A Look Back at Jim Carroll: How the Poet and Basketball Diaries Author Finally Finished His First Novel

Like so many denizens of the New York that pro­duced Warhol and The Vel­vet Under­ground, then grit­ty punk rock, hip-hop, and no wave, poet Jim Car­roll didn’t fare so well into Bloomberg-era NYC, a developer’s par­adise and des­ti­na­tion for urban pro­fes­sion­als and tourists, but not so much a haven for strug­gling artists. As the city changed, its cre­ative char­ac­ters either rose above its shift­ing demo­graph­ics, moved away, or—as Car­roll did—retreated. Car­roll, who died in 2009 at 60, spent his last years in the upper Man­hat­tan neigh­bor­hood of Inwood—once a bustling Irish-Catholic enclave—living in the same build­ing where he’d grown up and writ­ing against time to fin­ish his first and only nov­el, The Pet­ting Zoo. His last years were by no means trag­ic, how­ev­er. Giv­en the tumult of his ear­ly years as an addict, and the long list of friends from the down­town New York scene that Car­roll lost along the way—to over­dos­es, AIDS, can­cer, suicide—I’d say he was a lit­er­ary sur­vivor, who died (at his writ­ing desk, it’s said) doing what he loved most.

Car­roll came to main­stream con­scious­ness with the release of a 1995 film star­ring Leonar­do DiCaprio, based on the book Carroll’s most known for: the 1978 mem­oir The Bas­ket­ball Diaries, a col­lec­tion of teenage jour­nal entries from his dou­ble life as a high school bas­ket­ball star and junkie hus­tler. But even with that movie’s nods to Carroll’s mature years as a poet and musi­cian, it’s doubt­ful that few peo­ple came away with much more than a vague sense of what the street-wise Catholic school­boy DiCaprio char­ac­ter had gone on to do. Which is a shame, because Car­roll real­ly was a ter­rif­ic writer, from his debut poet­ry pub­li­ca­tions in the 60s and on through­out the next three decades. Even in the obscu­ri­ty and semi-seclu­sion of his lat­er years, he wrote wise, inci­sive essays and crit­i­cism (such as this 2002 review of Kurt Cobain’s pub­lished Jour­nals for the Los Ange­les Times). And despite the mem­oir and film’s pop­u­lar­i­ty, Car­roll con­sid­ered him­self pri­mar­i­ly a poet, in the sym­bol­ist tra­di­tion of his lit­er­ary heroes Rilke, Rim­baud, and Ash­bery. (See Car­roll at top, in his harsh New York accent, read from his 1986 col­lec­tion of poems, The Book of Nods.)

In a man­ner of speak­ing, Car­roll suf­fered the curse of one-hit-won­derism, except in his case, he was lucky enough to have two hits—the mem­oir (and lat­er film) and the song, “Peo­ple Who Died,” from Catholic Boy, his debut album with the Jim Car­roll Band (video above), which even made it onto the E.T. sound­track (giv­ing Car­roll roy­al­ties for life). The band came about with the encour­age­ment of Carroll’s fel­low poet and for­mer room­mate Pat­ti Smith, after Car­roll kicked hero­in and moved to Cal­i­for­nia. Car­roll wrote songs for Blue Oys­ter Cult and Boz Scaggs and col­lab­o­rat­ed with Ran­cid, Son­ic Youth’s Lee Ranal­do, Pat­ti Smith gui­tarist Lenny Kaye, and gui­tarist Anton Sanko (on his 1998 return to music, Pools of Mer­cury). His years in rock and roll trans­mut­ed through most of the nineties into dra­mat­ic read­ings, spo­ken word per­for­mances, and live­ly mono­logues, such as those col­lect­ed on the 1991 release Pray­ing Man­tis. In the track below, “The Loss of Amer­i­can Inno­cence,” Car­roll deliv­ers some sham­bling, and pret­ty fun­ny, sto­ries about the char­ac­ters in his nov­el-in-progress.

