Jane Austen’s Music Collection, Now Digitized and Available Online

Austen Music 1

“What real­ly mat­ters is what you like, not what you are like,” says the nar­ra­tor of Nick Horn­by’s High Fideli­ty. “It’s no good pre­tend­ing that any rela­tion­ship has a future if your record col­lec­tions dis­agree vio­lent­ly.” That mas­ter Eng­lish social nov­el­ist of the late 20th cen­tu­ry made a point with which Jane Austen, the mas­ter Eng­lish social nov­el­ist in the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry, may well have agreed. Horn­by, like his char­ac­ter, loves and col­lects music, even into this 21st cen­tu­ry when the very def­i­n­i­tion of a music col­lec­tion has expand­ed into unrec­og­niz­abil­i­ty. Jane Austen did as well, though col­lect­ing music in her day meant some­thing else again: col­lect­ing sheet music.

“The Pride and Prej­u­dice author, who also played piano and sang, copied music by hand into per­son­al albums and col­lect­ed sheet music,” says the BBC about Austen’s per­son­al music col­lec­tion, part of the Austen fam­i­ly music library now dig­i­tized by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Southamp­ton’s Hart­ley Library and made avail­able at the Inter­net Archive. The arti­cle quotes project leader and pro­fes­sor of music Jean­ice Brooks as say­ing these 18 albums of music (the bound kind, not the kind over which High Fideli­ty’s Lon­don thir­tysome­things obsess) could not just help explain the “musi­cal envi­ron­ment that fed the nov­el­ist’s imag­i­na­tion” and led to nov­els “full of musi­cal scenes,” but pro­vide a “unique glimpse of the musi­cal life of an extend­ed gen­try fam­i­ly in the years around 1800.”

Austen Music 2

If, as a uni­ver­si­ty spokesman says, a 19th-cen­tu­ry sheet music col­lec­tion reflects the per­son­al­i­ty of its own­er “just as a dig­i­tal music col­lec­tion on a mobile phone or MP3 device would today,” what does Jane Austen’s say about her? The items in the col­lec­tion iden­ti­fied as belong­ing to Austen her­self include one vol­ume con­tain­ing “two songs from Dalayrac’s Les deux Savo­yards, one song, and the ‘Sav­age Dance,’ ” anoth­er con­tain­ing “Juve­nile Songs & Lessons” for “for young begin­ners who don’t know enough to prac­tise,” and anoth­er, accord­ing to the BBC, con­tain­ing “the tra­di­tion­al Welsh song Nos Galan, bet­ter known today as Christ­mas song ‘Deck the Halls.’ ”

Not quite a does-she-like-the-Bea­t­les-or-does-she-like-the-Stones sit­u­a­tion, cer­tain­ly. But Inter­net Archive allows you to flip at your leisure through these albums, all of them once kept in the Austen fam­i­ly home and some or all once han­dled by Austen her­self, which ought to pro­vide a sat­is­fac­tion for many of the count­less fans always seek­ing to get a lit­tle clos­er to the writer whose books they’ve read and reread so enjoy­ably. Some of them have no doubt drawn the inspi­ra­tion from her work to start writ­ing them­selves, com­pos­ing sto­ries in her style. Those who go so far as to copy out pieces of her beloved prose in their own hand, can now try not just writ­ing the words she wrote, but play­ing the notes she played as well.

via Austin Kleon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Jane Austen

15-Year-Old Jane Austen Writes a Satir­i­cal His­to­ry Of Eng­land: Read the Hand­writ­ten Man­u­script Online (1791)

Jane Austen Used Pins to Edit Her Aban­doned Man­u­script, The Wat­sons

Jane Austen Writes a Let­ter to Her Sis­ter While Hung Over: “I Believe I Drank Too Much Wine Last Night”

Down­load the Major Works of Jane Austen as Free eBooks & Audio Books

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

The Steamy Love Letters of Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West (1925–1929)

woolf love letter

Every­one loves a love story—especially a love affair. We may think our­selves above a juicy scan­dal…, but who are we kid­ding? Trag­i­cal­ly, how­ev­er, for many famous peo­ple of the past—from Oscar Wilde to Alan Tur­ing to Tab Hunter—affairs could not only end careers and rep­u­ta­tions, they could end lives. Peo­ple who would much rather not have to hide their love have been forced to do so by rigid social pro­pri­ety, reli­gious moral­ism, and repres­sive law.

In oth­er famous cas­es, however—like that of Vir­ginia Woolf and her friend and lover Vita Sackville-West—an affair doesn’t end in tragedy but sim­ply in a cool­ing of pas­sions into a beau­ti­ful, last­ing friend­ship.

While prud­ish out­siders may have been scan­dal­ized, nei­ther Woolf’s nor Sackville-West’s hus­band found the rela­tion­ship shock­ing. Leonard Woolf, his wife report­ed, regard­ed the affair as “rather a bore… but not enough to wor­ry him.” Vita and her aris­to­crat­ic hus­band Harold Nicol­son, writes the Vir­ginia Woolf blog, “were both bisex­u­al and… had an open mar­riage.” Fur­ther­more, the bohemi­an artis­tic cir­cle in which the Woolfs moved—the Blooms­bury group—hard­ly trou­bled itself about such mun­dane goings-on as a steamy affair between two mar­ried women. So much for social scan­dal and soap-oper­at­ic the­atrics.

