Old Book Illustrations: Free Archive Lets You Download Beautiful Images From the Golden Age of Book Illustration

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Need­less to say, before the devel­op­ment and wide­spread use of pho­tog­ra­phy in mass pub­li­ca­tions, illus­tra­tions pro­vid­ed the only visu­al accom­pa­ni­ment to reli­gious texts, nov­els, books of poet­ry, sci­en­tif­ic stud­ies, and mag­a­zines lit­er­ary, lifestyle, and oth­er­wise. The devel­op­ment of tech­niques like etch­ing, engrav­ing, and lith­o­g­ra­phy enabled artists and print­ers to bet­ter col­lab­o­rate on more detailed and col­or­ful plates. But what­ev­er the media, behind each of the mil­lions of illus­tra­tions to appear in man­u­script and print—before and after Gutenberg—there was an artist. And many of those artists’ names are now well known to us as exem­plars of graph­ic art styles.

It was in the 19th cen­tu­ry that book and mag­a­zine illus­tra­tion began its gold­en age. Illus­tra­tions by artists like George Cruik­shank (see his “’Mon­stre’ Bal­loon” above”) were so dis­tinc­tive as to make their cre­ators famous. The huge­ly influ­en­tial Eng­lish satire mag­a­zine Punch, found­ed in 1841, became the first to use the word “car­toon” to mean a humor­ous illus­tra­tion, usu­al­ly accom­pa­nied by a humor­ous cap­tion. The draw­ings of Punch car­toons were gen­er­al­ly more visu­al­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed than the aver­age New York­er car­toon, but their humor was often as pithy and oblique. And at times, it was nar­ra­tive, as in the car­toon below by French artist George Du Mau­ri­er.

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The lengthy cap­tion beneath Du Maurier’s illus­tra­tion, “Punch’s phys­i­ol­o­gy of courtship,” intro­duces Edwin, a land­scape painter, who “is now per­suad­ing Angeli­na to share with him the hon­ours and prof­its of his glo­ri­ous career, propos­ing they should mar­ry on the pro­ceeds of his first pic­ture, now in progress (and which we have faith­ful­ly rep­re­sent­ed above).” The humor is rep­re­sen­ta­tive of Punch’s brand, as is the work of Du Mau­ri­er, a fre­quent con­trib­u­tor until his death. You can find much more of Cruik­shank and Du Mau­ri­er’s work at Old Book Illus­tra­tions, a pub­lic domain archive of illus­tra­tions from artists famous and not-so-famous. You’ll find there many oth­er resources as well, such as bio­graph­i­cal essays and a still-expand­ing online edi­tion of William Savage’s 1832 com­pendi­um of print­ing ter­mi­nol­o­gy, A Dic­tio­nary of the Art of Print­ing.

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Old Book Illus­tra­tions allows you to down­load high res­o­lu­tion images of its hun­dreds of fea­tured scans, “though it appears,” writes Boing Boing, “the scans are some­times worse-for-wear.” Most of the illus­tra­tions also “come with lots of details about their orig­i­nal cre­ation and print­ing.” You’ll find there many illus­tra­tions from an artist we’ve fea­tured here sev­er­al times before, Gus­tave Doré (see “Gor­gons and Hydras” from his Par­adise Lost edi­tion, above). As much as artists like Cruik­shank and Du Mau­ri­er can be said to have dom­i­nat­ed the illus­tra­tion of peri­od­i­cals in the 19th cen­tu­ry, Doré dom­i­nat­ed the field of book illus­tra­tion. In a lauda­to­ry bio­graph­i­cal essay on the French artist, Elbert Hub­bard writes, “He stands alone: he had no pre­de­ces­sors, and he left no suc­ces­sors.” You’ll find a beau­ti­ful­ly, and mor­bid­ly, 19th cen­tu­ry illus­trat­ed edi­tion of 17th cen­tu­ry poet Fran­cis Quar­les’ Emblems, with pages like that below, illus­trat­ing “The Body of This Death.”

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Not all of the illus­tra­tions at Old Book Illus­tra­tions date from the Vic­to­ri­an era, though most do. Some of the more strik­ing excep­tions come from Arthur Rack­ham, known pri­mar­i­ly as an ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry illus­tra­tor of fan­tasies and folk tales. See his “Pas de Deux” below from his edi­tion of The Ingolds­by Leg­ends. These are but a very few of the many hun­dreds of illus­tra­tions avail­able, and not all of them lit­er­ary or top­i­cal (see, for exam­ple, the “Sci­ence & Tech­nol­o­gy” cat­e­go­ry). Be sure also to check out the OBI Scrap­book Blog, a run­ning log of illus­tra­tions from oth­er col­lec­tions and libraries.

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via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Gus­tave Doré’s Dra­mat­ic Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy

An Illus­tra­tion of Every Page of Her­man Melville’s Moby Dick

Har­ry Clarke’s 1926 Illus­tra­tions of Goethe’s Faust: Art That Inspired the Psy­che­del­ic 60s

William Blake’s Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Illus­tra­tions of John Milton’s Par­adise Lost

Aubrey Beardsley’s Macabre Illus­tra­tions of Edgar Allan Poe’s Short Sto­ries (1894)

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

William S. Burroughs Narrates a Claymation of His Grim Holiday Story “The Junky’s Christmas”

Let’s face it, the hol­i­days are a mis­er­able time of year for many peo­ple. Writ­ers have mined this fact for pathos and much dark humor in sto­ries fea­tur­ing low-rent mall San­tas, squab­bling fam­i­ly din­ners, inept home invaders, and King of the Hill’s res­i­dent sad sack, Bill Dau­terive. Most nar­ra­tives of unhap­py hol­i­days end with some kind of redemption—someone dis­cov­ers a Christ­mas mir­a­cle, the real San­ta shows up, the Grinch’s heart grows to near­ly burst­ing from his chest, Ebenez­er Scrooge repents….

What if the redemp­tion is one down-and-out junky shar­ing his only fix with a man suf­fer­ing from kid­ney stones—that is, after the junky spends the day try­ing to steal enough to buy hero­in, finds a suit­case con­tain­ing two sev­ered human legs, and final­ly scores a lit­tle mor­phine by gold­brick­ing at a crooked doctor’s house? That’s the plot of William S. Bur­roughs’ sto­ry “The Junky’s Christ­mas,” which appeared in the 1989 col­lec­tion Inter­zone and there­after achieved some noto­ri­ety in two adap­ta­tions from 1993.

