10 Rules for Writers by Etgar Keret, the Israeli Master of the Short and Strange

Etgar Keret, above, is a best sell­ing author and award-win­ning film­mak­er with the soul of a teenage zine pub­lish­er. He’s a mas­ter of the strange and short who plays by his own rules. This sounds like a recipe for out­sider sta­tus but Keret fre­quent­ly pops up in The New York Times, The New York­er, and on pub­lic radio’s This Amer­i­can Life.

The child of Holo­caust sur­vivors told Tikkun that he began writ­ing sto­ries as a way out of his mis­er­able exis­tence as a stut­ter­ing 19-year-old sol­dier in the Israeli army. This may explain why he’s so gen­er­ous with young fans, hand­ing his sto­ries over to them to inter­pret in short films and ani­ma­tions.

When Rook­ie, a web­site for teenage girls, invit­ed him to share ten writ­ing tips, he play­ful­ly oblig­ed. It’s worth not­ing that he refrained from pre­scrib­ing some­thing that’s a sta­ple of oth­er authors’ tip lists — the adop­tion of a dai­ly writ­ing prac­tice. As he told the San Fran­cis­co Bay Guardian:

For me, the term “writ­ing rou­tine” sounds like an oxy­moron. It is a bit like say­ing “hav­ing-a-once-in-a-life­time-insight-which-makes-you-want-to burst-into-tears rou­tine.”

With no fur­ther ado, here are his ten rules for writ­ers, along with a lib­er­al sprin­kling of some of my favorite Keret sto­ries.

1. Make sure you enjoy writ­ing.

You won’t find Keret com­par­ing his cho­sen pro­fes­sion to open­ing a vein. As he told Rook­ie:

Writ­ing is a way to live anoth­er life…be grate­ful for the oppor­tu­ni­ty to expand the scope of your life.

2. Love your char­ac­ters.

…though few will ever seem as lov­able as the girl in Goran Dukic’s charm­ing ani­ma­tion of  Keret’s sto­ry “What Do We Have In Our Pock­ets?” below.

3. When you’re writ­ing, you don’t owe any­thing to any­one.

Don’t equate lov­ing your char­ac­ters with treat­ing them nice­ly. See Keret’s sto­ry “Fun­gus.”

4. Always start from the mid­dle.

This is per­haps Keret’s most con­ven­tion­al tip, though his writ­ing shows he’s any­thing but con­ven­tion­al when it comes to locat­ing that mid­dle. His novel­la, Kneller’s Hap­py Campers (on which the film Wrist­cut­ters: A Love Sto­ry, star­ring Tom Waits, was based) man­ages to start at the begin­ning, mid­dle and end.

5. Try not to know how it ends.

At the very least, be pre­pared to dig your­self out to a dif­fer­ent real­i­ty, like the nar­ra­tor in Keret’s very short sto­ry “Mys­tique,” read below by actor Willem Dafoe.

6. Don’t use any­thing just because “that’s how it always is.”

Here, Keret is refer­ring to what he termed “the shrine of form” in an inter­view with his great admir­er, broad­cast­er Ira Glass, but his con­tent is sim­i­lar­ly unfet­tered.  If your writing’s become bogged down by real­i­ty, try intro­duc­ing a mag­ic fish who’s flu­ent in every­thing, as in “What, of This Gold­fish, Would You Wish?,” read by author Gary Shteyn­gart, below.

7. Write like your­self.

Leave the crit­ics hold­ing the bag on com­par­isons to Franz Kaf­ka, Kurt Von­negut and Woody Allen, Lydia Davis, Amos Oz, Don­ald Barthelme

8. Make sure you’re all alone in the room when you write.

um…Etgar? Does this mean I have to give up my cof­fice?

9. Let peo­ple who like what you write encour­age you.

Nerts to under­min­ers, fren­e­mies, with­er­ing inter­nal edi­tors, and delib­er­ate­ly hate­ful review­ers!

10. Hear what every­one has to say but don’t lis­ten to any­one (except me).

Read the Rook­ie inter­view in which Keret expands on his rules.

via Rook­ie

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Kings’ Top 20 Rules for Writ­ers

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

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

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

Neil Gaiman & Famous Friends Read Aloud the Entirety of Coraline (and The Graveyard Book Too)

One of the many plea­sures of hear­ing a children’s author read­ing his or her own work is their over­whelm­ing lack of vocal sen­ti­ment. When my chil­dren were young, I always opt­ed for the horse’s mouth, over the more histri­on­ic char­ac­ter­i­za­tions of a hired nar­ra­tor, regard­less of what sit­com or Broad­way play he or she may have starred in. It might have tak­en author E.B. White 17 takes to lay down a track for Charlotte’s Web’s tit­u­lar character’s death scene, but he even­tu­al­ly achieved the healthy remove that lets the listener—not the reader—wallow in the val­ley of deep emo­tions.

