Download Eight Free Lectures on The Hobbit by “The Tolkien Professor,” Corey Olsen

The name Corey Olsen may already be famil­iar to some readers—or at least those read­ers who ven­er­ate the lit­er­ary accom­plish­ments of one J.R.R. Tolkien. And if you don’t know Olsen by his real name, you may know him as “The Tolkien Pro­fes­sor,” his inter­net moniker since 2009, when Olsen, an Eng­lish Pro­fes­sor at Wash­ing­ton Col­lege and life­long stu­dent of Tolkien’s writ­ing, decid­ed to share his own schol­ar­ly work with a pub­lic “eager to be includ­ed in thought­ful, lit­er­ary con­ver­sa­tion” about The Hob­bit and The Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy.

For the past four years, Olsen has pub­lished specif­i­cal­ly online lec­tures about Tolkien’s work, as well as record­ings of his Wash­ing­ton Col­lege sem­i­nars on Tolkien’s fic­tion and aca­d­e­m­ic work. He has most recent­ly found­ed Signum Uni­ver­si­ty, an online, non-prof­it Lib­er­al Arts col­lege that aims to open the expe­ri­ence of high-qual­i­ty high­er ed to every­one, regard­less of their means or their loca­tion. Signum has, in turn, spawned the Myth­gard Insti­tute, which seems (as the name implies) more exclu­sive­ly focused on the fan­ta­sy and sci­ence fic­tion gen­res that are Olsen’s méti­er. (There are also col­lege prep options in Signum and Myth­gard Acad­e­mies).

So, Pro­fes­sor Olsen is busy, and he’s hap­py to be shar­ing his wealth of Tolkien knowl­edge with a very recep­tive pub­lic. His most recent course, an eight-part lec­ture series on The Hob­bit, is now avail­able on his site. (iTunes U also has it as of Jan­u­ary 31st. Watch the pro­mo for the course above. We also have the class list­ed in our col­lec­tion of 650 Free Cours­es Online.) The course comes via the Myth­gard Insti­tute and begins at the begin­ning in a lec­ture enti­tled “Took & Bag­gins” focused on The Hob­bit’s first chap­ter, “An Unex­pect­ed Par­ty.” Record­ed before the release of Peter Jackson’s first install­ment of his tril­o­gy of Hob­bit films, the lec­ture starts with Olsen’s spec­u­la­tions about what those films might look like. He says:

From the begin­ning, I have thought this was a mis­take… a big mis­take to go back­wards. It seems to me that an audi­ence famil­iar with the epic grandeur of Peter Jackson’s tril­o­gy is going to bring expec­ta­tions to a new Tolkien movie that’s going to set a Hob­bit film up for one of two very like­ly fail­ures. Either the movie is going to try tell Bilbo’s sto­ry in the mode and reg­is­ter of the Lord of the Rings, and there­fore strip the sto­ry of the light-heart­ed­ness and whim­si­cal­i­ty that makes it so delight­ful, or it’s going to try to be true to the tone and spir­it of the book, and will there­fore seem kind of sil­ly and child­ish to an audi­ence hop­ing for a suc­ces­sor to Peter Jackson’s films.

This is a very can­ny pre­dic­tion, and such can­ni­ness dis­tin­guish­es Olsen’s approach to every­thing Tolkien. He is attuned not only to all of the schol­ar­ly minu­ti­ae that dis­tin­guish­es aca­d­e­m­ic Tolkien stud­ies, but he is also well-aware of issues of audi­ence recep­tion and the ever-evolv­ing role of Tolkien’s work in pop­u­lar cul­ture. As his first lec­ture con­tin­ues, Pro­fes­sor Olsen makes it quite clear that The Hob­bit was delib­er­ate­ly writ­ten as a children’s sto­ry, and the suc­ces­sive books were meant to be as well. The Lord of the Rings books became more adult, dark­er and more fraught with heavy the­o­log­i­cal and myth­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance, as Tolkien com­posed them. This hap­pened in part because Tolkien was writ­ing with his own chil­dren in mind as his read­ers, and as he wrote, his kids grew up.