But while their love was not for­bid­den, what pas­sion they had while it last­ed! One need only read their let­ters to each oth­er, col­lect­ed in The Let­ters of Vita Sackville-West to Vir­ginia Woolf. Many of those epis­tles doc­u­ment the heat­ed peri­od between the mid-1920s, when their affair began, and 1929, when it end­ed on ami­able terms (in a friend­ship the let­ters doc­u­ment until Woolf’s sui­cide in 1941).

“I am reduced to a thing that wants Vir­ginia,” writes Sackville-West in a 1926 let­ter to Woolf, “You have bro­ken down my defences. And I real­ly don’t resent it… Please for­give me for writ­ing such a mis­er­able let­ter.” The brief, ago­nized let­ter cap­tures the exquis­ite pangs and pin­ions of roman­tic infat­u­a­tion. Woolf, in response, is the more reserved, but also the more col­or­ful, with play­ful, cryp­tic images that hint at who knows what:

“Always, always, always I try to say what I feel,” she writes, “I have missed you. I do miss you. I shall miss you. And if you don’t believe it, you’re a longeared owl and ass…. Open the top but­ton of your jer­sey and you will see, nestling inside, a live­ly squir­rel with the most inquis­i­tive habits, but a dear crea­ture all the same—”

In her diary, Woolf described Sackville-West on their first meet­ing in 1923 as “a pro­nounced sap­phist…. Snob as I am, I trace her pas­sions – 500 years back, & they become roman­tic to me, like old yel­low wine.” Woolf was ten years old­er than Sackville-West, and seemed to feel infe­ri­or to her lover, com­par­ing her­self unfa­vor­ably in a sexy 1925 diary entry:

Vita shines in the gro­cers shop in Sevenoaks…pink glow­ing, grape clus­tered, pearl hung…There is her matu­ri­ty and full-breast­ed­ness: her being so much in full sail on the high tides, where I am coast­ing down back­wa­ters; her capac­i­ty I mean to take the floor in any com­pa­ny, to rep­re­sent her coun­try, to vis­it Chatsworth, to con­trol sil­ver, ser­vants, chow dogs; her motherhood…her in short (what I have nev­er been) a real woman.

The two had oth­er lovers, and Woolf, “as the old­er woman in the rela­tion­ship,” the Vir­ginia Woolf blog writes, felt “unwant­ed and dowdy” as Sackville-West strayed. But though the love affair end­ed, it not only pro­duced a close friend­ship, but a nov­el, Woolf’s Orlan­do, which Vita’s son Nigel called “the longest and most charm­ing love let­ter in lit­er­a­ture.”

Their love and friend­ship will also soon pro­duce a film, Vita and Vir­ginia, direct­ed by Chanya But­ton and writ­ten by Dame Eileen Atkins. And, if you were won­der­ing what Vita and Virginia’s pas­sion­ate exchanges would sound like in a 21st cen­tu­ry idiom, have a look at “The Col­lect­ed Sexts of Vir­ginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West” at The New York­er. The elo­quence of an epis­to­lary romance may be a thing of the past, but email and text have their own effi­cient charms:

Vita: Hey girl
Vir­ginia: Hey
Vita: Sup?
Vir­ginia: In bed
Vita: Hot
Vir­ginia: Come vis­it?
Vita: Mmm can’t. Have a toothache.

Cute. But what could ever replace one of Woolf’s last let­ters to her friend and for­mer lover, writ­ten in 1940 while Britain endured Ger­man air bom­bard­ments: “there you sit with the bombs falling around you. What can one say– except that I love you and I’ve got to live through this strange qui­et evening think­ing of you sit­ting there alone. Dearest—let me have a line…You have giv­en me such hap­pi­ness….”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vir­ginia Woolf’s Hand­writ­ten Sui­cide Note: A Painful and Poignant Farewell (1941)

Vir­ginia Woolf Loved Dos­to­evsky, Oscar Wilde Some­times Despised Dick­ens & Oth­er Gos­sip from The Read­ing Expe­ri­ence Data­base

Vir­ginia Woolf Offers Gen­tle Advice on “How One Should Read a Book”

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

23 Hours of H.P. Lovecraft Stories: Hear Readings & Dramatizations of “The Call of Cthulhu,” “The Shadow Over Innsmouth,” & Other Weird Tales

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Image by Lucius B. Trues­dell, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

H.P. Love­craft has some­what fall­en out of favor in many cir­cles of hor­ror and fan­ta­sy writ­ing. Just this past year, after much debate, the World Fan­ta­sy Awards decid­ed to remove his like­ness from their stat­uette. Because, quite frankly, Love­craft was not only a big­ot but a com­mit­ted anti-Semi­te and white suprema­cist who loathed vir­tu­al­ly every­one who wasn’t, as he put it, “Nordic-Amer­i­can.” This includ­ed African-Amer­i­cans and “stunt­ed bra­cy­cephal­ic South-Ital­ians & rat-faced half-Mon­goloid Russ­ian & Pol­ish Jews, & all that cursed scum,” as he wrote in a let­ter to fel­low writer August Der­leth. The state­ment is rep­re­sen­ta­tive of many, many more on the sub­ject.