Car­roll had been telling these sto­ries about Bil­ly the down­town painter and a cer­tain chat­ty raven since the late 80s. As the mono­logues crys­tal­lized into short prose pieces, he slow­ly, painstak­ing­ly assem­bled them into The Pet­ting Zoo, which saw pub­li­ca­tion in 2010. It took him twen­ty years, and he didn’t live to see it pub­lished, but he left a final lega­cy behind, and it’s a flawed but seri­ous work worth read­ing. In 2010, Carroll’s long­time friends Pat­ti Smith and Lenny Kaye cel­e­brat­ed the novel’s pub­li­ca­tion with read­ings and per­for­mances at the Barnes and Noble in Union Square. Below, see Smith read an excerpt from The Pet­ting Zoo. The sound’s a bit tin­ny and the cam­era shakes, but it’s worth it to see liv­ing leg­end Smith read from Carroll’s leg­endary final song.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith Reads Her Final Words to Robert Map­plethor­pe

The Life and Con­tro­ver­sial Work of Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Map­plethor­pe Pro­filed in 1988 Doc­u­men­tary

Rock and Roll Heart, 1998 Doc­u­men­tary Retraces the Remark­able Career of Lou Reed

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

William Faulkner’s Newly-Discovered Short Story and Drawings

New Faulkner story

Just when it seemed, after decades of schol­ar­ship, crit­i­cism, and com­men­tary on the life’s work of William Faulkn­er, that there was noth­ing more to say, along comes The New York Times with a report of an ear­ly unpub­lished sto­ry and a batch of let­ters to his wife Estelle, recent­ly uncov­ered in a box found in the barn at the Faulkn­er fam­i­ly farm in Char­lottesville, Vir­ginia. The new work, dis­cov­ered last year, will go on auc­tion at Sotheby’s this June, along with hand-cor­rect­ed man­u­scripts, a hand-bound poet­ry book, Faulkner’s 1949 Nobel prize medal and diplo­ma, and a hand­writ­ten draft of his accep­tance speech.

The Times com­ments that the Nobel items are “like­ly to be the most sought after” by col­lec­tors, but for schol­ars and us lovers of the writ­ing, it’s the unpub­lished work that holds the most inter­est. Says Faulkn­er schol­ar Sal­ly Wolff-King: “In lit­er­ary cir­cles a new­ly dis­cov­ered first draft of a famous sto­ry or nov­el can be as sig­nif­i­cant as an ear­ly ver­sion of the Get­tys­burg Address to Amer­i­can his­to­ri­ans.”

New Faulkner

In addi­tion to his Nobel-win­ning lit­er­ary skill, Faulkn­er was quite the illus­tra­tor, often includ­ing pen-and-ink draw­ings in his let­ters and post­cards, such as the self-por­trait at left, drawn on the back of a draft of a sto­ry, with new­ly-grown beard and pipe. “My beard is get­ting along quite well,” he writes. Faulkn­er sent illus­trat­ed let­ters and post­cards to his par­ents from his sojourn in Paris, sign­ing them “Bil­ly.”

The image at the top shows the unpub­lished story—about a fur trapper’s trip to the city—typed on the back of Uni­ver­si­ty of Mis­sis­sip­pi let­ter­head, where Faulkn­er was a stu­dent for three semes­ters between 1919 and 1920.

via The New York Times

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William Faulkn­er (Who Died 50 Years Ago Today) Reads His Nobel Prize Speech

William Faulkn­er Explains Why Writ­ing is Best Left to Scoundrels … Prefer­ably Liv­ing in Broth­els (1956)

Sev­en Tips From William Faulkn­er on How to Write Fic­tion

William Faulkn­er Audio Archive Goes Online

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

Read, Hear, and See Tweeted Four Stories by Jennifer Egan, Author of A Visit from the Goon Squad

