navy, unable to find an Abyssin­ian flag, flew the flag of Zanz­ibar instead.

The “princes” asked for prayer mats, pre­sent­ed the offi­cers with fake mil­i­tary hon­ors, and exclaimed “bun­ga, bun­ga!” each time they were shown some mar­vel of the ship. The Dread­nought was then, in the words of Woolf’s nephew and biog­ra­ph­er, Quentin Bell, “the flag­ship of the Home Fleet, the most for­mi­da­ble, the most mod­ern, and the most secret man o’ war then afloat.” (This inci­dent is said to be the ori­gin of the ludi­crous phrase “bun­ga, bun­ga,” most asso­ci­at­ed with the exploits of the recent­ly con­vict­ed Sil­vio Berlus­coni.) The next day, Cole anony­mous­ly sent the pho­to­graph at the top to The Dai­ly Mir­ror, reveal­ing the hoax. Accord­ing to Woolf schol­ar Mairead Case—who sees the inci­dent as a pre­cur­sor to Woolf’s gen­der-bend­ing nov­el Orlan­do—the Mir­ror described the “Abyssini­ans” thus:

All the princes wore vari-coloured silk sash­es as tur­bans, set off with dia­mond aigrettes, white gib­bah tunics, over which were cast rich flow­ing robes and round their necks were sus­pend­ed gold chains and jew­eled neck­laces … They also all wore patent leather boots which, Ori­en­tal fash­ion, tapered to a point, the ends pro­ject­ing ful­ly six inch­es beyond the toes. White gloves cov­ered the princes’ hands, and over the gloved fin­gers, they wore gold wed­ding rings – heavy, plain cir­clets, which looked very impres­sive.

DreadnoughtHoaxCartoonDailyMirrorFebruary1910

In a recent­ly dis­cov­ered let­ter, Cole wrote to a friend that the hoax was “glo­ri­ous” and “shriek­ing­ly fun­ny.” The group intend­ed to mock what they saw as an out­mod­ed Vic­to­ri­an impe­ri­al­ism, and they suc­ceed­ed, at least in the pop­u­lar press. The Mir­ror pub­lished the car­toon above and the Roy­al Navy was a laugh­ing­stock for weeks after­ward. None of this pseu­do-racist prankster­ism (which reflect­ed just as bad­ly on the offi­cers) struck the actu­al Emper­or of Ethiopia—Mene­lik II—as par­tic­u­lar­ly fun­ny. When he vis­it­ed Eng­land lat­er that year, he was taunt­ed in the streets by chil­dren shout­ing “Bun­ga! Bun­ga!” and denied per­mis­sion to inspect the navy’s fleet for fear that his vis­it might cause fur­ther embar­rass­ment.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Pat­ti Smith Read from Vir­ginia Woolf, and Hear the Only Sur­viv­ing Record­ing of Woolf’s Voice

Look­ing Inside Darwin’s Room (and Also Where Vir­ginia Woolf, Lord Byron, & Kipling Did Their Thing)

F. Scott Fitzger­ald in Drag (1916)

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

Annotated Photographs of Beat Writers Featured in The Allen Ginsberg Festival, Starting Today

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Start­ing today, the Con­tem­po­rary Jew­ish Muse­um (CJM) begins its four-day cel­e­bra­tion of Allen Gins­berg with The Allen Gins­berg Fes­ti­val in San Fran­cis­co, pro­duced in coop­er­a­tion with The Beat Muse­um, City Lights Book­store, and sev­er­al oth­er orga­ni­za­tions. The fes­ti­val, which runs from the 11th to the 14th of this month, cel­e­brates Ginsberg’s life and art with a host of events (some free, some rang­ing from $10 to $15 for admis­sion). While the lit­er­ary tours, pan­el dis­cus­sions, and lec­tures promise to be a treat for those lucky enough to attend, per­haps the cen­ter­piece of the Gins­berg Fes­ti­val is an exhi­bi­tion of the poet’s anno­tat­ed pho­tographs, on view at CJM until Sep­tem­ber 8th.