Neil Gaiman’s Cora­line is not a weepie, like White’s best loved work. Instead, it rev­els in a sort of under­stat­ed creepi­ness en route to the hor­rif­i­cal­ly bizarre. It’s a tone his fel­low lit­er­ary celebs are bliss­ful­ly well equipped to deliv­er, read­ing chap­ters aloud in hon­or of the book’s 10th anniver­sary. You can see them read all of the chap­ters here and also above and below.

Gaiman him­self book­ends the pro­ceed­ings by claim­ing the first (above) and final chap­ter. Lucky that. One shud­ders to think of the myr­i­ad ways in which a nar­ra­tor of cute­si­er sen­si­bil­i­ties could have screwed up phras­es like “oom­pah oom­pah” and “squidy brown toad­stools” (thus blight­ing the entire book).

I con­ceive of these read­ings as a mul­ti­ple nar­ra­tor audio­book because the per­form­ers are read­ing, rather than attempt­ing to act out the text in their hands, but real­ly it’s more of a video sto­ry­time. Gaiman is def­i­nite­ly on point in front of the camera—his large brown eyes, promi­nent pro­boscis and stringy ster­n­oclei­do­mas­toid mus­cles adding to the pro­ceed­ings.

Sand­wiched in between the master’s per­for­mances, you will find such lumi­nar­ies as authors R.L. Stine, John Hodg­man, and Daniel “Lemo­ny Snick­et” Han­dler, framed so that he has no head. For­mer child star Fairuza Balk would’ve made a gim­crack Cora­line back in the day, but her ren­di­tion of the book’s penul­ti­mate chap­ter sug­gests that she’s even bet­ter suit­ed to the role of Coraline’s “Oth­er Moth­er,” or rather her dis­em­bod­ied hand. Bed­lam, indeed.

Lis­ten to the 10th Anniver­sary Cel­e­bra­tion of the book in its entire­ty here.

Should that leave you want­i­ng more, Harp­er Collins has com­piled a stem to stern playlist of Gaiman read­ing 2008’s The Grave­yard Book, culled from var­i­ous videos of the author on tour. You can watch it above, or find it in our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Gaiman’s Free Short Sto­ries

Neil Gaiman Reads “The Man Who For­got Ray Brad­bury”

Where Do Great Ideas Come From? Neil Gaiman Explains

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

A Dreamily Animated Introduction to Haruki Murakami, Japan’s Jazz and Baseball-Loving Postmodern Novelist

If the impres­sion­is­tic ani­ma­tion style of psy­chol­o­gist, writer, and film­mak­er Ilana Simons’ “About Haru­ki Murakami”—a short video intro­duc­tion to the jazz bar own­ing, marathon run­ning, Japan­ese novelist—puts you in mind of Richard Lin­klater’s Wak­ing Life, then the ellip­ti­cal, lucid dream nar­ra­tion may do so even more. “He did­n’t use too many words,” Simons tells us. “Too many words is kin­da… too many words. Some­one’s always los­ing their voice. Some­one’s hear­ing is acute. Haru­ki Muraka­mi.” Like Roger Ebert said of Lin­klater’s film, Simons’ ode to Murakami—and the nov­el­ist’s work itself—is “philo­soph­i­cal and play­ful at the same time.”

Simons reads us Murakami’s exis­ten­tial­ist account of how he became a nov­el­ist, at age 29, after hav­ing an epiphany at a base­ball game: “The idea struck me,” he says, “I could write a nov­el…. I could do it.” And he did, sit­ting down every night after work­ing the bar he owned with his wife, writ­ing by hand and drink­ing beer. “Before that,” he has said in an inter­view with singer/songwriter John Wes­ley Hard­ing, “I did­n’t write any­thing. I was just one of those ordi­nary peo­ple. I was run­ning a jazz club, and I did­n’t cre­ate any­thing at all.” And it’s true. Besides sud­den­ly decid­ing to become a nov­el­ist, “out of the blue” at almost 30, then sud­den­ly becom­ing an avid marathon run­ner at age 33, Murakami’s life was pret­ty unre­mark­able.