Though def­i­nite­ly a writer, and an acclaimed one at that, Jen­nifer Egan does not allow the tra­di­tion­al­ly writ­ten word to con­tain her. In 2010, her book A Vis­it from the Goon Squad turned read­er­ly heads by pre­sent­ing itself nei­ther as a nov­el nor a short sto­ry col­lec­tion. It also con­tained an entire — chap­ter? sto­ry? — sec­tion in the form of a Pow­er­point pre­sen­ta­tion. If you find your­self on the fence about plung­ing into Egan’s for­mal­ly irrev­er­ent, Pulitzer Prize-win­ning work, you can sam­ple its first sec­tion (not the Pow­er­point one, you may feel relieved to hear) as “Found Objects,” the way the New York­er ran it in 2007. If the loose-ends music-indus­try work­er pro­tag­o­nist’s brush with klep­to­ma­nia intrigues you, and if you val­ue autho­r­i­al inter­pre­ta­tion, you can watch Egan her­self read a bit of the sec­tion above. The New York­er has also run two oth­er pieces of Egan’s Goon Squad-era writ­ing on its fic­tion pages: “Safari” and “Ask Me if I Care.” Then comes “Black Box.”

Egan com­posed “Black Box” for Twit­ter, where it ran over ten nights on the New York­er’s NYer­Fic­tion account. But she did­n’t write it on Twit­ter, opt­ing instead for long­hand in a Japan­ese note­book print­ed with rec­tan­gu­lar box­es. You can find all the tweets that com­prise the sto­ry col­lect­ed at Paste, and New York­er sub­scribers can read the whole thing in a slight­ly more tra­di­tion­al form here. Egan spent a year on the sto­ry, which she describes as “a series of terse men­tal dis­patch­es from a female spy of the future, work­ing under­cov­er by the Mediter­ranean Sea.” I’ve seen many a lit­er­ary aca­d­e­m­ic go into rap­tures about the impli­ca­tions of Twit­ter, but here we have an artist exe­cut­ing a gen­uine­ly intrigu­ing project with “the odd poet­ry that can hap­pen in a hun­dred and forty char­ac­ters.” Cer­tain gen­er­a­tions of writ­ers and thinkers make such a big deal about that 14o-char­ac­ter lim­it, but I notice that nobody under 35 blinks an eye at it. It’s just the way we com­mu­ni­cate now — Egan must under­stand this makes it one of the most impor­tant medi­ums for writ­ers to take on. You can hear her dis­cuss that and more with New York­er fic­tion edi­tor Deb­o­rah Treis­man on the mag­a­zine’s pod­cast.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jen­nifer Egan, Pulitzer Prize Win­ner, Talks Writ­ing @Google

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.

Rare Audio: Samuel Beckett Reads From His Novel Watt

Samuel Beck­ett was noto­ri­ous­ly shy around record­ing devices. He would spend hours in a stu­dio work­ing with actors, but when it came to record­ing a piece in his own voice he was elu­sive. Only a hand­ful of record­ings are known to exist. So the audio above of Beck­ett read­ing a pair of his poems is extreme­ly rare.

The record­ings were made in 1965 by Lawrence Har­vey, pro­fes­sor of com­par­a­tive lit­er­a­ture at Dart­mouth Col­lege, who trav­eled to Paris to meet with Beck­ett a num­ber of times from 1961 to 1965 while research­ing his 1970 book Samuel Beck­ett, Poet and Crit­ic. At one point dur­ing their dis­cus­sions, Beck­ett recit­ed sev­er­al pas­sages from his third but sec­ond-pub­lished nov­el, Watt. The book was writ­ten in Eng­lish in the 1940s, most­ly while Beck­ett was hid­ing from the Nazis in south­ern France. It’s an exper­i­men­tal nov­el (Beck­ett called it an “exer­cise”) about a seek­er named Watt who jour­neys to the house of the enig­mat­ic Mr. Knott and works for a time as his ser­vant. “Watt” and “Knott” are often inter­pret­ed as stand-ins for the ques­tion “what?” and unan­swer­able “not,” or “naught.”