Tolkien, Olsen points out, was by train­ing a philologist—a schol­ar who spe­cial­izes in the study of languages—so he thought about not only what words mean, but where they come from and when. As such, he intend­ed The Hob­bit to pos­sess a “lin­guis­tic play­ful­ness,” mix­ing ancient and mod­ern words and usages, mak­ing up words a la Lewis Car­roll, to cre­ate a light­heart­ed and com­ic atmos­phere from the begin­ning of the nov­el. Olsen pro­vides us with sev­er­al exam­ples of this method in his first lec­ture. Over­all, his analy­sis is a thor­ough eval­u­a­tion of the nov­el in the terms of its lan­guage, its com­po­si­tion, its many lay­ers of genre and style—drawing from Tolkien’s explic­it­ly artic­u­lat­ed the­o­ries of narrative—and its his­tor­i­cal and lit­er­ary allu­sions. All pre­sent­ed in a very enthu­si­as­tic and acces­si­ble style that is aimed at every adult read­er and lover of Tolkien, not just fel­low schol­ars, who tend to speak a spe­cial­ized lan­guage that excludes near­ly every­one out­side their nar­row coterie.

In the video above—a TED talk Olsen deliv­ered at TEDx Chester Riv­er—he dis­cuss­es how the world of acad­eme, that spe­cial­ized world that excludes almost every­one, had become a sti­fling and rather mean­ing­less place for him when he decid­ed to become the online Tolkien Pro­fes­sor.  Olsen had what he calls an exis­ten­tial cri­sis about acad­e­mia and schol­ar­ly publishing—What’s the point?, he thought. Who’s going to read it? Since most peo­ple can’t access schol­ar­ly pub­li­ca­tions even if they want­ed to, and since he was writ­ing on Tolkien, one of the world’s most pop­u­lar authors, he felt dou­bly irrel­e­vant as a clois­tered aca­d­e­m­ic, since Tolkien fans are every­where. Then he dis­cov­ered some­thing every­body else already knew about the internet—it’s an ide­al medi­um for pub­lish­ing and dis­sem­i­nat­ing any kind of infor­ma­tion, and it’s crowd­ed with peo­ple des­per­ate to learn about and dis­cuss the lib­er­al arts. As more and more aca­d­e­mics dis­cov­er this as well, more also cure their exis­ten­tial malaise by open­ing up their work to every­one online, becom­ing resources, not gate­keep­ers, for knowl­edge.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to J.R.R. Tolkien Read a Lengthy Excerpt from The Hob­bit (1952)

Lis­ten to J.R.R. Tolkien Read Poems from The Fel­low­ship of the Ring, in Elvish and Eng­lish (1952)

Fan­tas­tic BBC Footage of J.R.R. Tolkien in 1968

Free Audio: Down­load the Com­plete Chron­i­cles of Nar­nia by C.S. Lewis

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

Hear Walt Whitman (Maybe) Reading the First Four Lines of His Poem, “America” (1890)

Of all Amer­i­can poets, almost no one looms larg­er than Walt Whit­man. As I once heard an old poet acquain­tance say, Amer­i­can poets don’t need Shake­speare and the Bible; we’ve got Dick­in­son and Whit­man. Indeed, Whitman’s voice emerges from the past like some Amer­i­can Moses, show­ing the way for­ward, open­ing his arms to hold his frac­tious coun­try­men togeth­er. One can blovi­ate all day about Walt Whit­man. He tends to have that effect. But even Whit­man, he of the ser­pen­tine lines full of the car­go of the con­ti­nent, stretch­ing from left mar­gin to right, ocean to ocean, could be rel­a­tive­ly suc­cinct, and even about his favorite sub­ject, Amer­i­ca. Take his poem “Amer­i­ca” from 1888:

Cen­tre of equal daugh­ters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, endur­ing, capa­ble, rich,
Peren­ni­al with the Earth, with Free­dom, Law and Love,
A grand, sane, tow­er­ing, seat­ed Moth­er,
Chair’d in the adamant of Time.