Were these sim­ply pri­vate polit­i­cal opin­ions and noth­ing more, there might not be suf­fi­cient rea­son to read them into his work, but as sev­er­al peo­ple have argued con­vinc­ing­ly, Lovecraft’s opin­ions form the basis of so much of his work. Chi­na Miéville, for exam­ple, writes “I fol­low [French nov­el­ist Michel Houelle­becq—hard­ly known for any kind of polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness] in think­ing that Lovecraft’s oeu­vre, his work itself, is inspired by and deeply struc­tured with race hatred. As Houelle­becq said, it is racism itself that rais­es in Love­craft a ‘poet­ic trance.’”

Lovecraft’s xeno­pho­bic loathing begins to seem like an almost patho­log­i­cal hatred and fear of any­one dif­fer­ent, and of any kind of change in the nation’s make­up. It goes far beyond casu­al “man of his time” atti­tudes (and increas­ing­ly, of our time). F. Scott Fitzger­ald lived dur­ing Lovecraft’s time. And Fitzger­ald had the crit­i­cal dis­tance to sat­i­rize fanat­i­cal big­otry like Love­craft’s in The Great Gats­by’s Tom Buchanan. All of that said, how­ev­er, it’s impos­si­ble to deny Lovecraft’s influ­ence on hor­ror and fan­ta­sy, and almost no one has done so, even among those writ­ers who most vehe­ment­ly lob­bied to retire his image or who found his pres­ence deeply trou­bling.

World Fan­ta­sy Award win­ner Nne­di Oko­rafor writes about con­tem­po­rary authors hav­ing to wres­tle with the fact “that many of The Elders we hon­or and need to learn from hate or hat­ed us.” Win­ner Sofia Samatar, who want­ed the stat­uette changed, exclaimed, “I am not telling any­body not to read Love­craft. I teach Love­craft! I actu­al­ly insist that peo­ple read him and write about him!” In a short essay at Tor, sci-fi and fan­ta­sy writer Eliz­a­beth Bear expressed many of the same ambiva­lent feel­ings about her “com­pli­cat­ed rela­tion­ship with Love­craft.” While find­ing his “big­otry of just about any stripe you like… revolt­ing,” his work has nonethe­less pro­vid­ed “a pow­er­ful source of inspi­ra­tion, the foun­da­tions of it like Hadrian’s Wall; full of mate­r­i­al for min­ing and repur­pos­ing.”

It’s not par­tic­u­lar­ly unusu­al to find such ambiva­lent atti­tudes expressed toward lit­er­ary ances­tors. All artists—all people—have their char­ac­ter flaws, and to expect every writer we like to share our val­ues seems naive, nar­row, and super­fi­cial. But Love­craft presents an extreme exam­ple, and also one whose prose is often pret­ty ter­ri­ble: over­stuffed, over­wrought, pre­ten­tious, and archa­ic. But it’s that pulpy style that makes Love­craft, Lovecraft—that con­tributes to the fever­ish atmos­phere of para­noia and alien­ation in his sto­ries. “He’s a mas­ter of mood,” Bear avows, “of sweep­ing blast­ed vis­tas of despair and the bone-soak­ing cold of space.”

That much of his despair and hor­ror emanat­ed from a place inside him that feared the “ges­tures & jab­ber­ing” of oth­er humans does not make it any less effec­tive­ly creepy or hyp­not­ic. It just makes it that much hard­er to love Love­craft the author, no mat­ter how much we might admire his work. But per­haps Love­craft was such an effec­tive hor­ror writer pre­cise­ly because he was so ter­ri­bly afraid of change and dif­fer­ence. As he him­self wrote of his par­tic­u­lar brand of super­nat­ur­al hor­ror, or “weird fic­tion,” as he called it: “hor­ror and the unknown or the strange are always close­ly con­nect­ed… because fear is our deep­est and strongest emo­tion.” One need­n’t be a pho­bic racist to write good hor­ror fic­tion, but in Love­craft’s case, I guess, it seems to have helped.

Just as much as the work of Isaac Asi­mov, or Robert Hein­lein, or Gene Rod­den­ber­ry resides in the DNA of sci­ence fic­tion, so too does Love­craft inhab­it the organ­ic build­ing blocks of hor­ror writ­ing. Hor­ror and fan­ta­sy writ­ers who some­how avoid read­ing Love­craft may end up absorb­ing his influ­ence any­way; read­ers who avoid him will end up read­ing some ver­sion of “Love­craft pas­tiche,” as Bear puts it. So it behooves us to go to the source, find out what Love­craft him­self wrote, take the good over the bad, even “pick a fight with him,” writes Bear, “because of what he does right, that makes his sto­ries too com­pelling to just walk away from, and because of what he does wrong… for exam­ple, the way he treats peo­ple as things.”