The first (above)—produced by Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la and direct­ed by Nick Donkin and Melodie McDaniel—-animates a read­ing by Bur­roughs in Clay­ma­tion, with appear­ances from the man him­self at the begin­ning and end. The sto­ry ends with a Christ­mas mir­a­cle of sorts, the “immac­u­late fix” the main char­ac­ter Dan­ny receives as if from heav­en after his unselfish act. It ain’t Frank Capra, but it’s a lot clos­er to some people’s real lives than It’s a Won­der­ful Life’s angel­ic vis­i­ta­tion.

Also in 1993, Bur­roughs col­lab­o­rat­ed with anoth­er artist plagued by addic­tion, enter­ing a stu­dio in Lawrence, Kansas with Kurt Cobain to read an ear­li­er ver­sion of “The Junky’s Christ­mas” titled “The ‘Priest’ They Called Him.” (Hear it in the fan-made video above.) This ver­sion of the sto­ry also has the suit­case full of sev­ered legs, but this time the recip­i­ent of the junky’s char­i­ty is a dis­abled Mex­i­can fel­low addict suf­fer­ing from with­draw­al. Under­neath Bur­roughs’ dead­pan, Cobain plays bars of “Silent Night” on a gui­tar that sounds like it’s being stran­gled to death. You can read Bur­roughs’ ear­li­er unhap­py Christ­mas sto­ry in full here. And if you’re still not bummed out enough, check out Nerve’s “Ten Most Depress­ing Christ­mas Songs Ever Record­ed.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Reads Naked Lunch, His Con­tro­ver­sial 1959 Nov­el

Watch William S. Bur­roughs’ Ah Pook is Here as an Ani­mat­ed Film, with Music By John Cale

William S. Bur­roughs’ “The Thanks­giv­ing Prayer,” Shot by Gus Van Sant

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

28 Tips for Writing Stories from Edgar Allan Poe, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway & F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Most writ­ers find their indi­vid­ual voice only after they sojourn through peri­ods of imi­ta­tion. Though it’s an excel­lent way to appro­pri­ate exper­i­men­tal tech­niques and move out of com­fort­able ruts, imi­ta­tion can only take us so far. But more pre­scrip­tive guide­lines from famous authors can offer ways to refine our indi­vid­ual styles and visions. Advice, for exam­ple, from such a clear and suc­cinct the­o­rist as Kurt Von­negut can go a very long way indeed for aspir­ing fic­tion writ­ers.

Anoth­er rea­son for appre­ci­at­ing great writ­ers’ how-to guide­lines accords with the injunc­tion we often hear: to read, read, read as much as pos­si­ble. Learn­ing how William Faulkn­er con­ceived of his craft can give us use­ful insights into his nov­els. What did Faulkn­er think of the writ­ing enter­prise and the social role of the writer? How did he come to for­mu­late his impres­sive­ly dense style? What was his view of learn­ing from oth­er writ­ers?

We can answer the last ques­tion by ref­er­ence to sev­en writ­ing tips we pre­vi­ous­ly com­piled from lec­tures and Q&A ses­sions Faulkn­er con­duct­ed while serv­ing as writer-in-res­i­dence at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia from 1957 to ’58. The first tip? Take what you need from oth­er writ­ers. To that end, we offer sev­en writ­ing tips each from four Amer­i­can greats (or 28 tips in total). As writ­ers, we’re free to take or leave their guide­lines; as read­ers we may always find their philoso­phies of keen inter­est.

William Faulkn­er: 

Take What You Need From Oth­er Writ­ers

Dur­ing a writ­ing class on Feb­ru­ary 25, 1957, Faulkn­er said the fol­low­ing:

I think the writer, as I’ve said before, is com­plete­ly amoral. He takes what­ev­er he needs, wher­ev­er he needs, and he does that open­ly and hon­est­ly because he him­self hopes that what he does will be good enough so that after him peo­ple will take from him, and they are wel­come to take from him, as he feels that he would be wel­come by the best of his pre­de­ces­sors to take what they had done.

Faulkner’s advice can help tremendously–at least in a psy­cho­log­i­cal sense–those writ­ers who might have qualms about “steal­ing” from oth­ers. You have per­mis­sion to do so from none oth­er than per­haps the great­est Amer­i­can mod­ernist writer of them all.

Faulkn­er also said “the young writer would be a fool to fol­low a the­o­ry,” a piece of advice we might bear in mind as we peruse famous writ­ing the­o­ries. “The good artist,” he said, “believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice.”

See the full list of Faulkner’s sev­en tips here.

Ernest Hem­ing­way:

Faulkner’s mod­ernist foil and some­time rival Ernest Hem­ing­way had some char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly prag­mat­ic advice for bud­ding writ­ers. Like many writ­ers’ tips, some of his advice may do lit­tle but help you write more like Hem­ing­way. And some of it, like “use a pen­cil,” is per­fect­ly use­less if you’ve already found your pre­ferred method of work­ing. One guide­line, how­ev­er, is intrigu­ing­ly counter-intu­itive. Hem­ing­way coun­sels us to

Nev­er Think about the Sto­ry When You’re Not Work­ing

This is one thing Faulkn­er and Hem­ing­way might agree on. In an Esquire arti­cle, Hem­ing­way describes his expe­ri­ence dur­ing the com­po­si­tion of A Move­able Feast, one Faulkn­er char­ac­ter­izes in his writ­ing advice as “nev­er exhaust your imag­i­na­tion.”

When I was writ­ing, it was nec­es­sary for me to read after I had writ­ten. If you kept think­ing about it, you would lose the thing you were writ­ing before you could go on with it the next day. It was nec­es­sary to get exer­cise, to be tired in the body, and it was very good to make love with whom you loved. That was bet­ter than any­thing. But after­wards, when you were emp­ty, it was nec­es­sary to read in order not to think or wor­ry about your work until you could do it again. I had learned already nev­er to emp­ty the well of my writ­ing, but always to stop when there was still some­thing there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.

Read all of Hemingway’s 7 writ­ing tips here.

F. Scott Fitzger­ald:

Despite his rep­u­ta­tion as an undis­ci­plined and messy writer, Fitzger­ald has some of the most prac­ti­cal tips of all for orga­niz­ing your ideas. One of his more philo­soph­i­cal pre­scrip­tions takes a sim­i­lar tone as Hemingway’s in regard to the pri­vate world of the imag­i­na­tion:

Don’t Describe Your Work-in-Progress to Any­one

Fitzger­ald offered this piece of advice in a 1940 let­ter to his daugh­ter, Scot­tie, writ­ing,

I think it’s a pret­ty good rule not to tell what a thing is about until it’s fin­ished. If you do you always seem to lose some of it. It nev­er quite belongs to you so much again.