Now, believe it or not, you can hear what may well be the voice of Walt Whit­man, Amer­i­can Moses, emerg­ing from the past to read the first four lines of “Amer­i­ca,” from a wax cylin­der record­ing above. Most like­ly cap­tured in 1889 or 1890 by Thomas Edi­son, this read­ing was orig­i­nal­ly found on a cas­sette called “The Voice of the Poets,” dis­cov­ered in a library by Whit­man schol­ar Lar­ry Don Grif­fin. The cas­sette, made in 1974 and includ­ing the voic­es of Edna St. Vin­cent Mil­lay and William Car­los Williams, takes the Whit­man audio from a 1951 NBC radio pro­gram, whose announc­er, Leon Pear­son, claims comes from a wax cylin­der record­ing made in 1890.

Sur­pris­ing­ly, the ’74 cas­sette tape, which land­ed in libraries across the coun­try, seemed to go unno­ticed by schol­ars until Grif­fin men­tioned it in the Walt Whit­man Quar­ter­ly Review in 1992. This men­tion sparked debate about the authen­tic­i­ty of the record­ing, and once schol­ar­ly debate is sparked, the fire can burn for decades, whole careers built on its embers. In this case, some schol­ars, includ­ing his­to­ri­an Allen Koenigs­berg, argued that since no orig­i­nal wax cylin­der has appeared, and men­tion of the record­ing in Edison’s cor­re­spon­dence is incon­clu­sive, the prove­nance is sus­pect. Fur­ther­more, Koenigs­berg argued, the record­ing qual­i­ty seems too good for the peri­od. His con­clu­sion comes backed by the analy­sis of audio experts. Accord­ing to The Edis­on­ian, a Rut­ger’s Uni­ver­si­ty Edi­son newslet­ter:

Ana­lysts for both the Library of Con­gress and the Rodgers and Ham­mer­stein Archives con­sult­ed on the case and agreed that the clar­i­ty of the record­ing was beyond what could be achieved in 1889 or 1890… the sound analy­sis along with the doc­u­men­ta­tion dif­fi­cul­ties led Koen­ings­berg to con­clude that “the sup­posed Whit­man record­ing is a fas­ci­nat­ing fake.”

On the oth­er side of this debate is the edi­tor of the Walt Whit­man Quar­ter­ly Review, Ed Fol­som, who presents his case in an arti­cle sim­ply titled “The Whit­man Record­ing,” in which he dis­cuss­es prob­lems with the Library of Con­gress analy­sis. Yet anoth­er par­ti­san for authen­tic­i­ty, William Grimes—who cov­ered the con­tro­ver­sy for The New York Times points out that the voice sounds like what Whitman’s would have, and he makes a com­pelling argu­ment that the poem would not at all be the obvi­ous choice for a fake. Grimes cites unnamed “spe­cial­ists in the his­to­ry of the phono­graph,” whom, he writes, “agree… that the pos­si­bil­i­ty of out­right fraud or a hoax is unlike­ly.”

And on it goes. No one can defin­i­tive­ly set­tle the case, unless new evi­dence should come to light. With no inten­tion of malign­ing Ed Folsom’s good faith, I can imag­ine the Whit­man Quar­ter­ly edi­tor want­i­ng this to be true more than his­to­ri­an Koenigs­berg and the LOC ana­lysts. But I also want it to be Whit­man, and so I’m glad to make an exu­ber­ant leap of Amer­i­can faith and think it’s him. From Edi­son wax cylin­der record­ing, to radio broad­cast, to cas­sette, to mp3, over more than a cen­tu­ry of Amer­i­can poetry—it would be a per­fect­ly Whit­manesque jour­ney.

via @stevesilberman

 Relat­ed Con­tent:

Voic­es from the 19th Cen­tu­ry: Ten­nyson, Glad­stone, Whit­man & Tchaikovsky

Thomas Edi­son Recites “Mary Had a Lit­tle Lamb” in Ear­ly Voice Record­ing

Mark Twain Cap­tured on Film by Thomas Edi­son in 1909.