The two poems recit­ed by Beck­ett are from his 37 intrigu­ing Adden­da at the end of Watt. Har­vey also record­ed Beck­ett read­ing a prose pas­sage from the book. The full four-minute tape is now in the col­lec­tion of the Bak­er Library at Dart­mouth. The short clip above is from the 1993 film Wait­ing For Beck­ett. The image qual­i­ty is poor and there are dis­tract­ing Dutch sub­ti­tles, so per­haps the best way to enjoy the read­ing is to scroll down and look instead at Beck­et­t’s words while you lis­ten to his voice. He begins with the 4th Adden­da, lat­er pub­lished as “Tail­piece” in Col­lect­ed Poems, 1930–1978:

who may tell the tale
of the old man?
weigh absence in a scale?
mete want with a span?
the sum assess
of the world’s woes?
noth­ing­ness
in words enclose?

The images in the poem are, accord­ing to schol­ars S.E. Gontars­ki and Chris Ack­er­ley in their essay “Samuel Beck­et­t’s Watt,” a rework­ing by Beck­ett of the bib­li­cal pas­sage Isa­iah 40:12, which says, “Who hath mea­sured the waters in the hol­low of his hand, and met­ed out heav­en with a span, and com­pre­hend­ed the dust of the earth in a mea­sure, and weighed the moun­tains in scales, and the hills in a bal­ance?” The next poem is the 23rd Adden­da. It tells of Wat­t’s long and fruit­less jour­ney through bar­ren lands:

Watt will not
abate one jot
but of what

of the com­ing to
of the being at
of the going from
Knot­t’s habi­tat

of the long way
of the short stay
of the going back home
the way he had come

of the emp­ty heart
of the emp­ty hands
of the dim mind way­far­ing
through bar­ren lands

of a flame with dark winds
hedged about
going out
gone out

of the emp­ty heart
of the emp­ty hands
of the dark mind stum­bling
through bar­ren lands

that is of what
Watt will not
abate one jot

If Beck­ett seems to mis­pro­nounce cer­tain con­so­nant sounds, it may have some­thing to do with a surgery he had in Novem­ber of 1964 to remove a tumor in his jaw. The surgery tem­porar­i­ly left Beck­ett with a hole in the roof of his mouth. Accord­ing to a 1998 arti­cle by Peter Swaab in The Times Lit­er­ary Sup­ple­ment, the record­ings were prob­a­bly made in March of 1965, when Beck­ett was await­ing a fol­low-up surgery to fix his palate. Still, many lis­ten­ers have been struck by the beau­ty of the record­ings. As Swaab writes:

Beck­et­t’s voice is unex­pect­ed­ly soft, and seems more suit­ed to the serene­ly com­mis­er­a­tive vein of his writ­ing than the sple­net­ic and cyn­i­cal one. He reads the poems a lot more slow­ly than the prose–with a pro­nounced chant­i­ng mel­liflu­ous­ness.… The over­all effect of these rare and fas­ci­nat­ing record­ings is of a deliv­ery like that which Beck­ett rec­om­mend­ed to the actor David War­rilow for Ohio Impromp­tu, “calm, steady, designed to soothe”–or (to bring in two of the cen­tral words in Watt) a “mur­mur” meant to “assuage.” The tape evi­dent­ly records a sort of rehearsal, and the per­fec­tion­ist Beck­ett would sure­ly not have been sat­is­fied with it, but it is good to know that his voice has not alto­geth­er dis­ap­peared.

via A Piece of Mono­logue

Spe­cial thanks to Dr. Mark Nixon, read­er in Mod­ern Lit­er­a­ture at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Read­ing and direc­tor of the Beck­ett Inter­na­tion­al Foun­da­tion, for con­firm­ing the authen­tic­i­ty of the record­ing and point­ing us on the way to more infor­ma­tion.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Samuel Beck­ett Speaks

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Find Works by Beck­ett in our Free Audio Books and Free eBooks col­lec­tions

Dennis Hopper Reads From Rainer Maria Rilke’s Timeless Guide to Creativity, Letters to a Young Poet

For almost a cen­tu­ry, writ­ers and oth­er cre­ative peo­ple have found inspi­ra­tion and a pro­found sense of val­i­da­tion in the Bohemi­an-Aus­tri­an poet Rain­er Maria Rilke’s posthu­mous­ly pub­lished Let­ters to a Young Poet. Many a sen­si­tive soul has felt as if Rilke’s let­ters, writ­ten to a young man who had asked him for advice on whether to become a poet, were addressed direct­ly to him or her. One of those peo­ple was the actor Den­nis Hop­per.