We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly brought to your atten­tion sev­er­al online Love­craft archives, such as this com­pi­la­tion of Love­craft eBooks and audio­books, and these many fine drama­ti­za­tions of Love­craft’s sto­ries. Addi­tion­al­ly, you can down­load many of Love­craft’s sto­ries and let­ters pub­lished in the sem­i­nal hor­ror and fan­ta­sy mag­a­zine Weird Tales. And in the Spo­ti­fy playlist above (down­load Spo­ti­fy here if you need it), you can hear The H.P. Love­craft Com­pendi­um, 23 hours of read­ings and drama­ti­za­tions of Love­craft’s creepy short sto­ries and novel­las, includ­ing The Shad­ow Over Inns­mouth, “The Dun­wich Hor­ror,” The Whis­per­er in Dark­ness, “The Call of Cthul­hu,” and many, many more. How­ev­er repug­nant many of Love­craft’s atti­tudes, there’s no deny­ing the pow­er of his “weird fic­tion.” As the playlist advis­es, “you might want to leave a light on when lis­ten­ing to these chill­ing per­for­mances.…”

This playlist will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

H.P. Lovecraft’s Clas­sic Hor­ror Sto­ries Free Online: Down­load Audio Books, eBooks & More

Hear Drama­ti­za­tions of H.P. Lovecraft’s Sto­ries On His Birth­day: “The Call of Cthul­hu,” “The Dun­wich Hor­ror,” & More

Down­load Issues of “Weird Tales” (1923–1954): The Pio­neer­ing Pulp Hor­ror Mag­a­zine Fea­tures Orig­i­nal Sto­ries by Love­craft, Brad­bury & Many More

H.P. Love­craft Gives Five Tips for Writ­ing a Hor­ror Sto­ry, or Any Piece of “Weird Fic­tion”

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

What Does “Kafkaesque” Really Mean? A Short Animated Video Explains

We derive adjec­tives from great writ­ers’ names meant to encap­su­late entire philoso­phies or modes of expres­sion. We have the Home­r­ic, the Shake­speare­an, the Joycean, etc. Two such adjec­tives that seem to apply most to our con­tem­po­rary con­di­tion sad­ly express much dark­er, more cramped visions than these: “Orwellian” and “Kafkaesque.” These adjec­tives also—suggests writer Noah Tavlin—name two of the most mis­un­der­stood of autho­r­i­al visions. In a TED­Ed video last year, Tavlin attempt­ed to clear up con­fu­sion about the “Orwellian,” a term that’s tossed around by pun­dits like a polit­i­cal Fris­bee.

Tavlin returns in the video above to explain the mean­ing of “Kafkaesque,” a less-abused descrip­tor but one we still may not ful­ly appre­ci­ate. He begins with a brief sum­ma­ry of Kafka’s nov­el The Tri­al, in which “K, the pro­tag­o­nist, is arrest­ed out of nowhere and made to go through a bewil­der­ing process where nei­ther the cause of his arrest nor the nature of the judi­cial pro­ceed­ings are made clear to him.” The sce­nario is “con­sid­ered so char­ac­ter­is­tic of Kafka’s work” that schol­ars use the term “Kafkaesque” to describe it. Kafkaesque has become evoca­tive of all “unnec­es­sar­i­ly com­pli­cat­ed and frus­trat­ing expe­ri­ences, like being forced to nav­i­gate labyrinths of bureau­cra­cy.”

But the word is much rich­er than such casu­al usage as describ­ing a trip to the DMV.

Tavlin ref­er­ences Kafka’s short sto­ry “Posei­den,” in which the god of the sea can nei­ther explore nor enjoy his realm because he is buried under moun­tains of paper­work. In truth, he is “a pris­on­er of his own ego,” unwill­ing to del­e­gate because he sees his under­lings as unwor­thy of the task. This sto­ry, Tavlin argues, “con­tains all of the ele­ments that make for a tru­ly Kafkaesque sce­nario.”

It’s not the absur­di­ty of bureau­cra­cy alone, but the irony of the character’s cir­cu­lar rea­son­ing in reac­tion to it, that is emblem­at­ic of Kafka’s writ­ing. His tragi­com­ic sto­ries act as a form of mythol­o­gy for the mod­ern indus­tri­al age, employ­ing dream log­ic to explore the rela­tion­ships between sys­tems of arbi­trary pow­er and the indi­vid­u­als caught up in them.

Tavlin refers to The Meta­mor­pho­sis and “A Hunger Artist” as fur­ther exam­ples of how Kafka’s char­ac­ters over­com­pli­cate their own lives through their fanat­i­cal, sin­gu­lar devo­tion to absurd con­di­tions.

But as Tavlin admits lat­er in the video, the bewil­der­ing mech­a­nisms of pow­er in sto­ries such as The Tri­al also “point to some­thing much more sinister”—the idea that arcane bureau­cra­cies become self-per­pet­u­at­ing and oper­ate inde­pen­dent­ly of the peo­ple sup­pos­ed­ly in pow­er, who are them­selves reduced to func­tionar­ies of mys­te­ri­ous, unac­count­able forces. Tavlin quotes Han­nah Arendt, who stud­ied the total­i­tar­i­an night­mares Kaf­ka pre­scient­ly fore­saw, and wrote of “tyran­ny with­out a tyrant.” More recent­ly, philoso­pher Manuel De Lan­da has the­o­rized increas­ing­ly com­plex, imper­son­al sys­tems oper­at­ing with lit­tle need for human inter­ven­tion. His War in the Age of Intel­li­gent Machines, for exam­ple, imag­ines mod­ern war­fare as the evolv­ing oper­a­tions of more-or-less self-orga­niz­ing weapons sys­tems. The­o­rists fre­quent­ly observe that the speed of tech­no­log­i­cal advance­ment now pro­ceeds at such a dizzy­ing­ly expo­nen­tial rate that it will soon sur­pass our abil­i­ty to con­trol or under­stand it at all. Per­haps, as Tesla’s Elon Musk sug­gests, we our­selves are no more than oper­a­tions in a com­plex sys­tem, sim­u­lat­ed beings inside a com­put­er pro­gram.