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

Kerouac Wore Khakis: Ghost of the Beat Writer Stars in 1993 Gap Advertising Campaign

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“When [Jack] Ker­ouac died in 1968 at the age of 47, he was a bro­ken alco­holic, his lit­er­ary rep­u­ta­tion so deplet­ed he was unable even to find a paper­back pub­lish­er for his last nov­el, Van­i­ty of Dulu­oz,” writes The Tele­graph. “Unsure of what val­ue to put on his estate, the bank val­ued it at a nom­i­nal $1. Over the years, it would rise to an esti­mat­ed $20m.” As The Tele­graph goes on to describe, the Ker­ouac estate start­ed gen­er­at­ing its wealth when, dur­ing the 1990s, feud­ing rel­a­tives, exer­cis­ing ques­tion­able author­i­ty over the writer’s lit­er­ary remains, began auc­tion­ing things off. The orig­i­nal man­u­script of On The Road was sold to James Isray, own­er of the Indi­anapo­lis Colts, for $2.43 mil­lion. John­ny Depp paid $50,640 for Kerouac’s rain­coat, tweed over­coat and oth­er per­son­al belong­ings. And pho­tos were licensed off to cor­po­ra­tions.

Enter the Gap’s 1993 “Ker­ouac Wore Khakis” adver­tis­ing cam­paign. The cam­paign drew on images tak­en in 1958, when Jer­ry Yuls­man fol­lowed Jack Ker­ouac around Green­wich Vil­lage, tak­ing pic­tures for Pageant Mag­a­zine. (See orig­i­nals here and here.) 35 years lat­er, Madi­son Ave. mar­keters air­brushed the images, stripped them of col­or, and, some­how found a way to graft onto stodgy pants, worn by desk jock­eys nation­wide, the illu­sion of free­dom. That sleight of hand would make Don Drap­er proud. As for what hap­pened in Ker­ouac’s grave, we can only con­jec­ture.

We’ll have more from the annals of com­mer­cial­iz­ing the Beats tomor­row.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jack Kerouac’s Naval Reserve Enlist­ment Mugshot, 1943

Bob Dylan and Allen Gins­berg Vis­it the Grave of Jack Ker­ouac (1979)

Jack Kerouac’s Hand-Drawn Cov­er for On the Road

Ker­ouac Reads from On the Road (1959)

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Hear Sylvia Plath Read ‘Lady Lazarus’ on the 50th Anniversary of Her Death

In the ear­ly morn­ing hours of Mon­day, Feb­ru­ary 11, 1963, Sylvia Plath brought food and drink into the bed­room of her two sleep­ing young chil­dren. She opened a win­dow in their room and attached a note with her doc­tor’s name and phone num­ber to a baby car­riage in the hall­way. She then went into the kitchen and sealed it off with tape and wet tow­els. She turned on the gas and put her head into the oven.

It was a sad end­ing for a woman who had strug­gled for much of her life with men­tal ill­ness. She was 30 years old. But with the crit­i­cal and pop­u­lar suc­cess of Ariel, the posthu­mous­ly pub­lished col­lec­tion of poems writ­ten dur­ing the last months of her life, Plath’s sui­cide became one of the most mythol­o­gized events in the his­to­ry of 20th cen­tu­ry let­ters. The grim event of 50 years ago is inex­tri­ca­bly bound up with Plath’s lega­cy as a poet.