“Rilke’s Let­ters to a Young Poet is a great book,” Hop­per says in this short film from 2007. “For me the let­ters are a cre­do of cre­ativ­i­ty and a source of inspi­ra­tion. After read­ing Rilke it became clear to me that I had no choice in the mat­ter. I had to cre­ate.” The ten-minute film, Must I Write?, was direct­ed by Her­mann Vaske and pho­tographed by Rain Li. Hop­per reads the first of the book’s ten let­ters, in which Rilke tells the young man to stop seek­ing approval from oth­ers:

You are look­ing out­ward, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can help and coun­sel you, nobody. There is only one sin­gle way. Go into your­self. Search for the rea­son that bids you write; find out whether it is spread­ing out its roots in the deep­est places in your heart, acknowl­edge to your­self whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. This above all–ask your­self in the stillest hour of your night: must I write? Delve into your­self for a deep answer. And if this should be affir­ma­tive, if you may meet this earnest ques­tion with a strong and sim­ple “I must,” then build your life accord­ing to this neces­si­ty; your life even into its most indif­fer­ent and slight­est hour must be a sign of this urge and a tes­ti­mo­ny to it.

Hop­per is read­ing from the 1934 trans­la­tion by M.D. Hert­er Nor­ton. There are a few minor slips, in which Hop­per devi­ates slight­ly from the text. Most seri­ous­ly, he inverts the mean­ing of a pas­sage near the end by adding (at the 7:23 mark) the word “not” to Rilke’s phrase, “Per­haps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist.” That pas­sage, one of the most mem­o­rable in the book, reads:

A work of art is good if it has sprung from neces­si­ty. In this nature of its ori­gin lies the judge­ment of it: there is no oth­er. There­fore, my dear sir, I know no oth­er advice for you save this: to go into your­self and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the ques­tion whether you must cre­ate. Accept it, just as it sounds, with­out inquir­ing into it. Per­haps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist. Then take that des­tiny upon your­self and bear it, its bur­den and its great­ness, with­out ever ask­ing what rec­om­pense might come from out­side. For the cre­ator must be a world for him­self and find every­thing in him­self and in Nature to whom he has attached him­self.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Den­nis Hop­per Reads Rud­yard Kipling on the John­ny Cash Show

Read and Hear Famous Writers (and Armchair Sportsmen) J.M. Coetzee and Paul Auster’s Correspondence

“Why waste my time slumped in front of a tele­vi­sion screen watch­ing young men at play?” writes one man. “I have an expe­ri­ence (a sec­ond­hand expe­ri­ence), but it does me no good that I can detect. I learn noth­ing. I come away with noth­ing.” From the oth­er man comes a reply: “I agree with you that it is a use­less activ­i­ty, an utter waste of time. And yet how many hours of my life have I wast­ed in pre­cise­ly this way, how many after­noons have I squan­dered just as you did?” This epis­to­lary con­ver­sa­tion about sports con­tin­ues, touch­ing on the pow­er of famil­iar­i­ty to endure bore­dom, per­for­mance art, hero­ism, ethics ver­sus aes­thet­ics, activ­i­ty ver­sus pas­siv­i­ty, the “big busi­ness” of the NFL against the sub­si­diza­tion of bal­let, child­hood sex­u­al iden­ti­fi­ca­tion, the vis­i­b­li­ty of the human ide­al, chess mania, the plea­sure of max­i­mum effort, and genre lit­er­a­ture ver­sus “the kinds of books you and I try to write.” What kind of books do these men try to write? Being the nov­el­ists Paul Auster and J.M. Coet­zee, they write books, we can safe­ly say, in their very own gen­res.