It’s not entire­ly sur­pris­ing that he became a nov­el­ist. Both of Murakami’s par­ents taught Japan­ese lit­er­a­ture, though he him­self was not a par­tic­u­lar­ly good stu­dent. But the author of such beloved books as Nor­we­gian Wood, The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, Kaf­ka on the Shore and dozens of short sto­ries (read six free here), has most­ly drawn his inspi­ra­tion from out­side his nation­al tradition—from Amer­i­can base­ball and jazz, from British inva­sion rock and roll, from Fitzger­ald, Kaf­ka, and Hol­ly­wood films. As Col­in Mar­shall wrote in a pre­vi­ous post on the BBC Muraka­mi doc­u­men­tary below, “he remained an author shaped by his favorite for­eign cultures—especially Amer­i­ca’s. This, com­bined with his yearn­ing to break from estab­lished norms, has gen­er­at­ed enough inter­na­tion­al demand for his work to sell briskly in almost every lan­guage.”

Murakami’s desire to break with norms, Simons tells us in her charm­ing, visu­al­ly accom­plished ani­mat­ed short, is symp­to­matic of his “detach­ment” and “intro­spec­tion.” Muraka­mi “liked escape, or he just does­n’t like join­ing groups and invest­ing too many words in places where words have been too often.” The thought of “orga­nized activ­i­ties,” Muraka­mi has said, like “hold­ing hands at a demon­stra­tion… gives me the creeps.” Murakami’s love of soli­tude makes him seem mys­te­ri­ous, “elu­sive,” says pre­sen­ter Alan Yen­tob in the film above. But one of the extra­or­di­nary things about Murakami—in addi­tion to his run­ning a 62-mile “ultra­ma­rathon” and con­quer­ing the lit­er­ary world on a whim—is just how ordi­nary he is in many ways. Both Simons’ increas­ing­ly sur­re­al­ist, bebop-scored short and the BBC’s cool jazz-backed explo­ration make this con­trast seem all the more remark­able. It’s Murakami’s abil­i­ty to stretch and bend the ordi­nary world, Simons sug­gests near the end of her lyri­cal trib­ute, that makes his read­ers feel that “some­how, mag­i­cal­ly… he does some­thing very pri­vate and inti­mate with their brains”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 6 Sto­ries By Haru­ki Muraka­mi Free Online

Pat­ti Smith Reviews Haru­ki Murakami’s New Nov­el, Col­or­less Tsuku­ru Taza­ki and His Years of Pil­grim­age

Haru­ki Murakami’s Pas­sion for Jazz: Dis­cov­er the Novelist’s Jazz Playlist, Jazz Essay & Jazz Bar

A 56-Song Playlist of Music in Haru­ki Murakami’s Nov­els: Ray Charles, Glenn Gould, the Beach Boys & More

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

How Walking Fosters Creativity: Stanford Researchers Confirm What Philosophers and Writers Have Always Known

Walking

Image via Diego Sevil­la Ruiz

A cer­tain Zen proverb goes some­thing like this: “A five year old can under­stand it, but an 80 year old can­not do it.” The sub­ject of this rid­dle-like say­ing has been described as “mindfulness”—or being absorbed in the moment, free from rou­tine men­tal habits. In many East­ern med­i­ta­tive tra­di­tions, one can achieve such a state by walk­ing just as well as by sit­ting still—and many a poet and teacher has pre­ferred the ambu­la­to­ry method.

This is equal­ly so in the West, where we have an entire school of ancient philosophy—the “peri­patet­ic”—that derives from Aris­to­tle and his con­tem­po­raries’ pen­chant for doing their best work while in leisure­ly motion. Friedrich Niet­zsche, an almost fanat­i­cal walk­er, once wrote, “all tru­ly great thoughts are con­ceived by walk­ing.” Niet­zsche’s moun­tain walks were ath­let­ic, but walk­ing—Frédéric Gros main­tains in his A Phi­los­o­phy of Walk­ing—is not a sport; it is “the best way to go more slow­ly than any oth­er method that has ever been found.”

Gros dis­cuss­es the cen­tral­i­ty of walk­ing in the lives of Niet­zsche, Rim­baud, Kant, Rousseau, and Thore­au. Like­wise, Rebec­ca Sol­nit has pro­filed the essen­tial walks of lit­er­ary fig­ures such as William Wordsworth, Jane Austen, and Gary Sny­der in her book Wan­der­lust, which argues for the neces­si­ty of walk­ing in our own age, when doing so is almost entire­ly unnec­es­sary most of the time. As great walk­ers of the past and present have made abun­dant­ly clear—anecdotally at least—we see a sig­nif­i­cant link between walk­ing and cre­ative think­ing.