This seems to me a good piece of advice for hold­ing on to the mag­ic of a cre­ative­ly imag­ined world. Try­ing to sum­ma­rize a good sto­ry in brief—like try­ing to explain a joke—generally has the effect of tak­ing all the fun out of it.

Read Fitzgerald’s 7 tips for writ­ers here.

Edgar Allan Poe:

Final­ly, we reach back to the 19th cen­tu­ry, to the father of the Amer­i­can goth­ic and the detec­tive sto­ry, Edgar Allan Poe, who had some very spe­cif­ic, very Poe things to say about the art of fic­tion. In his essay “The Phi­los­o­phy of Com­po­si­tion,” Poe focus­es on how to achieve what he vague­ly called a “uni­ty of effect,” the qual­i­ty he desired most to pro­duce in his nar­ra­tive poem “The Raven.” Per­haps the clear­est piece of advice Poe offers in his trea­tise is:

Know the End­ing in Advance, Before You Begin to Write

You will like­ly find oth­er authors who advise against this and tell you to write your way to the end. Bear­ing in mind Faulkner’s disclaimer—that we would be “fool to fol­low a theory”—we might at least try this prac­tice and see if it works for us as it did for Poe. As he described it, “noth­ing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name, must be elab­o­rat­ed to its dénoue­ment before any thing be attempt­ed with the pen.”

Keep­ing the end “con­stant­ly in view,” wrote Poe, gives “a plot its indis­pens­able air of con­se­quence.” Poe’s advice applies to short works that can be read in a sin­gle sit­ting, the only ones he gen­er­al­ly allows can achieve “uni­ty of effect.” Nov­el-writ­ing is dif­fer­ent. I don’t know if it’s nec­es­sary to ful­ly know the end­ing of a short sto­ry before one begins, but Von­negut coun­sels writ­ers to “start as close to the end as pos­si­ble” when writ­ing one.

See Poe’s full list of 7 tips here.

Should you desire more writ­ing advice, you’ll find no short­age here at Open Cul­ture, from writ­ers as diverse as Stephen King, Toni Mor­ri­sonRober­to Bolaño, H.P. Love­craft, Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Ray Brad­bury, and many more. Whether or not we decide to take any of their advice, it always opens a win­dow onto their art of cre­at­ing fic­tion­al worlds, which can seem to many of us a cre­ative act akin to mag­ic.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Rober­to Bolaño’s 12 Tips on “the Art of Writ­ing Short Sto­ries”

Writ­ing Tips by Hen­ry Miller, Elmore Leonard, Mar­garet Atwood, Neil Gaiman & George Orwell

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Lists the Three Essen­tial Qual­i­ties For All Seri­ous Nov­el­ists (And Run­ners)

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

Hear Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol Read by His Great-Granddaughter, Monica

In Eng­lish-speak­ing coun­tries where Christ­mas is cel­e­brat­ed, A Christ­mas Car­ol, Charles Dick­ens’ sec­u­lar Vic­to­ri­an tale of a Grinch restored to hol­i­day cheer, usu­al­ly plays some part.

How many chil­dren have been trau­ma­tized by Marley’s Ghost in the annu­al rebroad­cast of the half hour, 1971 ani­mat­ed ver­sion, fea­tur­ing the voic­es of Alis­tair Sim and Michael Red­grave as Scrooge and Bob Cratchit?

Per­son­al­ly, I lived in mor­tal fear of the cowled Ghost of Christ­mas Yet to Come from Scrooge, a movie musi­cal ver­sion star­ring Albert Finney.

Adap­ta­tions have been built around every­one from the Mup­pets to Bill Mur­ray.

And in some lucky fam­i­lies, an old­er rel­a­tive with a flair for the the­atri­cal reads the sto­ry aloud, prefer­ably on the actu­al day.

It’s a tra­di­tion that Charles Dick­ens him­self observed. It must’ve been a very pic­turesque scene, with his wife and all ten of their chil­dren gath­ered around. (Pre­sum­ably his mis­tress was not includ­ed in the fes­tiv­i­ties).

Even­tu­al­ly, the torch was passed to the next gen­er­a­tion, who mim­ic­ked and pre­served the cadences favored by the mas­ter.

Dick­ens great-grand­daugh­ter, nov­el­ist Mon­i­ca Dick­ens, who nar­rat­ed a con­densed ver­sion of the clas­sic tale in 1984, above, was schooled in the fam­i­ly inter­pre­ta­tion by her grand­fa­ther, Hen­ry Field­ing Dick­ens, who said of his famous father:

I remem­ber him as being at his best either at Christ­mas time or at oth­er times when Gad’s Hill was full of guests, for he loved social inter­course and was a per­fect host. At such times he rose to the very height of the occa­sion, and it is quite impos­si­ble to express in words his genial­i­ty and bril­lian­cy amid a bril­liant cir­cle.

Before the read­ing, Ms. Dick­ens shares some charm­ing anec­dotes about the orig­i­nal pub­li­ca­tion, but those with lim­it­ed time and/or a Scrooge-like aver­sion to jol­ly intros can skip ahead to 7:59, when Big Ben chimes to sig­nal the start of the sto­ry prop­er.

Her read­ing orig­i­nal­ly aired on Cape Cod’s radio sta­tion, 99.9 the Q. The read­ing will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Charles Dick­ens’ Hand-Edit­ed Copy of His Clas­sic Hol­i­day Tale, A Christ­mas Car­ol

A Christ­mas Car­ol, A Vin­tage Radio Broad­cast by Orson Welles and Lionel Bar­ry­more (1939)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

George Saunders Demystifies the Art of Storytelling in a Short Animated Documentary

An inter­est­ing thing hap­pens when you read cer­tain of George Saun­ders’ sto­ries. At first, you see the satirist at work, skew­er­ing Amer­i­can mean­ness and banal­i­ty with the same unspar­ing knife’s edge as ear­li­er post­mod­ernists like John Barth or Don­ald Barthelme. Then you begin to notice some­thing else tak­ing shape… some­thing per­haps unex­pect­ed: com­pas­sion. Rather than serv­ing as paper tar­gets of Saun­ders’ dark humor, his mis­guid­ed char­ac­ters come to seem like real peo­ple, peo­ple he cares about; and the real tar­get of his satire becomes a cul­ture that alien­ates and deval­ues those peo­ple.

