We have been in BevÂerÂly Hills shopÂping most of the late mornÂing and earÂly afterÂnoon. My mothÂer and my two sisÂters and me. My mothÂer has spent most of this time probÂaÂbly at Neiman-MarÂcus, and my sisÂters have gone to JerÂry Magnin and have used our father’s charge account to buy him and me someÂthing and then to MGA and Camp BevÂerÂly Hills and PrivÂiÂlege to buy themÂselves someÂthing. I sit at the bar at La Scala BouÂtique for most of this time, bored out of my mind, smokÂing, drinkÂing red wine. FinalÂly, my mothÂer driÂves up in her MerÂcedes and parks her car in front of La Scala and waits for me.
Charles BukowsÂki, “Hank” to his friends, was once called the “best poet in AmerÂiÂca” by kinÂdred spirÂit Jean Genet. He was a writer who told the truth, when he wasn’t lying, and who could tell a great stoÂry, whether sober or drunk. BukowsÂki once told Sean Penn in a 1987 InterÂview magÂaÂzine piece: “AlcoÂhol is probÂaÂbly one of the greatÂest things to arrive upon the earth — alongÂside of me. Yes…these are two of the greatÂest arrivals upon the surÂface of the earth. So…we get along.” This stateÂment encapÂsuÂlates the qualÂiÂties BukowsÂki is best known for—lifelong heavy drinkÂing and bravaÂdo. They tend to go hand in hand, espeÂcialÂly in novÂelÂists of his genÂerÂaÂtion. But what made him a poet was anothÂer qualÂiÂty the booze helped him cope with, his tenÂdenÂcy to be “a shy, withÂdrawn perÂson,” an almost tenÂder perÂson, and humane in his own low-rent way. In the video above, he tells the stoÂry of his worst hangÂover ever. I’ll let him tell it. There’s no way a paraÂphrase could come close to Bukowski’s own voice.
Josh Jones is a docÂtorÂal canÂdiÂdate in EngÂlish at FordÂham UniÂverÂsiÂty and a co-founder and forÂmer manÂagÂing ediÂtor of GuerÂniÂca / A MagÂaÂzine of Arts and PolÂiÂtics.
Fun fact about F. Scott FitzgerÂald: he was a terÂriÂble speller. No, realÂly. And his gramÂmar wasÂn’t much betÂter. LitÂerÂary critÂic Edmund WilÂson described his debut novÂel This Side of ParÂadise (find in our Free eBooks colÂlecÂtion) as “one of the most illitÂerÂate books of any merÂit ever pubÂlished.” HemÂingÂway couldn’t spell either, and neiÂther could FaulknÂer. WithÂout the patient reviÂsion of great ediÂtors like Maxwell Perkins, much of the prose of these AmerÂiÂcan masÂters may well have been unreadÂable. NovÂelÂists are artists, not gramÂmarÂiÂans, and their manÂuÂscript quirks—of spelling, handÂwritÂing, gramÂmatÂiÂcal mistakes—can often reveal a great deal more about them than the typÂiÂcal readÂer can glean from clean, typeÂset copies of their work.
Take, for examÂple, the evoÂluÂtion of Fitzgerald’s sigÂnaÂture (above). From the labored scrawls of a five year-old, to the pracÂticed script of an eleven-year-old schoolÂboy, to the experÂiÂmenÂtal teenaged posÂes, we see the letÂterÂing get loosÂer, more stylÂized, then tightÂen up again as it assumes its own mature idenÂtiÂty in the conÂfiÂdentÂly eleÂgant near-calÂligÂraÂphy of the 21-year-old Fitzgerald–an evoÂluÂtion that traces the writer’s creÂative growth from uncerÂtain but pasÂsionÂate youth to disÂciÂplined artist. Alright, maybe that’s all nonÂsense. I’m no expert. The pracÂtice of handÂwritÂing analyÂsis, or grapholÂoÂgy, is genÂerÂalÂly a forenÂsic tool used to idenÂtiÂfy the marks of crimÂiÂnal susÂpects and detect forgÂeries, not a minÂdreadÂing techÂnique, although it does get used that way. One site, for examÂple, proÂvides an analyÂsis of one of Fitzgerald’s 1924 letÂters to Carl Van VechtÂen. From the minute charÂacÂterÂisÂtics of the GatsÂby novelist’s script, the anaÂlyst divines that he is “creÂative,” “artisÂtic,” and appreÂciÂates the finÂer things in life. ColÂor me a litÂtle skepÂtiÂcal.