More gen­er­al­ly, writes Fer­ris Jabr in The New York­er, “the way we move our bod­ies fur­ther changes the nature of our thoughts, and vice ver­sa.” Apply­ing mod­ern research meth­ods to ancient wis­dom has allowed psy­chol­o­gists to quan­ti­fy the ways in which this hap­pens, and to begin to explain why. Jabr sum­ma­rizes the exper­i­ments of two Stan­ford walk­ing researchers, Mar­i­ly Oppez­zo and her men­tor Daniel Schwartz, who found that almost two hun­dred stu­dents test­ed showed marked­ly height­ened cre­ative abil­i­ties while walk­ing. Walk­ing, Jabr writes in poet­ic terms, works by “set­ting the mind adrift on a froth­ing sea of thought.” (Hear Dr. Oppez­zo dis­cuss her study in a Min­neso­ta pub­lic radio inter­view above.)

Oppez­zo and Schwartz spec­u­late, “future stud­ies would like­ly deter­mine a com­plex path­way that extends from the phys­i­cal act of walk­ing to phys­i­o­log­i­cal changes to the cog­ni­tive con­trol of imag­i­na­tion.” They rec­og­nize that this dis­cov­ery must also account for such vari­ables as when one walks, and—as so many notable walk­ers have stressed—where. Researchers at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Michi­gan have tack­led the where ques­tion in a paper titled “The Cog­ni­tive Ben­e­fits of Inter­act­ing with Nature.” Their study, writes Jabr, showed that “stu­dents who ambled through an arbore­tum improved their per­for­mance on a mem­o­ry test more than stu­dents who walked along city streets.”

One won­ders what James Joyce—whose Ulysses is built almost entire­ly on a scaf­fold­ing of walks around Dublin—would make of this. Or Wal­ter Ben­jamin, whose con­cept of the flâneur, an arche­typ­al urban wan­der­er, derives direct­ly from the insights of that most imag­i­na­tive deca­dent poet, Charles Baude­laire. Clas­si­cal walk­ers, Roman­tic walk­ers, Mod­ernist walkers—all rec­og­nized the cre­ative impor­tance of this sim­ple move­ment in time and space, one we work so hard to mas­ter in our first years, and some­times lose in lat­er life if we acquire it. Going for a walk, con­tem­po­rary research confirms—a mun­dane activ­i­ty far too eas­i­ly tak­en for granted—may be one of the most salu­tary means of achiev­ing states of enlight­en­ment, lit­er­ary, philo­soph­i­cal, or oth­er­wise, whether we roam through ancient forests, over the Alps, or to the cor­ner store.

via The New York­er/Stan­ford News

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why You Do Your Best Think­ing In The Show­er: Cre­ativ­i­ty & the “Incu­ba­tion Peri­od”

The Psy­chol­o­gy of Messi­ness & Cre­ativ­i­ty: Research Shows How a Messy Desk and Cre­ative Work Go Hand in Hand

John Cleese’s Phi­los­o­phy of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Cre­at­ing Oases for Child­like Play

Free Online Psy­chol­o­gy Cours­es

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

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

Bolano Advice

For some cer­tain roman­tic rea­sons, a seg­ment of the Eng­lish-lan­guage read­ing pop­u­la­tion fell in love with Rober­to Bolaño in the first few years of this mil­len­ni­um. One invari­ably glimpsed Bolaño’s award-win­ning 1998 nov­el The Sav­age Detec­tives on end­ta­bles and night­stands after its trans­la­tion in 2007, with or with­out book­marks. When 2666—the Chilean writer’s dizzy­ing­ly enor­mous work on the dark­est of events in 1990’s North­ern Mexico—appeared, it did so posthu­mous­ly, fur­ther ele­vat­ing Bolaño’s lit­er­ary out­law mythos. In addi­tion to being a hard-bit­ten Trot­sky­ist nomad, Bolaño—who died of liv­er fail­ure in 2003—was said to have been a hero­in addict and alco­holic. Nei­ther was the case, writes Hec­tor Tobar in the LA Times, quot­ing a Mex­i­co City-based jour­nal­ist on the author: “He had a super bor­ing dai­ly life. It was a life built around his own writ­ing rit­u­als and habits.”