Take the oft-anthol­o­gized “Sea Oak,” a far­ci­cal melo­dra­ma about a dead aunt who returns rean­i­mat­ed to annoy and depress her down­ward­ly mobile fam­i­ly mem­bers. The stage is set for a series of buf­foon­ish episodes that, in the hands of a less mature writer, might play out to empha­size just how ridicu­lous these char­ac­ters’ lives are, and how jus­ti­fi­ably we—author and reader—might mock them from our perch­es. Saun­ders does not do this at all. Rather than dis­tanc­ing, he draws us clos­er, so that the char­ac­ters in the sto­ry become more sym­pa­thet­ic and three-dimen­sion­al even as events become increas­ing­ly out­landish.

All of this human­iz­ing is by design, or rather, we might say that empa­thy is baked into Saun­ders’ ethos—one he has artic­u­lat­ed many times in essays, inter­views, and a mov­ing 2013 Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty com­mence­ment speech. Now we can see him in a can­did filmed appear­ance above, in a doc­u­men­tary titled “George Saun­ders: On Sto­ry” by Red­g­lass Pic­tures (exec­u­tive pro­duced by Ken Burns). Cre­at­ed from a two-hour inter­view with Saun­ders, the short video at the top offers “a direct look at the process by which he is able to take a sin­gle mun­dane sen­tence and infuse it with the dis­tinct blend of depth, com­pas­sion, and out­right mag­ic that are the trade­marks of his most pow­er­ful work.”

In Saun­ders’ own words, “a good sto­ry is one that says, at many dif­fer­ent lev­els, ‘we’re both human beings, we’re in this crazy sit­u­a­tion called life, that we don’t real­ly under­stand. Can we put our heads togeth­er and con­fer about it a lit­tle bit at a very high, non-bull­shit­ty lev­el?’ Then, all kinds of mag­ic can hap­pen.” The rest of Saun­ders’ fas­ci­nat­ing mono­logue on sto­ry gets an ani­mat­ed treat­ment that illus­trates the mag­ic he describes. If you haven’t read Saun­ders, this is almost as good an intro­duc­tion to him as, say, “Sea Oak.” His thoughts on the role fic­tion plays in our lives and the ways good sto­ries work are always lucid, his exam­ples vivid­ly inven­tive. The effect of lis­ten­ing to him mir­rors that of sit­ting in a sem­i­nar with one of the best teach­ers of cre­ative writ­ing, which Saun­ders hap­pens to be as well.

I would love to take a class with him, but bar­ring that, I’m very hap­py for the chance to hear him dis­cuss writ­ing tech­niques and phi­los­o­phy in the short film at the top and in the inter­view extras below it: “On the rela­tion­ship between read­er and writer,” “On the tricks of the writ­ing process,” and “In defense of dark­ness.” Praised by no less a post­mod­ernist lumi­nary than Thomas Pyn­chon, Saun­ders’ sto­ry col­lec­tions like Civil­WAr­Land in Bad Decline, Pas­toralia, and In Per­sua­sion Nation get at much of what ails us in these Unit­ed States, but they do so always with an under­ly­ing hope­ful­ness and a “non-bull­shit­ty” con­vic­tion of shared human­i­ty.

You can read 10 of Saun­ders’ sto­ries free—including “Sea Oak” and the excel­lent “The Red Bow”—here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Impor­tance of Kind­ness: An Ani­ma­tion of George Saun­ders’ Touch­ing Grad­u­a­tion Speech

10 Free Sto­ries by George Saun­ders, Author of Tenth of Decem­ber, “The Best Book You’ll Read This Year”

Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Ray Brad­bury Gives 12 Pieces of Writ­ing Advice to Young Authors (2001)

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

The Daily Habits of Famous Writers: Franz Kafka, Haruki Murakami, Stephen King & More

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Image by The USO, via Flickr Com­mons

Though few of us like to hear it, the fact remains that suc­cess in any endeav­or requires patient, reg­u­lar train­ing and a dai­ly rou­tine. To take a mun­dane, well-worn exam­ple, it’s not for noth­ing that Stephen R. Covey’s best-sell­ing clas­sic of the busi­ness and self-help worlds offers us “7 Habits of High­ly Effec­tive Peo­ple,” rather than “7 Sud­den Break­throughs that Will Change Your Life Forever”—though if we cred­it the spam emails, ads, and spon­sored links that clut­ter our online lives, we may end up believ­ing in quick fix­es and easy roads to fame and for­tune. But no, a well-devel­oped skill comes only from a set of prac­ticed rou­tines.

That said, the type of rou­tine one adheres to depends on very per­son­al cir­cum­stances such that no sin­gle cre­ative person’s habits need exact­ly resem­ble any other’s. When it comes to the lives of writ­ers, we expect some com­mon­al­i­ty: a writ­ing space free of dis­trac­tions, some pre­ferred method of tran­scrip­tion from brain to page, some set time of day or night at which the words flow best. Out­side of these basic para­me­ters, the dai­ly lives of writ­ers can look as dif­fer­ent as the images in their heads.

But it seems that once a writer set­tles on a set of habits—whatever they may be—they stick to them with par­tic­u­lar rig­or. The writ­ing rou­tine, says hyper-pro­lif­ic Stephen King, is “not any dif­fer­ent than a bed­time rou­tine. Do you go to bed a dif­fer­ent way every night?” Like­ly not. As for why we all have our very spe­cif­ic, per­son­al quirks at bed­time, or at writ­ing time, King answers hon­est­ly, “I don’t know.”

So what does King’s rou­tine look like? “There are cer­tain things I do if I sit down to write,” he’s quot­ed as say­ing in Lisa Rogak’s Haunt­ed Heart: The Life and Times of Stephen King:

“I have a glass of water or a cup of tea. There’s a cer­tain time I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, some­where with­in that half hour every morn­ing,” he explained. “I have my vit­a­min pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places. The cumu­la­tive pur­pose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of say­ing to the mind, you’re going to be dream­ing soon.”

The King quotes come to us via the site (and now book) Dai­ly Rou­tines, which fea­tures brief sum­maries of “how writ­ers, artists, and oth­er inter­est­ing peo­ple orga­nize their days.” We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured a few snap­shots of the dai­ly lives of famous philoso­phers. The writ­ers sec­tion of the site sim­i­lar­ly offers win­dows into the dai­ly prac­tices of a wide range of authors, from the liv­ing to the long dead.