But maybe there is someÂthing to my theÂoÂry of Fitzgerald’s growÂing matuÂriÂty and self-conÂscious cerÂtainÂty as eviÂdenced by his sigÂnaÂtures. He pubÂlished This Side of ParÂadise to great acclaim three years after the final sigÂnaÂture above. In the priÂor sigÂnaÂtures, we see him strugÂgling for conÂtrol as he wrote and revised an earÂliÂer unpubÂlished novÂel called The RomanÂtic EgoÂtist, which FitzgerÂald himÂself told ediÂtor Perkins was “a tedious, disÂconÂnectÂed casseÂrole.” The outÂsized, extravÂaÂgant letÂterÂing of the artist in his late teens is nothÂing if not “romanÂtic.” But FitzgerÂald achieved just enough conÂtrol in his short life to write a verÂiÂtaÂble treaÂsure chest of stoÂries (many brilÂliant and some just plain silÂly) and a handÂful of novÂels, includÂing, of course, the one for which he’s best known. Most of the rest of the time, as most everyÂone knows, he was kind of a mess.
Try a litÂtle amaÂteur handÂwritÂing analyÂsis of your own on the last senÂtence of The Great GatsÂby, writÂten in FitzgerÂald’s own hand below a porÂtrait of the writer by artist Robert KasÂtor.
And for an added treat, watch jourÂnalÂist and sportsÂwriter Bill Nack recite the final lines of GatsÂby to his friend Roger Ebert. “GatsÂby believed in the green light…”
via I always wantÂed to be a TenenÂbaum
Josh Jones is a docÂtorÂal canÂdiÂdate in EngÂlish at FordÂham UniÂverÂsiÂty and a co-founder and forÂmer manÂagÂing ediÂtor of GuerÂniÂca / A MagÂaÂzine of Arts and PolÂiÂtics.
In the prefÂace of The Swerve: How the World Became ModÂern, Stephen GreenÂblatt recalls the day he encounÂtered a transÂlaÂtion of Lucretius’ 2000 year old poem, On the Nature of Things. He was a grad stuÂdent back at Yale, livÂing on modÂest means, when he ambled into a bookÂstore and found a copy marked down to ten cents. He picked it up, not havÂing much to lose and not knowÂing what he’d find. Soon enough he was readÂing one of the most scanÂdalous and groundÂbreakÂing texts from antiqÂuiÂty, a book that evenÂtuÂalÂly travÂeled a long and windÂing road and changed our entire modÂern world. That stoÂry GreenÂblatt tells in The Swerve.
The ten cents GreenÂblatt spent in the 1960s may be roughÂly equivÂaÂlent to the deal you can get today. Right now, The Swerve, the winÂner of the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for genÂerÂal nonÂficÂtion, can be downÂloaded as an audio book for $5.95 via iTunes. Yes, we know, $5.95 is not free, and iTunes is not open, but it’s cerÂtainÂly a deal worth menÂtionÂing nonetheÂless.
But if you’re realÂly hanÂkerÂing for someÂthing free, then don’t miss our meta lists of Free Audio Books and Free eBooks, which include a copy of Lucretius’ famous work. Or defÂiÂniteÂly check out Audible.com’s Free TriÂal offer, which lets you downÂload pretÂty much any audio book you want (clasÂsic or modÂern) for free. Get details here.
“I supÂpose you’re wonÂderÂing why I’ve called you all here,” says Ray BradÂbury above, in a lengthy interÂview with the The Big Read project sponÂsored by the NationÂal EndowÂment for the Arts. BreakÂing the ice with this stock phrase, Bradbury–author of FahrenÂheit 451, The IllusÂtratÂed Man, The MarÂtÂian ChronÂiÂcles, and sevÂerÂal dozen more fanÂtaÂsy and sci-fi novÂels and short stoÂry colÂlecÂtions (and some truÂly chillÂing horÂror)–begins to talk about… Love. SpecifÂiÂcalÂly a love of books. “Love,” he says, “is at the cenÂter of your life. The things that you do should be things that you love, and the things that you love, should be things that you do.” That’s what books teach us, he says, and it becomes his mantra.