For all his leg­endary exploits as a glo­be­trot­ting jour­nal­ist and poet, Bolaño also seems to have built his life around read­ing. “Read­ing,” Bolaño has said, “is more impor­tant than writ­ing.” He finds much com­pa­ny with this state­ment among fel­low writ­ers. Pat­ti Smith, for exam­ple, who urges read­ing “any­thing by Bolaño,” could also “rec­om­mend a mil­lion” books to any­one who asks. A much short­er but still chal­leng­ing list of hers reveals a deep and broad invest­ment in lit­er­a­ture. William S. Bur­roughs, who prob­a­bly did­n’t read Bolaño but worked in a sim­i­lar­ly hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry vein, taught a class on “Cre­ative Read­ing” that was only sec­on­dar­i­ly a class on writ­ing, filled with exam­ple after exam­ple from writer after trea­sured writer. The best writ­ing advice writ­ers can dis­pense, it seems, is this: Read.

Such is the approach of Bolaño him­self, in a short, pithy essay on how to write short sto­ries. He begins in a per­func­to­ry way, almost with a sigh: “Now that I’m forty-four years old, I’m going to offer some advice on the art of writ­ing short sto­ries.” The advice, found in the graph­ic form above on The Paris Review’s Tum­blr and reprint­ed in a non-fic­tion col­lec­tion titled Between Paren­the­sis, quick­ly becomes exu­ber­ant­ly pedan­tic, per­me­at­ing the bound­aries of its neat­ly ordered list form with tongue mov­ing from cheek to cheek. Does he real­ly mean that we should read “the notable Pseu­do-Long­i­nus” on the sub­lime? Or to suggest—after insis­tent ref­er­ence to sev­er­al essen­tial Latin Amer­i­can writ­ers’ writers—that “with Edgar Allan Poe, we would all have more than enough good mate­r­i­al to read”? Prob­a­bly. But the gist, with more than enough sin­cer­i­ty, is this: Read the greats, who­ev­er they are, and read them often.

See Bolaño’s com­plete text here at Elec­tric Cere­al and an excerpt­ed ver­sion below.

 

(1) Nev­er approach short sto­ries one at a time. If one approach­es short sto­ries one at a time, one can quite hon­est­ly be writ­ing the same short sto­ry until the day one dies. 

(2) It is best to write short sto­ries three or five at a time. If one has the ener­gy, write them nine or fif­teen at a time.

(4) One must read Hora­cio Quiroga, Felis­ber­to Hernán­dez, and Jorge Luis Borges. One must read Juan Rul­fo and Augus­to Mon­ter­roso. Any short-sto­ry writer who has some appre­ci­a­tion for these authors will nev­er read Cami­lo José Cela or Fran­cis­co Umbral yet will, indeed, read Julio Cortázar and Adol­fo Bioy Casares, but in no way Cela or Umbral. 

(5) I’ll repeat this once more in case it’s still not clear: don’t con­sid­er Cela or Umbral, what­so­ev­er.

(6) A short-sto­ry writer should be brave. It’s a sad fact to acknowl­edge, but that’s the way it is.

(9) The hon­est truth is that with Edgar Allan Poe, we would all have more than enough good mate­r­i­al to read. 

(10) Give thought to point num­ber 9. Think and reflect on it. You still have time. Think about num­ber 9. To the extent pos­si­ble, do so on bend­ed knees. 

(12) Read these books and also read Anton Chekhov and Ray­mond Carv­er, for one of the two of them is the best writer of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith’s List of Favorite Books: From Rim­baud to Susan Son­tag

Junot Díaz’s Syl­labi for His MIT Writ­ing Class­es, and the Nov­els on His Read­ing List

Pre­dict Which 21st Cen­tu­ry Nov­els Will Enter the Lit­er­ary Canon? And Which Over­rat­ed Ones Won’t?

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

New Archive Offers Free Access to 22,000 Literary Documents From Great British & American Writers

LF_HardyT_001_582px

Thomas Hardy—archi­tect, poet, and writer (above)—gave us the fierce, stormy romance Far From the Madding Crowd, cur­rent­ly impress­ing crit­ics in a film adap­ta­tion by Thomas Vin­ter­berg. He also gave us Tess of the D’Urbervilles, The Return of the Native, and Jude the Obscure, books whose per­sis­tent­ly grim out­look might make them too depress­ing by far were it not for Hardy’s engross­ing prose, unfor­get­table char­ac­ter­i­za­tion, and, per­haps most impor­tant­ly, unshak­able sense of place. Hardy set most of his nov­els in a region he called Wes­sex, which—much like William Faulkn­er’s Yoknapatawpha—is a thin­ly fic­tion­al­ized recre­ation of his rur­al home­town of Dorch­ester and its sur­round­ing coun­ties.