HarukiMurakami3

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

A con­tem­po­rary of King, though a slow­er, more self-con­scious­ly painstak­ing writer, Haru­ki Muraka­mi incor­po­rates into his work­day his pas­sion for run­ning, an avo­ca­tion he has made cen­tral to his writ­ing phi­los­o­phy. Expect­ed­ly, Muraka­mi keeps a very ath­let­ic writ­ing sched­ule and rou­tine.

When I’m in writ­ing mode for a nov­el, I get up at 4:00 am and work for five to six hours. In the after­noon, I run for 10km or swim for 1500m (or do both), then I read a bit and lis­ten to some music. I go to bed at 9:00 pm. I keep to this rou­tine every day with­out vari­a­tion. The rep­e­ti­tion itself becomes the impor­tant thing; it’s a form of mes­merism. I mes­mer­ize myself to reach a deep­er state of mind. But to hold to such rep­e­ti­tion for so long — six months to a year — requires a good amount of men­tal and phys­i­cal strength. In that sense, writ­ing a long nov­el is like sur­vival train­ing. Phys­i­cal strength is as nec­es­sary as artis­tic sen­si­tiv­i­ty.

Not all writ­ers can adhere to such a dis­ci­plined way of liv­ing and work­ing, par­tic­u­lar­ly those whose wak­ing hours are giv­en over to oth­er, usu­al­ly painful­ly unful­fill­ing, day jobs.

Franz-Kafka

Image of Franz Kaf­ka, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

An almost arche­typ­al case of the writer trapped in such a sit­u­a­tion, Franz Kaf­ka kept a rou­tine that would crip­ple most peo­ple and that did not bring about phys­i­cal strength, to say the least. As Zadie Smith writes of the author’s por­tray­al in Louis Begley’s biog­ra­phy, Kaf­ka “despaired of his twelve hour shifts that left no time for writ­ing.”

[T]wo years lat­er, pro­mot­ed to the posi­tion of chief clerk at the Work­ers’ Acci­dent Insur­ance Insti­tute, he was now on the one-shift sys­tem, 8:30 AM until 2:30 PM. And then what? Lunch until 3:30, then sleep until 7:30, then exer­cis­es, then a fam­i­ly din­ner. After which he start­ed work around 11 PM (as Beg­ley points out, the let­ter- and diary-writ­ing took up at least an hour a day, and more usu­al­ly two), and then “depend­ing on my strength, incli­na­tion, and luck, until one, two, or three o’clock, once even till six in the morn­ing.” Then “every imag­in­able effort to go to sleep,” as he fit­ful­ly rest­ed before leav­ing to go to the office once more. This rou­tine left him per­ma­nent­ly on the verge of col­lapse.

Might he have cho­sen a health­i­er way? When his fiancée Felice Bauer sug­gest­ed as much, Kaf­ka replied, “The present way is the only pos­si­ble one; if I can’t bear it, so much the worse; but I will bear it some­how.” And so he did, until his ear­ly death from tuber­cu­lo­sis.

While writ­ers require rou­tine, nowhere is it writ­ten that their habits must be salu­bri­ous or mea­sured. Accord­ing to Simone De Beau­voir, out­ré French writer Jean Genet “puts in about twelve hours a day for six months when he’s work­ing on some­thing and when he has fin­ished he can let six months go by with­out doing any­thing.” Then there are those writ­ers who have relied on point­ed­ly unhealthy, even dan­ger­ous habits to pro­pel them through their work­day. Not only did William S. Bur­roughs and Hunter S. Thomp­son write under the influ­ence, but so also did such a seem­ing­ly con­ser­v­a­tive per­son as W.H. Auden, who “swal­lowed Ben­zedrine every morn­ing for twen­ty years… bal­anc­ing its effect with the bar­bi­tu­rate Sec­onal when he want­ed to sleep.” Auden called the amphet­a­mine habit a “labor sav­ing device” in the “men­tal kitchen,” though he added that “these mech­a­nisms are very crude, liable to injure the cook, and con­stant­ly break­ing down.”

So, there you have it, a very diverse sam­pling of rou­tines and habits in sev­er­al suc­cess­ful writ­ers’ lives. Though you may try to emu­late these if you har­bor lit­er­ary ambi­tions, you’re prob­a­bly bet­ter off com­ing up with your own, suit­ed to the odd­i­ties of your per­son­al make­up and your tolerance—or not—for seri­ous phys­i­cal exer­cise or mind-alter­ing sub­stances. Vis­it Dai­ly Rou­tines to learn about many more famous writ­ers’ habits.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dai­ly Rou­tines of Famous Cre­ative Peo­ple, Pre­sent­ed in an Inter­ac­tive Info­graph­ic

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Lists the Three Essen­tial Qual­i­ties For All Seri­ous Nov­el­ists (And Run­ners)

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writ­ers

Hon­oré de Balzac Writes About “The Plea­sures and Pains of Cof­fee,” and His Epic Cof­fee Addic­tion

The Dai­ly Habits of High­ly Pro­duc­tive Philoso­phers: Niet­zsche, Marx & Immanuel Kant

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

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

Jorge Luis Borges Picks 33 of His Favorite Books to Start His Famous Library of Babel

“Jorge Luis Borges 1951, by Grete Stern.” Licensed under Pub­lic Domain via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons.

Over the years the rec­om­men­da­tion robots of Ama­zon and oth­er online ser­vices seem to be usurp­ing the role of the librar­i­an. I do not know if this is ulti­mate­ly good or bad—we may see in the future arti­fi­cial­ly intel­li­gent librar­i­ans emerge from the web, per­son­al lit­er­ary assis­tants with impec­ca­ble taste and sen­si­tiv­i­ty. But at present, I find some­thing lack­ing in online cura­tion cul­ti­vat­ed by algo­rithms. (I have a sim­i­lar nos­tal­gia for the bygone video store clerk.) Yes, cus­tomers who bought this book also bought oth­ers I might like, but what, tell me, would a gen­uine read­er rec­om­mend?