BradÂbury, who passed away in June, was cerÂtainÂly an earÂly inspiÂraÂtion for me, and sevÂerÂal milÂlion othÂer bookÂish kids whose warmest memÂoÂries involve disÂcovÂerÂing some strange, life-alterÂing book on the shelf of a library. As he recounts his childÂhood expeÂriÂences with books, he’s such an enthuÂsiÂasÂtic boostÂer for pubÂlic libraries that you may find yourÂself writÂing a check to your local branch in the first ten minÂutes of his talk. And it’s easy to see why his most famous novÂel sprang from what must have been a very pressÂing fear of the loss of books. BradÂbury was largeÂly self-taught. Unable to afford colÂlege, he purÂsued his fierce ambiÂtion to become a writer immeÂdiÂateÂly out of high school and pubÂlished his first short stoÂry, “Hollerbochen’s DilemÂma,” at the age of nineÂteen. As he says above, he became a writer because, “I disÂcovÂered that I was alive.” But I’m not doing it jusÂtice. You have to watch him tell it to realÂly feel the thrill of this epiphany.
The Big Read’s misÂsion is to creÂate a “Nation of ReadÂers,” and to do so, it posts free audio guides for clasÂsics such as Bradbury’s FahrenÂheit 451, Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, and Fitzgerald’s The Great GatsÂby. They also feaÂture video interÂviews with othÂer authors, like Amy Tan, Ernest J. Gaines, and Tobias Wolff. Each of the interÂviews is fanÂtasÂtic, and the readÂers’ guides are superb as well. Bradbury’s, for examÂple, narÂratÂed by poet and author Dana Gioia, also feaÂtures sci-fi giants Orson Scott Card and UrsuÂla K. Le Guin, as well as sevÂerÂal othÂer writÂers who were inspired by his work.
Josh Jones is a docÂtorÂal canÂdiÂdate in EngÂlish at FordÂham UniÂverÂsiÂty and a co-founder and forÂmer manÂagÂing ediÂtor of GuerÂniÂca / A MagÂaÂzine of Arts and PolÂiÂtics.
Kurt VonÂnegut nevÂer did things the conÂvenÂtionÂal way. He didÂn’t write parÂticÂuÂlarÂly conÂvenÂtionÂal novÂels. He cerÂtainÂly didÂn’t make very conÂvenÂtionÂal speechÂes at uniÂverÂsiÂties. But he did make semi-conÂvenÂtionÂal domesÂtic agreeÂments. Take, for examÂple, this conÂtract writÂten on JanÂuÂary 26, 1947. PostÂed on the Harper’s webÂsite in full, this odd litÂtle docÂuÂment, dubbed “The Chore List of ChamÂpiÂons,” finds VonÂnegut outÂlinÂing all of the tasks he promised to do around the house — this while his young wife, Jane, preÂpared to give birth to their first child. The conÂtract (the conÂtent is conÂvenÂtionÂal, the form is not) will be pubÂlished in Kurt VonÂnegut: LetÂters next month. And it begins:
I, Kurt VonÂnegut, Jr., that is, do hereÂby swear that I will be faithÂful to the comÂmitÂments hereÂunÂder listÂed:
I. With the agreeÂment that my wife will not nag, heckÂle, or othÂerÂwise disÂturb me on the subÂject, I promise to scrub the bathÂroom and kitchen floors once a week, on a day and hour of my own choosÂing. Not only that, but I will do a good and thorÂough job, and by that she means that I will get under the bathÂtub, behind the toiÂlet, under the sink, under the iceÂbox, into the corÂners; and I will pick up and put in some othÂer locaÂtion whatÂevÂer movÂable objects hapÂpen to be on said floors at the time so as to get under them too, and not just around them. FurÂtherÂmore, while I am underÂtakÂing these tasks I will refrain from indulging in such remarks as “Shit,” “GodÂdamn sonoÂfabitch,” and simÂiÂlar vulÂgarÂiÂties, as such lanÂguage is nerve-wrackÂing to have around the house when nothÂing more drasÂtic is takÂing place than the facÂing of NecesÂsiÂty. If I do not live up to this agreeÂment, my wife is to feel free to nag, heckÂle, and othÂerÂwise disÂturb me until I am driÂven to scrub the floors anyÂway—no matÂter how busy I am.