We now have a new vol­ume from both Auster and Coet­zee called Here and Now: Let­ters (2008–2011), from which a sub­stan­tial sports-relat­ed excerpt appears on the New York­er. Though not sui gener­is like the con­trib­u­tors’ own nov­els, the book does its part for the cur­rent mini-revival of col­lec­tions of let­ters between men of let­ters. (2011 saw a sim­i­lar French project from Michel Houelle­becq and  Bernard-Hen­ri Lévy. “Who would we end up with?” asked the Observ­er’s Tim Adams, imag­in­ing a British equiv­a­lent. “Irvine Welsh and Alain de Bot­ton?”) Fans of the laud­ed, pri­vate Auster and the high­ly laud­ed, intense­ly pri­vate Coet­zee sure­ly feel grate­ful for these new pieces of direct insight into the authors’ per­son­al­i­ties, and they can get a lit­tle more by watch­ing the read­ing of Here and Now at the New York State Writ­ers Insti­tute at the top of the post. Do see also Auster’s Big Think clips on what keeps him up at night, the fate of the nov­el, and how he stares down the chal­lenges of writ­ing (above). As for a solo per­for­mance from Coet­zee, could we do any bet­ter than his Nobel lec­ture?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nobel Prize Win­ner Reads From His New Nov­el

Hear Paul Auster Read the Entire­ty of The Red Note­book, an Ear­ly Col­lec­tion of Sto­ries

Paul Auster Reads from New Nov­el, Sun­set Park

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.

Frank Zappa Reads NSFW Passage From William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch (1978)

You may strug­gle to find two more icon­o­clas­tic coun­ter­cul­tur­al fig­ures than William S. Bur­roughs and Frank Zap­pa. The well-known names con­ceal often less well-known and at times inac­ces­si­ble or down­right infu­ri­at­ing work and per­son­al­i­ties. Despite their some­times too-easy asso­ci­a­tion with the move­ments they helped birth, nei­ther Bur­roughs nor Zap­pa fits com­fort­ably with free-wheel­ing Beat sen­si­bil­i­ties or flow­ery Cal­i­for­nia hip­pie cul­ture. They were both sim­ply too con­trary, cul­ti­vat­ed or, at times, too weird and anti­so­cial for that.

But these con­found­ing ten­den­cies make both artists peren­ni­al­ly inter­est­ing. Despite their differences—in medi­um, age, and background—both share at least two sig­nif­i­cant traits: a wry, blas­phe­mous sense of humor and descent from fam­i­lies inte­gral to U.S. tech­no­crat­ic suprema­cy: Bur­roughs the grand­son of the inven­tor of the adding machine and Zap­pa the son of a chemist and math­e­mati­cian who helped make chem­i­cal weapons. Maybe it’s his­tor­i­cal irony that the Bur­roughs and Zap­pa fam­i­lies pro­duced such errant off­spring, maybe it’s a dialec­ti­cal inevitabil­i­ty. But it’s cer­tain­ly fit­ting that the two come togeth­er in the audio above, where Zap­pa reads a par­tic­u­lar­ly fun­ny and pro­fane pas­sage from Bur­roughs’ most famous nov­el Naked Lunch.

The occa­sion of this read­ing was the Nova Con­ven­tion in 1978, three days and nights of read­ings, pan­el dis­cus­sions, film screen­ings, and per­for­mances that, The New York Times wrote at the time, “sought to grap­ple with some of the impli­ca­tions of the writ­ing” of Bur­roughs. In addi­tion to Bur­roughs and Zap­pa, the con­ven­tion fea­tured such notable coun­ter­cul­tur­al names as Ter­ry South­ern, Pat­ti Smith, Philip Glass, Brion Gysin, John Cage, Tim­o­thy Leary, and Robert Anton Wil­son. A good bit of the hap­pen­ing (includ­ing the audio above) was record­ed for pos­ter­i­ty and released as a dou­ble-LP by Giorno Poet­ry Sys­tems.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Beat Writer William S. Bur­roughs Spreads Coun­ter­cul­ture Cool on Nike Sneak­ers, 1994