A read­er, say, like that arch read­er Jorge Luis Borges, “one of the most well read men in his­to­ry,” writes Grant Munroe at The Rum­pus. Part of the thrill of dis­cov­er­ing Borges resides in dis­cov­er­ing all of the books he loved, both real and imag­i­nary. The author always points to his sources. Borges, after all, “pre­sent­ed the genius of Pierre Menard, author of the Quixote [a sto­ry about writ­ing as scrupu­lous­ly faith­ful rewrit­ing] by first care­ful­ly enu­mer­at­ing each book found in Menard’s per­son­al library.” Borges him­self, some read­ers may know, wrote the bulk of the short sto­ries for which he’s known while work­ing at a library in Buenos Aires, a job he described in his 1970 essay “Auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Notes” as “nine sol­id years of unhap­pi­ness.”

Although he dis­liked the bureau­crat­ic bore­dom of library work, Borges was bet­ter suit­ed than per­haps any­one for a cura­to­r­i­al role. Giv­en this rep­u­ta­tion, Borges was asked more than once to select his favorite nov­els and sto­ries for pub­lished antholo­gies. One such mul­ti-vol­ume project, titled Per­son­al Library, saw Borges select­ing 74 titles for an Argen­tine pub­lish­er between 1985 and his death in 1988. In anoth­er, Borges chose “a list of authors,” Mon­roe writes, “whose works were select­ed to fill 33 vol­umes in The Library of Babel, a 1979 Span­ish lan­guage anthol­o­gy of fan­tas­tic lit­er­a­ture edit­ed by Borges, named after his ear­li­er sto­ry by the same name.”

Mon­roe tracked down all of the titles Borges chose for the eclec­tic anthol­o­gy, “a fun, bril­liant, poly­glot col­lec­tion” that includes a great many of the author’s peren­ni­al favorites, many of which you’ll rec­og­nize from their men­tions in his fic­tion and essays. Below, we repro­duce Mon­roe’s recon­struc­tion of the 33 Library of Babel vol­umes, with links to those works avail­able free online. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, many of these sto­ries are not avail­able in trans­la­tion. Oth­ers, such as those of Leon Bloy, have just become avail­able in Eng­lish since Mon­roe’s 2009 arti­cle. Thanks to his dili­gence, we can enjoy hav­ing Jorge Luis Borges as our per­son­al librar­i­an.

The Library of Babel

(Note: The titles of all sto­ries cur­rent­ly with­out a prop­er trans­la­tion into Eng­lish have been left in their orig­i­nal lan­guage.)

(Also note:  All sto­ries marked with [c] are still pro­tect­ed by US copy­right law.  Only res­i­dents of the UK and Aus­tralia can legal­ly click on the hyper­link pro­vid­ed.)

  1. Jack Lon­don, The Con­cen­tric Deaths

“The Min­ions of Midas”
“The Shad­ow and the Flash”
“Lost Face”
“The House of Mapuhi”
“The Law of Life”

  1. Jorge Luis Borges, August 26, 1983

(All but the last three arti­cles are avail­able in Penguin’s Borges: The Col­lect­ed Fic­tions.)

“August 26, 1983″
“The Rose of Per­acel­sus”
“Blue Tigers”
“Shakespeare’s Mem­o­ry”
An Inter­view with Borges, with Maria Esther Vasquez
A Chronol­o­gy of J.L. Borges’ Life, from Siru­ela Mag­a­zine
The Ruler and Labyrinth: An Approx­i­ma­tion of J.L Borges’ Bib­li­og­ra­phy, by Fer­nan­dez Fer­rer

  1. Gus­tav Meyrink, Car­di­nal Napel­lus[ii]

“Der Kar­di­nal Napel­lus”
“J.H. Obere­its Besuch bei den Zeit­egeln”
“Der Vier Mond­brüder”

  1. Léon Bloy, Dis­agree­able Tales 

[All avail­able in a trans­la­tion pub­lished just this year]

“La Taie d’Argent”
“Les Cap­tifs de Longjumeau”
“Une Idée Médiocre”
“Une Mar­tyre”
“La Plus Belle Trou­vaille de Caïn”
“On n’est pas Par­fait”
“La Reli­gion de M. Pleur”
“Ter­ri­ble Châ­ti­ment d’un Den­tiste”
“La Tisane”
“Tout Ce Que Tu Voudras!”
“La Dernière Cuite”
“Le Vieux de la Mai­son”

  1. Gio­van­ni Pap­i­ni, The Mir­ror That Fled

“Il Giorno Non Resti­tu­ito”
“Due Immag­i­ni in una Vas­ca”
“Lo Spec­chio che Fugge”
“Sto­ria Com­ple­ta­mente Assur­da”
“Il Men­di­cante di Ani­me”
“Una Morte Men­tale”
“Non Voglio Più Essere Ciò che Sono”
“Chi Sei?”
“Il Sui­ci­da Sos­ti­tu­to”
“L’ultima Visi­ta del Gen­tilu­o­mo Mala­to”

  1. Oscar Wilde, Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime

“Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime”
“The Can­ter­ville Ghost”
“The Self­ish Giant”
“The Hap­py Prince”
“The Nightin­gale and the Rose”

  1. Vil­liers de L’Isle-Adam, El Con­vi­da­do de las Últi­mas Fes­ti­vas

(Used copies of the 1985 Oxford U. Press trans­la­tion of Cru­el Tales (the col­lec­tion in which these sto­ries are pub­lished) are avail­able online.)

“L’Aventure de Tsé-i-la”
“Le Con­vive des Dernières Fêtes”
“A Tor­ture By Hope” [trans. 1891]
“La Reine Ysabeau”
“Som­bre Réc­it Con­teur Plus Som­bre”
“L’Enjeu”
“Véra”

  1. Pedro Anto­nio de Alar­cón, El Ami­go de la Muerte

“El Ami­go de la Muerte” [or “The Strange Friend of Tito Gil”]
“The Tall Woman”

  1. Her­man Melville, Bartle­by the Scriven­er

“Bartle­by, the Scriven­er: A Sto­ry of Wall-Street”

  1. William Beck­ford, Vathek

Vathek, a novel­la.