But sce­nar­ios like De Landa’s and Musk’s are also not the Kafkaesque, for these the­o­rists of mod­ern tech­noc­ra­cy lack a key fea­ture of Kafka’s vision—his dark, tragi­com­ic, absur­dist sense of humor, which per­me­ates even his bleak­est visions. On the one hand, Tavlin says, we “rely on increas­ing­ly con­vo­lut­ed sys­tems of admin­is­tra­tion” and find our­selves judged and ruled over “by peo­ple we can’t see accord­ing to rules we don’t know”—a sit­u­a­tion bound to pro­voke pro­found anx­i­ety and psy­cho­log­i­cal dis­tress. On the oth­er hand, Kafka’s atten­tion to the absurd, “reflects our short­com­ings back at our­selves,” remind­ing us that “the world we live in is one we cre­at­ed.” I’m not so sure, as Tavlin con­cludes, that Kaf­ka believed we have the “pow­er to change for the bet­ter” the over­com­pli­cat­ed sys­tems we bare­ly under­stand. Kafka’s com­ic vision, I think, ulti­mate­ly par­takes in what Miguel de Una­muno called “the trag­ic sense of life.” But he does not ful­ly deny his char­ac­ters all free­dom of choice, even if they fre­quent­ly have no idea what it is they’re choos­ing between or why.

Note: You can down­load essen­tial works by Franz Kaf­ka as free audio­books if you sign up for a 30-Day Free Tri­al with Audi­ble. You get two free audio­books with each tri­al. Find more infor­ma­tion on that pro­gram here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What “Orwellian” Real­ly Means: An Ani­mat­ed Les­son About the Use & Abuse of the Term

Franz Kaf­ka: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to His Lit­er­ary Genius

Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque Love Let­ters

Four Franz Kaf­ka Ani­ma­tions: Enjoy Cre­ative Ani­mat­ed Shorts from Poland, Japan, Rus­sia & Cana­da

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

Hear a 64-Hour Playlist of Sherlock Holmes Stories, With Performances by Sir John Gielgud, Sir Ralph Richardson & Many More

sherlock playlist

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

When I first read all of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sher­lock Holmes sto­ries, hav­ing found them col­lect­ed in full (not, of course, includ­ing last year’s “lost” sto­ry) in two old vol­umes at an antique store, I under­stood imme­di­ate­ly why they’d so quick­ly become so pop­u­lar with their first read­er­ship in the late 19th and ear­ly 20th cen­turies. Or rather, I should say that I felt it–that per­fect align­ment of form and sub­stance that only comes along in pop­u­lar art every few decades.

Whether that hap­pened as a result of Doyle’s crafts­man­ship or his luck I don’t know, but it turns out that the adven­tures of his con­sult­ing detec­tive play as well on the speak­ers as they do on the page, though in quite a dif­fer­ent way. You can expe­ri­ence that dif­fer­ence for your­self, and expe­ri­ence it exten­sive­ly, with Spo­ti­fy’s 64-hour, 163-track playlist of Sher­lock Holmes sto­ries per­formed aloud. (If you don’t have Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.)

The very first voice it presents is Doyle’s own, speak­ing briefly on Holmes and spir­i­tu­al­ism, which gives us time to set­tle in for a five-part ren­di­tion of the very first in the Holmes canon (and thanks to “more female inter­est than is usu­al,” one of Doyle’s per­son­al favorites), “A Scan­dal in Bohemia.” It comes per­formed by Sir John Giel­gud and Sir Ralph Richard­son, two of the most respect­ed actors in 20th-cen­tu­ry British the­ater. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured their por­tray­als, Giel­gud’s of Holmes and Richard­son’s of Wat­son (and we can hard­ly neglect to men­tion the one and only Orson Welles’, of Mori­ar­ty), on the New Adven­tures of Sher­lock Holmes radio dra­ma.

But this playlist pro­vides a wealth of oth­er voic­es from var­i­ous eras inter­pret­ing Doyle’s most beloved works as well, a vari­ety that cer­tain­ly suits its pro­tag­o­nist, the most-por­trayed lit­er­ary char­ac­ter of all time — which means that, unlike the col­lect­ed print canon of Sher­lock Holmes adven­tures (that “lost” sto­ry and its mys­te­ri­ous author­ship aside), the col­lect­ed audio adven­tures of Sher­lock Holmes will only grow longer and longer, so those who want to lis­ten to them all had best get on the case with­out delay.