In recog­ni­tion of that fact, we mark the anniver­sary with a record­ing Plath made at the BBC stu­dios in Decem­ber, 1962, of one of her most cel­e­brat­ed poems–one she had only recent­ly writ­ten, called “Lady Lazarus.” The ver­sion Plath reads con­tains two lines that were cut from the pub­lished poem. (You can open the text in a new win­dow to read while you lis­ten.) “Lady Lazarus” is a dis­turb­ing poem, with imagery from the Holo­caust graft­ed onto personal–one might say narcissistic–revelations of sui­ci­dal obses­sion. The sin­is­ter, malev­o­lent tone is espe­cial­ly chill­ing when you hear it in Plath’s own voice:

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

For more on Plath’s life and her com­pli­cat­ed and con­tentious lit­er­ary lega­cy, and to hear anoth­er of her read­ings, see our Octo­ber 27, 2012 post, “For Sylvia Plath’s 80th Birth­day, Hear Her Read ‘A Birth­day Present.’ ”

Neil Gaiman Launches New Crowdsourced Storytelling Project (Sponsored by the New BlackBerry)

The tech-savvi­est among us may greet the news of a new Black­Ber­ry phone with an exag­ger­at­ed yawn, if that. But we have rea­sons not to dis­miss the lat­est iter­a­tion of Research in Motion’s flag­ship prod­uct entire­ly. The Z10 launched to record ear­ly sales in the Unit­ed Kind­gom and Cana­da. Both the device and the fresh oper­at­ing sys­tem that runs on it “rep­re­sent a rad­i­cal rein­ven­tion of the Black­Ber­ry,” writes Wall Street Jour­nal per­son­al tech­nol­o­gy critc Walt Moss­berg. “The hard­ware is decent and the user inter­face is log­i­cal and gen­er­al­ly easy to use. I believe it has a chance of get­ting RIM back into the game.” Even so, build­ing the prod­uct amounts to only half the bat­tle; now the Black­Ber­ry brand has to con­tin­ue gain­ing, and man­age to hold, cus­tomer inter­est. That’s where a cer­tain mas­ter of gain­ing and hold­ing inter­est named Neil Gaiman comes in.

Say what you will about their phones; Research in Motion’s mar­ket­ing depart­ment has shown an uncom­mon degree of lit­er­ary astute­ness, at least by the stan­dards of hard­ware mak­ers. You may remem­ber Dou­glas Cou­p­land, for instance, turn­ing up in adver­tise­ments for the Black­Ber­ry Pearl back in 2006. But the com­pa­ny has recruit­ed Gaiman—the Eng­lish author of every­thing from nov­els like Amer­i­can Gods and Cora­line to com­ic books like The Sand­man to tele­vi­sion series like Never­where to films like Mir­ror­Mask—for a more com­pli­cat­ed under­tak­ing than Cou­p­land’s. Under the aegis of Black­Ber­ry, Gaiman extends his col­lab­o­ra­tion-inten­sive work one domain fur­ther. A Cal­en­dar of Tales finds him sourc­ing ideas and visu­als from the pub­lic in order to cre­ate “an amaz­ing cal­en­dar show­cas­ing your illus­tra­tions beside Neil’s sto­ries.” The short video above recent­ly appeared as the first in a series of episodes cov­er­ing this sto­ry­telling project. Of this we’ll no doubt hear, see, and read much more before 2013’s actu­al cal­en­dar is out.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Free Short Sto­ries by Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman Gives Grad­u­ates 10 Essen­tial Tips for Work­ing in the Arts

Neil Gaiman Gives Sage Advice to Aspir­ing Artists

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 Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

 

Anne Sexton, Confessional Poet, Reads “Wanting to Die” in Ominous 1966 Video

Many a writer has said they write to save their lives. And many a writer has died by sui­cide. In few cas­es has the con­nec­tion been so direct as in that of the poet Anne Sex­ton. Encour­aged in 1957 by her ther­a­pist to write poet­ry to stave off her sui­ci­dal ideation, she even­tu­al­ly joined a group of mid-cen­tu­ry “con­fes­sion­al” poets based in Boston—including Robert Low­ell and Sylvia Plath—whose per­son­al pathos, fam­i­ly pain, and severe bouts of depres­sion pro­vid­ed much of the mate­r­i­al for their work. Despite Sexton’s tremen­dous career suc­cess at what began, more-or-less, as a hob­by, she became over­whelmed by her ill­ness and com­mit­ted sui­cide in 1974.