  1. H.G. Wells, The Door in the Wall

“The Plat­tner Sto­ry”
“The Sto­ry of Late Mr. Elve­sham”
“The Crys­tal Egg”
“The Coun­try of the Blind”
“The Door in the Wall”

  1. Pu Songling, The Tiger Guest [iii]

“The Bud­dhist Priest of Ch’ang-Ch’ing”
“In the Infer­nal Regions”
“The Mag­ic Mir­ror”
“A Super­nat­ur­al Wife”
“Exam­i­na­tion for the Post of Guardian Angel”
“The Man Who Was Changed into a Crow”
“The Tiger Guest”
“Judge Lu”
“The Paint­ed Skin”
“The Stream of Cash”
“The Invis­i­ble Priest”
“The Mag­ic Path”
“The Wolf Dream”
“Dream­ing Hon­ors”
“The Tiger of Chao-Ch’ëng”
“Tak­ing Revenge”

  1. Arthur Machen, The Shin­ing Pyra­mid

“The Nov­el of the Black Seal”
“The Nov­el of the White Pow­der”
“The Shin­ing Pyra­mid”

  1. Robert Louis Steven­son, The Isle of Voic­es [iv]

“The Bot­tle Imp”
“The Isle of Voic­es”
“Thrawn Janet”
“Markheim”

  1. G.K. Chester­ton, The Eye of Apol­lo

“The Duel of Dr Hirsch”
“The Queer Feet”
“The Hon­or of Israel Gow”
“The Eye of Apol­lo”
“The Three Horse­men of the Apoc­a­lypse” [c]

  1. Jacques Cazotte, The Dev­il in Love

(A new trans­la­tion is avail­able from Dedalus Press of the UK.)

The Dev­il in Love, a novel­la.
“Jacquez Cazotte,” an essay by Ger­ard de Ner­val

  1. Franz Kaf­ka, The Vul­ture

(While I’ve pro­vid­ed links to online trans­la­tions, they’re some­what sus­pect; prob­a­bly bet­ter to check the Com­plete Short Sto­ries.)

“The Hunger Artist”
“First Sor­row” [or “The Trapeze Artist”]
“The Vul­ture”
“A Com­mon Con­fu­sion”
“Jack­als and Arabs”
“The Great Wall of Chi­na”
“The City Coat of Arms”
“A Report to the Acad­e­my”
“Eleven Sons”
“Prometheus”

  1. Edgar Allan Poe, The Pur­loined Let­ter

“The Pur­loined Let­ter”
“Ms. Found in a Bot­tle”
“The Facts in the Case of M. Valde­mar”
“The Man in the Crowd”
“The Pit and the Pen­du­lum”

  1. Leopol­do Lugones, The Pil­lar of Salt

(A new trans­la­tion of Lugones’ sto­ries, pub­lished by The Library of Latin Amer­i­ca, is avail­able at Powell’s.)

“The Pil­lar of Salt”
“Grand­moth­er Juli­eta”
“The Hors­es of Abdera”
“An Inex­plic­a­ble Phe­nom­e­non”
“Francesca”
“Rain of Fire: An Account of the Immo­la­tion of Gomor­ra”

  1. Rud­yard Kipling, The Wish House

(All the copy­right­ed sto­ries are from Kipling’s Deb­its and Cred­its.  They should be avail­able in any thor­ough col­lec­tion of his short fic­tion.)

“The Wish House” [c]
“A Sahib’s War”
“The Gar­den­er” [c]
“The Madon­na of the Trench­es” [c]
“The Eye of Allah” [c]

  1. The Thou­sand and One Nights, Accord­ing to Gal­land

“Abdu­la, the Blind Beg­gar” [trans. 1811]
“Alladin’s Lamp” [ibid]

  1. The Thou­sand and One Nights, Accord­ing to Bur­ton

“King Sin­bad and His Fal­con”
“The Adven­tures of Bul­ulkia”
“The City of Brass”
“Tale of the Queen and the Ser­pent”
“Tale of the Hus­band and the Par­rot”
“Tale of the Jew­ish Doc­tor”
“Tale of the Ensor­celled Prince”
“Tale of the Prince and the Ogres”
“Tale of the Wiz­ir and the Wise Duban”
“The Fish­er­man and the Genii”

  1. Hen­ry James, The Friends of the Friends

“The Friends of the Friends”
“The Abase­ment of the North­mores”
“Owen Wingrave”
“The Pri­vate Life”

  1. Voltaire, Micromegas

(A con­tem­po­rary trans­la­tion of these sto­ries is avail­able at Powell’s.)

“The Black and the White”
“The Two Con­forters”
“The His­to­ry of the Trav­els of Scara­men­ta­do”
“Mem­non the Philoso­pher”
“Micromegas”
“The Princess of Baby­lon”

  1. Charles Hin­ton, Sci­en­tif­ic Romances

“A Plane World”
“What is the Fourth Dimen­sion?”
“The Per­sian King”

  1. Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Great Stone Face

“Mr. Higginbotham’s Cat­a­stro­phe”
“The Great Stone Face”
“Earth’s Holo­caust”
“The Minister’s Black Veil”
“Wake­field”

  1. Lord Dun­sany, The Coun­try of Yann

“Where the Tides Ebb and Flow”
“The Sword and the Idol”
“Car­cas­sonne”
“Idle Days on the Yann”
“The Field”
“The Beg­gars”
The Bureau d’Echange de Maux”
“A Night at an Inn”

  1. Saki, The Ret­i­cence of Lady Anne

“The Sto­ry-Teller”
“The Lum­ber Room”
“Gabriel-Ernest”
“Tober­mory”
“The Back­ground” [trans­lat­ed as “El Mar­co” (or “The Frame”)]
“The Unrest Cure”
“The Inter­lop­ers”
“Quail Seed”
“The Peace of Mowsle Bar­ton”
“The Open Win­dow”
“The Ret­i­cence of Lady Anne”
“Sred­ni Vashtar”

  1. Russ­ian Tales

“Lazarus,” Leonid Andreyev
“The Croc­o­dile,” Fydor Doesto­evsky
“The Death of Ivan Illitch,” Leo Tol­stoy

  1. Argen­tinean Tales

“El Cala­mar Opta por su Tin­ta,” Adol­fo Bioy Casares
“Yzur,” Leopol­do Leones [See above.]
“A House Tak­en Over,” Julio Cor­tazar
“La Galera,” Manuel Muji­ca Láinez
“Los Objec­tos,” Sylv­ina Decam­po
“El Pro­fe­sor de Aje­drez,” Fed­eri­co Peltzer
“Pudo Haberme Ocur­ri­do,” Manuel Pey­rou
“El Elegi­do,” Maria Esther Vasquez

  1. J.L. Borges and Adol­fo Bioy Casares, New Sto­ries of H. Bus­tos Domecq

(Avail­able at Amazon.com.)