And then latÂer conÂtinÂues:
g. When smokÂing I will make every effort to keep the ashÂtray I am using at the time upon a surÂface that does not slant, sag, slope, dip, wrinÂkle, or give way upon the slightÂest provoÂcaÂtion; such surÂfaces may be underÂstood to include stacks of books preÂcarÂiÂousÂly mountÂed on the edge of a chair, the arms of the chair that has arms, and my own knees;
h. I will not put out cigÂaÂrettes upon the sides of, or throw ashÂes into, either the red leather wasteÂbasÂket or the stamp wasteÂbasÂket that my lovÂing wife made me for ChristÂmas, 1945, as such pracÂtice noticeÂably impairs the beauÂty and ultiÂmate pracÂtiÂcaÂbilÂiÂty of said wasteÂbasÂkets;
j. An excepÂtion to the above three-day time limÂit is the takÂing out of the garbage, which, as any fool knows, had betÂter not wait that long; I will take out the garbage withÂin three hours after the need for disÂposÂal has been pointÂed out to me by my wife. It would be nice, howÂevÂer, if, upon observÂing the need for disÂposÂal with my own two eyes, I should perÂform this parÂticÂuÂlar task upon my own iniÂtiaÂtive, and thus not make it necÂesÂsary for my wife to bring up a subÂject that is modÂerÂateÂly disÂtasteÂful to her;
l. The terms of this conÂtract are underÂstood to be bindÂing up until that time after the arrival of our child (to be specÂiÂfied by the docÂtor) when my wife will once again be in full posÂsesÂsion of all her facÂulÂties, and able to underÂtake more arduÂous purÂsuits than are now advisÂable.
RecordÂed live in front of an audiÂence at the Upright CitÂiÂzens Brigade TheÂatre in Los AngeÂles, The Dead Authors PodÂcast—“UnscriptÂed, bareÂly researched, all fun!”—showcases rauÂcous conÂverÂsaÂtions between “time-travÂelÂer” H.G. Wells (Paul F. TompÂkins) and varÂiÂous “dead authors.” Some of Wells’ guests have includÂed Aesop, Dorothy ParkÂer, Gertrude Stein, Carl Sagan, and Jorge Luis Borges, all played by comeÂdiÂans like Andy Richter (as EmiÂly DickÂinÂson) and BriÂan Stack (as P.G. WodeÂhouse).
In the episode above, Wells welÂcomes the notoÂriÂousÂly misogÂyÂnisÂtic and allegedÂly anti-SemitÂic Friedrich NietÂzsche (James AdoÂmiÂan) and the notoÂriÂousÂly racist writer of “weird tales” H.P. LoveÂcraft (Paul Scheer). As the podÂcast descripÂtion has it, “if you are easÂiÂly offendÂed, you may find this one a bit chalÂlengÂing.” The offense is mitÂiÂgatÂed by the fact that the disÂcusÂsion “very rarely makes any sense AT ALL,” and that it’s damned funÂny.
Both “authors” spout exagÂgerÂatÂed parÂoÂdies of their philosoÂphies, in ridicuÂlous accents, and (as you can see from the phoÂto above), look equalÂly ridicuÂlous to an audiÂence that someÂtimes laughs along, someÂtimes doesn’t, as will hapÂpen in live comÂeÂdy. The actors are game, ad-libÂbing with ease and conÂfiÂdence and clearÂly havÂing a great time. The only moments that aren’t improÂvised are when the actors playÂing NietÂzsche and LoveÂcraft read from the writÂers’ actuÂal texts. In this conÂtext (and in these voicÂes), the two both indeed make litÂtle sense. They’ll surÂvive the takedown—these are two dead authors who tend to be takÂen far too seriÂousÂly by their devoÂtees. So, go ahead, lisÂten to NietÂzsche huff and puff his way through his bomÂbasÂtic and oracÂuÂlar proÂnounceÂments; hear LoveÂcraft hiss through his florid and paraÂnoid prose. It’s all for a good cause. The Dead Authors podÂcast benÂeÂfits 826LA, a non-profÂit writÂing and tutorÂing cenÂter for kids age 6–18.
You can find real works by NietÂzsche and LoveÂcraft in our colÂlecÂtion of Free eBooks and Free Audio Books.
Josh Jones is a docÂtorÂal canÂdiÂdate in EngÂlish at FordÂham UniÂverÂsiÂty and a co-founder and forÂmer manÂagÂing ediÂtor of GuerÂniÂca / A MagÂaÂzine of Arts and PolÂiÂtics.
If you’re anyÂthing like me, you yearn to become a good writer, a betÂter writer, an inspirÂing writer, even, by learnÂing from the writÂers you admire. But you neiÂther have the time nor the monÂey for an MFA proÂgram or expenÂsive retreats and workÂshops with famous names. So you read W.H. Auden’s essays and Paris Review interÂviews with your favorite authors (or at least PR’s TwitÂter feed); you obsesÂsiveÂly trawl the archives of The New York Times’ “WritÂers on WritÂing” series, and you relÂish every Youtube clip, no matÂter how lo-fi or trunÂcatÂed, of your litÂerÂary heroes, speakÂing from beyond the grave, or from behind a podiÂum at the 92nd Street Y.