William S. Bur­roughs Shows You How to Make “Shot­gun Art”

Frank Zap­pa Debates Cen­sor­ship on CNN’s Cross­fire (1986)

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

House of Earth: Hear Woody Guthrie’s Lost Novel, Published by Johnny Depp, as an Audio Book

House of earth

Woody Guthrie may have writ­ten as many as 3,000 folk songs, but he did­n’t lim­it him­self there. He also man­aged to write a nov­el called House of Earth, which only last month saw the light of day. To whom do we owe the plea­sure of read­ing this pre­vi­ous­ly unknown adden­dum to the pro­lif­ic singer-song­writer’s career? Why, to his­to­ri­an Dou­glas Brink­ley, actor John­ny Depp, and Guthrie’s daugh­ter Nora. Research­ing a forth­com­ing biog­ra­phy of Bob Dylan, Brink­ley spot­ted a men­tion of House of Earth some­where deep in the files of famous folk-music recordist Alan Lomax. He traced the man­u­script to the Uni­ver­si­ty of Tul­sa library, which had it in stor­age. Depp had recent­ly start­ed his own pub­lish­ing imprint, Infini­tum Nihil, and Brink­ley passed along this promis­ing piece of mate­r­i­al. (The two had known each oth­er for years, hav­ing ini­tial­ly met through that great lit­er­ary con­nec­tor, Dr. Hunter S. Thomp­son.)

With House of Earth, Guthrie wrote a Dust Bowl nov­el, but one very much in tune with his own sen­si­bil­i­ties. Unlike John Stein­beck­’s The Grapes of Wrath, Guthrie’s sto­ry fol­lows not the farm fam­i­lies who fled west, but those who remained on the Texas plains. “Pitched some­where between rur­al real­ism and pro­le­tar­i­an protest,” write Brink­ley and Depp in a New York Times Book Review essay, “some­what sta­t­ic in terms of nar­ra­tive dri­ve, ‘House of Earth’ nonethe­less offers a sear­ing por­trait of the Pan­han­dle and its mar­gin­al­ized Great Depres­sion res­i­dents. Guthrie suc­cess­ful­ly mix­es Steinbeck’s nar­ra­tive verve with D. H. Lawrence’s open­ness to erot­ic explo­ration.” As of this week, you can read and also now hear the book, as read by Will Pat­ton, in an audio ver­sion released by Audible.com. (Find info on how to get it for free below.) At the top of this post, you’ll find a short clip of Pat­ton deliv­er­ing the singer’s prose. Though Guthrie will remain best known for his polit­i­cal­ly-charged songs, his nov­el, which launch­es broad­sides against big finance, big lum­ber, and big agri­cul­ture, should car­ry charge enough for any of his enthu­si­asts.

Note: Do you want to down­load House of Earth from Audi­ble for free? Here’s one way to do it. Just head over to Audible.com and reg­is­ter for a 30-day free tri­al. You can down­load any audio book for free. Then, when the tri­al is over, you can con­tin­ue your Audi­ble sub­scrip­tion, or can­cel it, and still keep the audio book. The choice is yours. And, in full dis­clo­sure, let me tell you that we have a nice arrange­ment with Audi­ble. When­ev­er some­one signs up for a free tri­al, it helps sup­port Open Cul­ture. That’s cool. But frankly, we work with them because I per­son­al­ly use the ser­vice noth­ing short of reli­gious­ly. 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Woody Guthrie at 100: Cel­e­brate His Amaz­ing Life with a BBC Film

Woody Guthrie’s Fan Let­ter To John Cage and Alan Hov­haness (1947)

375 Free eBooks: Down­load to Kin­dle, iPad/iPhone & Nook

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.

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