The pho­tos, which moved through NYU’s Grey Art Gallery ear­li­er this year, show Gins­berg and his beat bud­dies in inti­mate and unguard­ed moments, such as the snap above of William Bur­roughs and Jack Ker­ouac. In his tidy script hand­writ­ing, Gins­berg writes below the pho­to:

“Now Jack as I warned you far back as 1945, if you keep going home to live with your ‘Memère’ you’ll find your­self wound tighter and tighter in her apron strings till you’re an old man and can’t escape…” William Seward Bur­roughs camp­ing as an André Gide-ian sophis­ti­cate lec­tur­ing the earnest Thomas Wolfean All-Amer­i­can youth Jack Ker­ouac who lis­tens sober­ly dead-pan to “the most intel­li­gent man in Amer­i­ca” for a fun­ny second’s cha­rade in my liv­ing room 206 East 7th Street Apt 16, Man­hat­tan, one evening Fall 1953

Fla­vor­wire has com­piled 25 of these pho­tos, includ­ing the por­trait of the young mer­chant marine, Allen Gins­berg, below, which he anno­tates as, “Allen Gins­berg, util­i­ty man S.S. John Blair just back from Galve­ston-Dakar dol­drums trip, I hand­ed my cam­era to the radio-man on the ship’s fan­tail, smok­ing what? In New York har­bor, cir­ca Octo­ber 30, 1947.”

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As the CJM page notes, “the late 1940s and ear­ly 1950s marked a cru­cial peri­od for Allen Gins­berg as he found his poet­ic and sex­u­al voic­es simul­ta­ne­ous­ly.” The pho­tos in this exhib­it doc­u­ment not only Gins­berg find­ing him­self, but also find­ing him­self among a group of men—Burroughs, Ker­ouac, Neal Cas­sady, Gre­go­ry Corso—whose rest­less­ness and eru­dite enthu­si­asm changed the course of twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry lit­er­a­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Very First Record­ing of Allen Gins­berg Read­ing His Epic Poem “Howl” (1956)

Allen Ginsberg’s “Celes­tial Home­work”: A Read­ing List for His Class “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats”

Allen Ginsberg’s Per­son­al Recipe for Cold Sum­mer Borscht

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

Listening to Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, (Maybe) the Longest Audio Book Ever Made

I’m impressed by the under­tak­ing. Neville Jason and Nax­os Audio Books have com­plet­ed an unabridged audio ver­sion of Proust’s epic, sev­en-part nov­el, Remem­brance of Things Past. Proust pub­lished the first vol­ume, Swan­n’s Way, one hun­dred years ago, in 1913, and com­plet­ed the last vol­ume, Time Regained, four­teen years lat­er, in 1927. By that time, Proust had a mas­ter­piece on his hands — a very long mas­ter­piece. The clas­sic (avail­able in our col­lec­tion of Free eBooks) spans some 3,000 pages and con­tains more than 1.5 mil­lion words. Until now, Remem­brance of Things Past has nev­er been avail­able in an unabridged audio for­mat, per­haps because it would amount to the longest audio book ever made (or some­thing approach­ing that). But Neville Jason has pulled it off, pro­duc­ing a 151-hour record­ing that’s now avail­able on Audible.com. Below, we’ve pro­vid­ed sev­en free audio excerpts (one from each vol­ume), and if you care to sign up for Audi­ble’s 30-Day Free Tri­al, you can down­load any one vol­ume for free. NB: Audi­ble is an Amazon.com sub­sidiary, and we’re a mem­ber of their affil­i­ate pro­gram. If Proust isn’t your cup of tea, you can find many oth­er great works in our col­lec­tion of 630 Free Audio Books.

Swan­n’s Way 

With­in a Bud­ding Grove

The Guer­mantes Way 

Sodom and Gomor­rah

The Cap­tive 

The Fugi­tive 

Time Regained

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Mon­ty Python’s “Sum­ma­rize Proust Com­pe­ti­tion” on the 100th Anniver­sary of Swann’s Way

Arthur Conan Doyle Fills Out the Ques­tion­naire Made Famous By Mar­cel Proust (1899)

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