You can find this playlist added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Also find Sher­lock Holmes sto­ries in our oth­er col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Vin­tage Sher­lock Holmes Radio Dra­ma, Star­ring John Giel­gud, Orson Welles & Ralph Richard­son

Watch the First Sher­lock Holmes Movie (1900), the Arrival of the Most Pop­u­lar Char­ac­ter in Cin­e­ma

Read the Lost Sher­lock Holmes Sto­ry That Was Just Dis­cov­ered in an Attic in Scot­land

Down­load the Com­plete Sher­lock Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Mas­ter­piece

Arthur Conan Doyle Names His 19 Favorite Sher­lock Holmes Sto­ries

Arthur Conan Doyle Dis­cuss­es Sher­lock Holmes and Psy­chics in a Rare Filmed Inter­view (1927)

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

An Animated Introduction to Charles Dickens’ Life & Literary Works

The social role of the writer changes from gen­er­a­tion to gen­er­a­tion, but at no time in the his­to­ry of lit­er­ary cul­ture have nov­el­ists and poets faced more com­pe­ti­tion for the atten­tion of their read­ers than they do today. Before visu­al media took over as the pri­ma­ry means of sto­ry­telling, how­ev­er, many writ­ers enjoyed the mea­sure of fame now giv­en to film and pop music stars. Or at least they did in the age of Charles Dick­ens, whose tire­less self-pro­mo­tion and pop­ulist sen­ti­ments endeared him to the pub­lic and made him one of the most famous men of his day.

Dick­ens was “a great show­man” says Alain de Bot­ton above in his School of Life intro­duc­tion to the author of Great Expec­ta­tions, Oliv­er Twist, A Tale of Two Cities, and too many more great books to name. (Find them in our col­lec­tions of Free eBooks and Free Audio Books.) He was a nat­ur­al celebri­ty before radio and tele­vi­sion and, to the dis­may of his more high-mind­ed col­leagues, “enter­tain­ment was at the heart of what Dick­ens was up to.”

But Dick­ens used his pub­lic plat­form not only to advance his career, but also to “get us inter­est­ed in some pret­ty seri­ous things: the evils of an indus­tri­al­iz­ing soci­ety, the work­ing con­di­tions in fac­to­ries, child labor, vicious social snob­bery, the mad­den­ing inef­fi­cien­cies of gov­ern­ment bureau­cra­cy.” Then and now, these are hard­ly sub­jects read­ers want to be remind­ed of. And yet, then as now, great sto­ry­tellers can make us care despite our apa­thy and desire for escapist plea­sure. And few writ­ers have made read­ers care more than Dick­ens.

His “genius was to dis­cov­er that the big ambi­tions to edu­cate a soci­ety about its fail­ings didn’t have to be opposed to what his crit­ics called ‘fun’—racy plots, a chat­ty style, clown­ish char­ac­ters, weepy moments, and hap­py end­ings.” Yet Dick­ens didn’t only seek to edu­cate, de Bot­ton argues; he “believed that writ­ing could play a big role in fix­ing the prob­lems of the world.” In this he was not entire­ly wrong, despite the anti-polit­i­cal sen­ti­ments of so many aes­thetes who have argued oth­er­wise, from Oscar Wilde to W.H. Auden.

Though he opposed many work­ing class move­ments and had no “coher­ent doc­trine” of social change, says Hugh Cun­ning­ham, pro­fes­sor of social his­to­ry at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Kent, Dick­ens “helped cre­ate a cli­mate of opin­ion” by emo­tion­al­ly mov­ing peo­ple to sym­pa­thize with the poor and to take action in con­tro­ver­sies already rag­ing in the zeit­geist. In this role, Dick­ens pre­ced­ed dozens of writ­ers who—like himself—began their careers in jour­nal­ism and sought through fic­tion to moti­vate com­pla­cent read­ers: nat­u­ral­ist nov­el­ists like Emile Zola, Stephen Crane, and Theodore Dreis­er, and muck­rak­ing real­ists like Upton Sin­clair all owe some­thing to Dick­ens’ mode of social protest through nov­el-writ­ing.

De Bot­ton goes on in his intro­duc­tion to explain some of the bio­graph­i­cal ori­gins of Dick­ens’ sym­pa­thy for the afflict­ed, includ­ing his own time spent as a child labor­er and his father’s con­fine­ment in debtor’s prison. The con­di­tions Dick­ens and his char­ac­ters endured are unimag­in­able to most priv­i­leged read­ers, but not to mil­lions of peo­ple in pover­ty around the world who still live under the kind of squalid oppres­sion the Vic­to­ri­an poor suf­fered. Whether any author in the 21st cen­tu­ry can bring the same kind of sym­pa­thet­ic atten­tion to their lives that Dick­ens did in his time is debat­able, but De Bot­ton uses Dick­ens’ exam­ple to argue that art and enter­tain­ment can “seduce” us into com­pas­sion and tak­ing action for oth­ers.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Cel­e­brate the 200th Birth­day of Charles Dick­ens with Free Movies, eBooks and Audio Books

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Jane Austen

Fyo­dor Dostoyevsky’s Life & Lit­er­a­ture Intro­duced in a Mon­ty Python-Style Ani­ma­tion

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

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

James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake Gets Turned into an Interactive Web Film, the Medium It Was Destined For


Two rad­i­cal mod­ernists, James Joyce and Sergei Eisen­stein, once met in Paris in 1929 and, “depend­ing on who you read,” writes Dan McGinn, “are pur­port­ed to have dis­cussed a film ver­sion of ‘Ulysses’ and how Karl Marx’s ‘Das Kap­i­tal’ could be depict­ed onscreen.” For many years, an adap­ta­tion of Marx’s dense polit­i­cal-eco­nom­ic cri­tique seemed about as plau­si­ble as a film ver­sion of Joyce’s famous­ly dense nov­el, which takes place on a sin­gle day, June 16th—forever after known as Blooms­day.