There are those who wish to debate whether so-called “con­fes­sion­al poets” were tru­ly tor­ment­ed indi­vid­u­als or navel-gaz­ing nar­cis­sists. This seems fair enough giv­en the will­ing self-expo­sure of poets like Plath, Low­ell, and Sex­ton, but it kind of miss­es the point; their loss­es and trans­gres­sions were as real, or not, as anyone’s, but we remem­ber them, or should, for their writ­ing. Instead I find it inter­est­ing to see their pub­lic selves as per­for­mances, what­ev­er the auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal con­nec­tions in the work. A for­mer fash­ion mod­el, Anne Sex­ton was par­tic­u­lar­ly adept at self-pre­sen­ta­tion, and as her fame as a writer increased—she won the Pulitzer Prize in 1966 and a suc­ces­sion of grants and awards through­out the sixties—her poet­ry became less focused on the strict­ly per­son­al, more on the cul­tur­al (she has become well-known, for exam­ple, for a sar­don­ic, fem­i­nist per­spec­tive in such poems as “Snow White and the Sev­en Dwarfs”). A good deal of her work was pure inven­tion, despite the illu­sion of inti­ma­cy.

Nonethe­less, the short, 1966 film “Anne Sex­ton at Home” (top, with Span­ish sub­ti­tles, con­tin­ued below) lets us engage in some voyeurism. It begins with Sexton’s irri­ta­tion, as she’s inter­rupt­ed by the dog. Then the film cuts away, the scene has changed, and she frankly acknowl­edges the poet’s voice as a “per­sona” (from the Greek for mask); her poems are “mon­sters,” into which she has “pro­ject­ed her­self.” When we cut back again to the first scene, Sex­ton con­fi­dent­ly reads her “Men­stru­a­tion at Forty.” And we cut away again, and Sex­ton, her famil­iar cig­a­rette nev­er far away, riffs on “fam­i­ly & poet­ry” as her hus­band Alfred tries to avoid the cam­era. We see the poet with her daugh­ter, their inter­ac­tions play­ful (and also a lit­tle dis­turb­ing). Through­out it all Sex­ton per­forms, seem­ing­ly pleased and enjoy­ing the camera’s atten­tion.

In the last part of “Anne Sex­ton at Home” (above), the poet reads per­haps her most explic­it work about her many sui­cide attempts, “Want­i­ng to Die.” In a brief intro­duc­tion, she says, “I can explain sex in a minute, but death, I can’t explain.” But the play­ful­ness drains from her demeanor, as she comes to the final two stan­zas:

Bal­anced there, sui­cides some­times meet,
rag­ing at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leav­ing the bread they mis­took for a kiss,

leav­ing the page of the book care­less­ly open,
some­thing unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love, what­ev­er it was, an infec­tion.

 

Relat­ed Con­tent

For Sylvia Plath’s 80th Birth­day, Hear Her Read ‘A Birth­day Present’

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Confirmed: The Bones of Richard III (1452–1485) Found Under a UK Parking Lot

richard iii take 2Last Sep­tem­ber, British archae­ol­o­gists made a pret­ty star­tling dis­cov­ery. They found, they believed, the bones of Richard III (1452–1485) in a makeshift grave under a park­ing lot in the city of Leices­ter. It sound­ed like a pret­ty igno­min­ious but karmi­cal­ly jus­ti­fied rest­ing place for the tyran­ni­cal medieval king por­trayed so famous­ly by William Shake­speare.