Well, friend, you are in luck (okay, I’m still talkÂing about me here, but maybe about you, too). The WashÂingÂton, DC-based non-profÂit AcadÂeÂmy of AchieveÂment—whose misÂsion is to “bring stuÂdents face-to-face” with leadÂers in the arts, busiÂness, polÂiÂtics, sciÂence, and sports—has archived a series of talks from an incredÂiÂbly diverse pool of poets and writÂers. They call this colÂlecÂtion “CreÂative WritÂing: A MasÂter Class,” and you can subÂscribe to it right now on iTunes and begin downÂloadÂing free video and audio podÂcasts from Nora Ephron, John Updike, Toni MorÂriÂson, CarÂlos Fuentes, NorÂman MailÂer, WalÂlace StegÂnÂer, and, well, you know how the list goes.
The AcadÂeÂmy of Achievement’s webÂsite also feaÂtures lengthy profiles–with text and downÂloadÂable audio and video–of sevÂerÂal of the same writÂers from their “MasÂter Class” series. For examÂple, an interÂview with forÂmer U.S. poet-lauÂreÂate Rita Dove is illuÂmiÂnatÂing, both for writÂers and for teachÂers of writÂing. Dove talks about the averÂsion that many peoÂple have for poetÂry as a kind of fear inculÂcatÂed by clumÂsy teachÂers. She explains:
At some point in their life, they’ve been givÂen a poem to interÂpret and told, “That was the wrong answer.” You know. I think we’ve all gone through that. I went through that. And it’s unforÂtuÂnate that someÂtimes in schools — this need to have things quanÂtiÂfied and gradÂed — we end up doing this kind of mulÂtiÂple choice approach to someÂthing that should be as ambiguÂous and ever-changÂing as life itself. So I try to ask them, “Have you ever heard a good joke?” If you’ve ever heard someÂone tell a joke just right, with the right pacÂing, then you’re already on the way to the poetÂry. Because it’s realÂly about using words in very preÂcise ways and also using gesÂture as it goes through lanÂguage, not the gesÂture of your hands, but how lanÂguage creÂates a mood. And you know, who can resist a good joke? When they get that far, then they can realÂize that poetÂry can also be fun.
Dove’s thoughts on her own life, her work, and the craft of poetÂry and teachÂing are well worth reading/watching in full. AnothÂer parÂticÂuÂlarÂly notable interÂview from the AcadÂeÂmy is with anothÂer forÂmer lauÂreÂate, poet W.S. MerÂwin.
MerÂwin, a two-time Pulitzer Prize winÂner, disÂcussÂes poetÂry as origÂiÂnatÂing with lanÂguage, and its loss as tanÂtaÂmount to extincÂtion:
When we talk about the extincÂtion of species, I think the endanÂgered species of the arts and of lanÂguage and all these things are relatÂed. I don’t think there is any doubt about that. I think poetÂry goes back to the invenÂtion of lanÂguage itself. I think one of the big difÂferÂences between poetÂry and prose is that prose is about someÂthing, it’s got a subÂject… poetÂry is about what can’t be said. Why do peoÂple turn to poetÂry when all of a sudÂden the Twin TowÂers get hit, or when their marÂriage breaks up, or when the perÂson they love most in the world drops dead in the same room? Because they can’t say it. They can’t say it at all, and they want someÂthing that addressÂes what can’t be said.
If you’re anyÂthing like me, you find these two perÂspecÂtives on poetry—as akin to jokes, as sayÂing the unsayable—fascinating. These kinds of obserÂvaÂtions (not mechanÂiÂcal how-to’s, but origÂiÂnal thoughts on the process and pracÂtice of writÂing itself) are the reaÂson I pore over interÂviews and semÂiÂnars with writÂers I admire. I found more than enough in this archive to keep me satÂisÂfied for months.
We’ve added “CreÂative WritÂing: A MasÂter Class” to our ever-growÂing colÂlecÂtion of Free Online CoursÂes.
Image via Angela RadÂulesÂcu
Josh Jones is a docÂtorÂal canÂdiÂdate in EngÂlish at FordÂham UniÂverÂsiÂty and a co-founder and forÂmer manÂagÂing ediÂtor of GuerÂniÂca / A MagÂaÂzine of Arts and PolÂiÂtics.
We're hoping to rely on loyal readers, rather than erratic ads. Please click the Donate button and support Open Culture. You can use Paypal, Venmo, Patreon, even Crypto! We thank you!
Open Culture scours the web for the best educational media. We find the free courses and audio books you need, the language lessons & educational videos you want, and plenty of enlightenment in between.