A great admir­er of Joyce’s cin­e­mat­ic imag­i­na­tion, Eisen­stein once remarked that “for­mal­ly Joyce went as far as lit­er­a­ture could go.” Giv­en the con­ven­tion­al­ly nar­ra­tive, real­ist route film even­tu­al­ly trav­eled, Ulysses, with its recur­sive digres­sions and hyper­al­lu­sive inte­ri­or­i­ty, seemed unfilmable until Joseph Strick’s admirable effort in 1967.

Just as Eisen­stein admired Joyce’s lit­er­ary exper­i­men­ta­tion, Joyce was a lover of Eisen­stein’s exper­i­ments in film. He found­ed Ireland’s first movie house, the Vol­ta, in 1909, and though the ven­ture flopped a year lat­er, Joyce’s invest­ment in the aes­thet­ics of film sur­vived. Colm McAu­li­ffe observes that Ulysses “deployed a whole range of tech­niques such as mon­tage and rapid scene dis­solves which are more com­mon­ly asso­ci­at­ed with the cin­e­ma.” Eisen­stein “raved about the way Joyce had adopt­ed a sci­en­tif­ic approach to the sto­ry of a day in the life of one man,” writes McGinn, “putting almost every aspect of that day under the micro­scope.” After Joyce, Eisen­stein said, “the next leap is to film.”

But if Ulysses went as far as the nov­el could go, Finnegans Wake explod­ed the form alto­geth­er, dis­solv­ing the bound­aries between prose and poet­ry, sub­ject and object, his­to­ry and myth. Ulysses employed the tech­niques of film; Finnegans Wake imag­ined tech­nol­o­gy which did not even exist. It is a novel—if we are to call it such—written for the 21st cen­tu­ry, and per­haps the only way it can be adapt­ed in oth­er media is through the internet’s non­lin­ear, labyrinthine struc­tures; the online project First We Feel Then We Fall does just that, cre­at­ing a mul­ti­me­dia adap­ta­tion of Finnegans Wake that “trans­fers” the nov­el “to audio­vi­su­al lan­guage,” and demon­strates the nov­el as—in the words of The Guardian’s Bil­ly Mills—“the book the web was invent­ed for.”

Con­ceived and exe­cut­ed by Pol­ish artist Jakub Wróblews­ki and schol­ar Katarzy­na Bazarnik, the project’s “main goal,” its press release announces, “is to show com­plex­i­ty of nar­ra­tion, lan­guage and mean­ings includ­ed in this mas­ter­piece. Based on an inter­dis­ci­pli­nary analy­sis, the work trans­lates the text into the cin­e­mat­ic form.” As you can see in the short clips here, it’s a form much like we might imag­ine Eisen­stein adopt­ing to film Finnegans Wake, had Eisen­stein had access to web tech­nol­o­gy. Cen­tral to the project is “an inter­ac­tive video app… designed in order to enhance an expe­ri­ence of Joycean stream of con­scious­ness.”

Select­ed pas­sages and with­in them spe­cif­ic words, phras­es or sen­tences serve as the basis for video sequences. Shots illus­trat­ing a pas­sage are divid­ed into four sep­a­rate chan­nels. The view­ers have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to choose in real time which chan­nel they would like to watch…. This sys­tem is sup­posed to reflect the tenets of Joyce’s fic­tion: that the book can be read in dif­fer­ent ways, while the read­ers can solve its ver­bal puz­zles, yield to the melo­di­ous rhythm or look for hid­den mean­ings.

The project’s cre­ators base their adap­ta­tion on the novel’s con­cep­tu­al prin­ci­ples: “Based on a cycli­cal vision of his­to­ry, the book is a tex­tu­al mer­ry-go-round, too: it begins mid sen­tence and ends with anoth­er one bro­ken in the mid­dle, which finds it con­tin­u­a­tion on the first page: the same anew.” And although they don’t say so explic­it­ly, they also employ Eisen­stein’s the­o­ret­i­cal prin­ci­ples of mon­tage: “Pri­mo: pho­to-frag­ments of nature are record­ed; secun­do: these frag­ments are com­bined in var­i­ous ways.”

In addi­tion to a jum­ble of abstract images, the project’s short videos—as you can see in these excerpts—incorporate a wide range of voic­es, accents, and musi­cal and son­ic accom­pa­ni­ment. The only way to expe­ri­ence the full effect of First We Feel Then We Fall is to vis­it the site’s play­er and spend some time cycling through its dizzy­ing col­lec­tion of images and voic­es read­ing from the text, using the up and down arrows on your key­board to move from video to video. As a key to under­stand­ing Joyce’s work and their own adap­ta­tion, the project’s artists chose the Joycean words “Mean­der­tale” and “Meanderthalltale,”—“two of innu­mer­able puns mak­ing up the tex­tu­al labyrinth of Finnegans Wake,” neol­o­gisms that nudge us to read the book “as a ‘tall tale” wan­der­ing way­ward­ly, loop­ing back­ward and flash­ing for­ward, into the pre-his­toric past, and the ori­gins of the human species.”