From the begin­ning, the archae­ol­o­gists were con­vinced that the skele­tal remains belonged to Richard (check out the pho­to gallery of the bones), but they still need­ed irrefutable proof. So they took DNA sam­ples and matched them to DNA belong­ing to Richard’s liv­ing descen­dants. They await­ed the results, and today Richard Buck­ley, the lead archae­ol­o­gist, told reporters, “Beyond rea­son­able doubt, the indi­vid­ual exhumed … is indeed Richard III, the last Plan­ta­genet king of Eng­land.” You can get more on the sto­ry over at The Guardian and The New York Times.

Fol­low us on Face­bookTwit­ter and Google Plus and share intel­li­gent media with your friends! They’ll thank you for it.

 

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

william faulkner PR 1956Ask writ­ers for writ­ing advice, and they’ll usu­al­ly offer up some very prac­ti­cal tips. A few exam­ples:

  • Give the read­er at least one char­ac­ter he or she can root for (Kurt Von­negut).
  • When writ­ing dia­logue, read things aloud. Only then will it have the sound of speech (John Stein­beck).
  • Avoid detailed descrip­tions of char­ac­ters (Elmore Leonard).
  • Don’t start off try­ing to write nov­els. The short sto­ry is your friend (Ray Brad­bury).
  • Write when you know you’re at your best (Toni Mor­ri­son).
  • And make sure you always take two sharp­ened Num­ber 2 pen­cils with you on air­planes (Mar­garet Atwood).

Like I said, it’s all pret­ty nuts-and-bolts advice. But if you’re look­ing for some­thing a lit­tle more col­or­ful and out­side-the-box, then look no fur­ther than William Faulkn­er’s 1956 inter­view with the Paris Review. When asked “Is there any pos­si­ble for­mu­la to fol­low in order to be a good nov­el­ist?,” Faulkn­er per­haps sur­prised his inter­view­er, Jean Stein, when he said:

An artist is a crea­ture dri­ven by demons… He is com­plete­ly amoral in that he will rob, bor­row, beg, or steal from any­body and every­body to get the work done.

Elab­o­rat­ing, Faulkn­er con­tin­ued:

The writer’s only respon­si­bil­i­ty is to his art. He will be com­plete­ly ruth­less if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguish­es him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Every­thing goes by the board: hon­or, pride, decen­cy, secu­ri­ty, hap­pi­ness, all, to get the book writ­ten. If a writer has to rob his moth­er, he will not hes­i­tate.…

If Stein hoped to get Faulkn­er back into more prac­ti­cal ter­ri­to­ry with her next ques­tion, she was dis­ap­point­ed. To the ques­tion, “Then what would be the best envi­ron­ment for a writer?,” Faulkn­er offered this:

If you mean me, the best job that was ever offered to me was to become a land­lord in a broth­el. In my opin­ion it’s the per­fect milieu for an artist to work in. It gives him per­fect eco­nom­ic free­dom; he’s free of fear and hunger; he has a roof over his head and noth­ing what­ev­er to do except keep a few sim­ple accounts and to go once every month and pay off the local police. The place is qui­et dur­ing the morn­ing hours, which is the best time of the day to work. There’s enough social life in the evening, if he wish­es to par­tic­i­pate, to keep him from being bored.… My own expe­ri­ence has been that the tools I need for my trade are paper, tobac­co, food, and a lit­tle whiskey.

If you want to trans­late this into prac­ti­cal advice, you get some­thing like this. What should a young nov­el­ist aspire to? Basi­cal­ly being a Machi­avel­lian-type in a cat house. Not a pret­ty idea, but that’s how one of Amer­i­ca’s pre-emi­nent writ­ers saw the lit­er­ary life. And if you strip things down to their rawest essen­tials, you might find some wis­dom there. Live for your art, and give your­self the eco­nom­ic free­dom to write. Noth­ing more. Noth­ing less.

You can read the com­plete 1956 inter­view here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William Faulkn­er Tells His Post Office Boss to Stick It (1924)

William Faulkn­er Audio Archive Goes Online

William Faulkn­er Reads from As I Lay Dying

Drink­ing with William Faulkn­er

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