  1. The Book of Dreams (A Col­lec­tion of Recount­ed Dreams)

List of Authors: Fran­cis­co de Queve­do y Vil­le­gas, Alexan­dra David-Néel, Alfon­so X, Alfred de Vigny, Aloy­sius Bertrand, Anto­nio Macha­do, Bern­abé Cobo, F. Sarmien­to, Eliseo Díaz, Fran­cis­co Aceve­do, François Rabelais, Franz Kaf­ka, Friedrich Niet­zsche, Gastón Padil­la, Giuseppe Ungaret­ti, Got­tfried Keller, H. Desvi­gnes Doolit­tle, Her­bert Allen Giles, Herodotus, H. Gar­ro, Horace, Ibrahim Zahim [Ibrahim Bin Adham], James G. Fraz­er, Jorge Alber­to Fer­ran­do, Jorge Luis Borges, José Fer­rater Mora, José María Eça de Queiroz, Joseph Addi­son, Juan José Arreo­la, Lewis Car­roll, Lao Tzu, Louis Aragon, Lui­gi Piran­del­lo, Luis de Gón­go­ra, Mircea Eli­ade, Moham­mad Mossadegh, Nemer ibn el Barud [no Wiki entry; see Ama­zon com­ment field], O. Hen­ry, Otto von Bis­mar­ck, Paul Grous­sac, Pla­to, Plutarch, Rab­bi Nis­sim ben Reuven, Ray­mond de Beck­er,  Roder­i­cus Bar­tius, Roy Bartholomew, Samuel Tay­lor Coleridge, Sebastián de Covar­ru­bias Oroz­co, Thorn­ton Wilder, Lucretius, Tsao Hsue Kin [Cao Xue­qin], Ward Hill Lam­on, William But­ler Yeats, Wu Cheng’en, Gio­van­ni Pap­i­ni, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Charles Baude­laire

  1. Borges A to Z (A Com­pi­la­tion)

via The Rum­pus

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jorge Luis Borges Selects 74 Books for Your Per­son­al Library

Jorge Luis Borges’ 1967–8 Nor­ton Lec­tures On Poet­ry (And Every­thing Else Lit­er­ary)

Vis­it The Online Library of Babel: New Web Site Turns Borges’ “Library of Babel” Into a Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty

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

George Orwell’s 1984 Staged as an Opera: Watch Scenes from the 2005 Production in London

Should we have any doubt about the mal­leabil­i­ty of George Orwell’s dystopi­an 1948 nov­el 1984, we need look no fur­ther than its most recent, very loose incar­na­tion in a com­ing film titled Equals, which Vari­ety’s Peter Debruge writes “should res­onate most with the art­house-going seg­ment of the ‘Twi­light’ fan­base.” That’s not a descrip­tion that fills me with hope for a film project that might have brought us a wor­thy update of Orwell’s clas­sic, as rel­e­vant as ever in a world full of high-tech sur­veil­lance states, tech­no­log­i­cal­ly-enabled post-fac­tu­al­ism, and choose-your-own creep­ing total­i­tar­i­an polit­i­cal sce­nar­ios. These are con­cerns that deserve, nay beg, for a mature cin­e­mat­ic treat­ment, and a sophis­ti­cat­ed new film adap­ta­tion of 1984 might be just the thing we need to grasp the moment. Instead, we may have to set­tle for glossy, Orwell-esque teen romance.

On the oth­er hand, we might con­sid­er what should pre­sum­ably be a sophis­ti­cat­ed treat­ment of the nov­el in a recent adap­ta­tion that pre­miered in 2005 at London’s Roy­al Opera house. Com­posed by New York Phil­har­mon­ic con­duc­tor Lorin Maazel, with a libret­to by poet and crit­ic J.D. McClatchy and Tony-award win­ning writer Thomas Mee­han, the 1984 opera would seem to offer much more than an enter­tain­ing diver­sion. The work is Maazel’s first pro­duc­tion, and he told the BBC, “I found that once I got into the mate­r­i­al I was very inspired, very moti­vat­ed, by the breadth of the sto­ry, by the chal­lenge of mak­ing this extra­or­di­nary nov­el come alive in a dif­fer­ent frame and con­text.”

As Maazel points out, and as the com­ing Equals movie exploits, the novel’s plot does indeed turn on a romance, among oth­er poten­tial­ly the­atri­cal ele­ments. Maazel says he “found with­in [it] the true stuff of opera—doomed love affair, polit­i­cal intrigue—very much like Don Car­los, or Fide­lio, or Tosca.” How suc­cess­ful were Maazel and his writ­ers at trans­lat­ing the dark polit­i­cal plot­ting of the nov­el to the bright­ly-lit stage of the Roy­al Opera? Well, you’ll notice that the “Press Arti­cles” sec­tion of the opera’s web­site is telling­ly thin, per­haps because the crit­ics were not kind to the pro­duc­tion, many call­ing it a van­i­ty project, giv­en that Maazel had financed it him­self (with a com­pa­ny called Big Broth­er Pro­duc­tions). Nonethe­less, the New York Times praised the libret­to as “an effec­tive treat­ment of George Orwell’s com­plex and icon­ic nov­el” that hon­ors Orwell’s “themes and char­ac­ters,” though they found the music in gen­er­al much less com­pelling.

Wide­spread crit­i­cal dis­par­age­ment did not seem to impact tick­et sales, how­ev­er; the per­for­mance near­ly sold out for three nights in a row. Opera hous­es every­where, strug­gling as they are to attract new audi­ences and patrons, may yet con­sid­er reviv­ing the work for its pop­u­lar­i­ty. In the mean­while, curi­ous fans of opera, the nov­el, or both, can pur­chase a DVD of the pro­duc­tion and see sev­er­al clips here. At the top of the post, hear the over­ture and below it, see the love duet of Win­ston (Simon Keenly­side) and Julia (Nan­cy Gustafson). Fur­ther down, hear audio of the hymn “All Hail Oceana,” and just above, see the production’s finale. Speak­ers of Ital­ian may find this brief tele­vi­sion seg­ment on the pro­duc­tion of inter­est as well. While nei­ther Maazel’s ambi­tious opera nor the upcom­ing, very loose com­mer­cial film adap­ta­tion seem to offer the con­tem­po­rary 1984 we need, I for one hold out hope for a treat­ment that can effec­tive­ly crys­tal­ize our fraught polit­i­cal present and Orwell’s dis­turbing­ly imag­ined future.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Very First Adap­ta­tion of George Orwell’s 1984 in a Radio Play Star­ring David Niv­en (1949)

George Orwell Explains in a Reveal­ing 1944 Let­ter Why He’d Write 1984

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

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