If Ulysses seemed unfilmable, Finnegans Wake tru­ly is—at least in the con­ven­tion­al nar­ra­tive lan­guage film has set­tled into since Eisenstein’s time. But in using the abstract vocab­u­lary of avant-garde film and the post-mod­ern tech­nol­o­gy of the inter­net, First We Feel Then We Fall has cre­at­ed an adap­ta­tion that seems wor­thy of the book’s inno­va­tions, and that authen­ti­cal­ly trans­lates its ver­tig­i­nous­ly play­ful poet­ic strange­ness to the screen. Enter First We Feel Then We Fall here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake Read Unabridged & Set to Music By 17 Dif­fer­ent Artists

Sci­en­tists Dis­cov­er That James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake Has an Amaz­ing­ly Math­e­mat­i­cal “Mul­ti­frac­tal” Struc­ture

James Joyce Reads From Ulysses and Finnegans Wake In His Only Two Record­ings (1924/1929)

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

Discover the First Horror & Fantasy Magazine, Der Orchideengarten, and Its Bizarre Artwork (1919–1921)

Der_Orchideengarten,_1920_cover_(Leidlein)

From the 18th cen­tu­ry onward, the gen­res of Goth­ic hor­ror and fan­ta­sy have flour­ished, and with them the sen­su­al­ly vis­cer­al images now com­mon­place in film, TV, and com­ic books. These gen­res per­haps reached their aes­thet­ic peak in the 19th cen­tu­ry with writ­ers like Edgar Allan Poe and illus­tra­tors like Gus­tave Dore. But it was in the ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry that a more pop­ulist sub­genre tru­ly came into its own: “weird fic­tion,” a term H.P. Love­craft used to describe the pulpy brand of super­nat­ur­al hor­ror cod­i­fied in the pages of Amer­i­can fan­ta­sy and hor­ror mag­a­zine Weird Talesfirst pub­lished in 1923. (And still going strong!)

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A pre­cur­sor to EC Comics’ many lurid titles, Weird Tales is often con­sid­ered the defin­i­tive ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry venue for weird fic­tion and illus­tra­tion.

But we need only look back a few years and to anoth­er con­ti­nent to find an ear­li­er pub­li­ca­tion, serv­ing Ger­man-speak­ing fans — Der Orchideen­garten (“The Gar­den of Orchids”), the very first hor­ror and fan­ta­sy mag­a­zine, which ran 51 issues from Jan­u­ary 1919 to Novem­ber 1921.

Orchid_3

The mag­a­zine fea­tured work from its edi­tors Karl Hans Strobl and Alfons von Czibul­ka, from bet­ter-known con­tem­po­raries like H.G. Wells and Karel Capek, and from fore­fa­thers like Dick­ens, Pushkin, Guy de Mau­pas­sant, Poe, Voltaire, Wash­ing­ton Irv­ing, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and oth­ers. “Although two issues of Der Orchideen­garten were devot­ed to detec­tive sto­ries,” writes 50 Watts, “and one to erot­ic sto­ries about cuck­olds, it was a gen­uine fan­ta­sy mag­a­zine.” And it was also a gallery of bizarre and unusu­al art­work.

04-Der-Orchideengarten--1919--German-magazine-cover_900

50 Watts quotes from Franz Rottensteiner’s descrip­tion of the magazine’s art, which ranged “from rep­re­sen­ta­tions of medieval wood­cuts to the work of mas­ters of the macabre such as Gus­tave Dore or Tony Johan­not, to con­tem­po­rary Ger­man artists like Rolf von Hoer­schel­mann, Otto Lenneko­gel, Karl Rit­ter, Hein­rich Kley, or Alfred Kubin.” These artists cre­at­ed the cov­ers and illus­tra­tions you see here, and many more you can see at 50 Watts, the black sun, and John Coulthart’s {feuil­leton}.

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“What strikes me about these black-and-white draw­ings,” like the dense, fren­zied pen-and-ink scene above, Coulthart com­ments, “is how dif­fer­ent they are in tone to the pulp mag­a­zines which fol­lowed short­ly after in Amer­i­ca and else­where. They’re at once far more adult and fre­quent­ly more orig­i­nal than the Goth­ic clichés which padded out Weird Tales and less­er titles for many years.” Indeed, though the for­mat may be sim­i­lar to its suc­ces­sors, Der Orchideen­garten’s cov­ers show the influ­ence of Sur­re­al­ism, “some are almost Expres­sion­ist in style,” and many of the illus­tra­tions show “a dis­tinct Goya influ­ence.”

Orchid_1

Pop­u­lar fan­ta­sy and hor­ror illus­tra­tion has often leaned more toward the soft-porn of sev­en­ties air­brushed vans, pulp-nov­el cov­ers, or the gris­ly kitsch of the comics. Rot­ten­stein­er writes in his 1978 Fan­ta­sy Book that this “large-for­mat mag­a­zine… must sure­ly rank as one of the most beau­ti­ful fan­ta­sy mag­a­zines ever pub­lished.” It’s hard to argue with that assess­ment. View, read (in Ger­man), and down­load orig­i­nal scans of the magazine’s first sev­er­al issues over on this Prince­ton site.

via 50 Watts

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

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

The First Illus­tra­tions of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds: The Sur­re­al & Hor­ri­fy­ing Art of Hen­rique Alvim Cor­rêa (1906)

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

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