Hardy Revisions

Now, thanks to the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter, we can learn all about this ancient region in South West Eng­land, and Hardy’s trans­mu­ta­tion of it, through Hardy’s own proof copy of a 1905 book by Frank R. Heath called Dorch­ester (Dorset) and its Sur­round­ings, with revi­sions in Hardy’s hand. In the excerpt above, for exam­ple, from page 36 of this schol­ar­ly work, the author dis­cuss­es Hardy’s use of Dorch­ester in The May­or of Cast­er­bridge and the so-called “Wes­sex Poems.” In the mar­gins on the right, we see Hardy’s cor­rec­tions and gloss­es. Though this may not seem the most excit­ing piece of Hardy mem­o­ra­bil­ia, for stu­dents of the author and his invest­ment in a rur­al cor­ner of Eng­land, it is indeed a trea­sure.

St Juliots Hardy

The Hardy archive also con­tains scans of the author’s cor­re­spon­dence, man­u­scripts and signed type­scripts, and archi­tec­tur­al draw­ings, like that of St. Juliot’s Church in Corn­wall, above. This exten­sive dig­i­tal Hardy col­lec­tion is but one of many housed in the Ran­som Cen­ter’s Project Reveal, an acronym for “Read and View Eng­lish & Amer­i­can Lit­er­a­ture.” Read and view you can indeed, through the inti­ma­cy of first drafts, man­u­scripts, per­son­al writ­ing, and oth­er ephemera.

Wilde Salome

See, for exam­ple, a hand­writ­ten draft of Oscar Wilde’s Salome, in French, (excerpt above). Below, we have a hand­writ­ten list of Robert Louis Steven­son’s favorite books, and fur­ther down, a manuscript draft of Kather­ine Mans­field­’s “Now I am a plant, a weed” from her per­son­al poet­ry note­book.

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Oth­er authors includ­ed in the Project Reveal archive include Char­lotte Perkins Gilman, Hart Crane, Hen­ry James, Joseph Con­rad, and William Thack­er­ay. The project, writes the Ran­som Cen­ter in a press release, gen­er­at­ed more than 22,000 high-res­o­lu­tion images, avail­able for use by any­one for any pur­pose with­out restric­tion or fees” (but with attri­bu­tion). The lit­er­ary store­house on dis­play here only adds to an already essen­tial col­lec­tion of arti­facts the Ran­som Cen­ter hous­es, such as the papers of Gabriel Gar­cia Mar­quez, syl­labi, anno­tat­ed books, and man­u­scripts from David Fos­ter Wal­lace, scrap­books of Har­ry Hou­di­ni, and the first known pho­to­graph ever tak­en. See a com­plete list of con­tents of the Ran­som Cen­ter’s Dig­i­tal Col­lec­tions here, and learn more about this amaz­ing library in the heart of Texas at their main site.

MSS_MansfieldK_1_4_003

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Library of Con­gress Launch­es New Online Poet­ry Archive, Fea­tur­ing 75 Years of Clas­sic Poet­ry Read­ings

Yale Launch­es an Archive of 170,000 Pho­tographs Doc­u­ment­ing the Great Depres­sion

Lit­er­ary Remains of Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez Will Rest in Texas

David Fos­ter Wallace’s Love of Lan­guage Revealed by the Books in His Per­son­al Library

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

Commuters Can Download Free eBooks of Russian Classics While Riding the Moscow Metro

Dostoyevskaya

Image by Zig­urds Zakis

They say that Mus­solin­i’s brand of fas­cism made Italy’s trains run on time. Mean­while, it looks like Com­mu­nists and Post-Com­mu­nist auto­crats made the morn­ing sub­way ride in Rus­sia some­thing of a cul­tur­al expe­ri­ence.

As you can see below, the Sovi­ets designed the Moscow sub­way sta­tions as under­ground palaces, adorned withhigh ceil­ings, stained glass, mosaics and chan­de­liers.” (Check out a gallery of pho­tos here.) In more recent times, city plan­ners opened the Dos­toyevskaya sub­way sta­tion, a more aus­tere sta­tion where you can see black and white mosaics of scenes from Fyo­dor Dos­to­evsky’s nov­els — Crime and Pun­ish­ment, The Idiot and The Broth­ers Kara­ma­zov. Some­what con­tro­ver­sial­ly, the mosaics depict fair­ly vio­lent scenes. On one wall, The Inde­pen­dent writes, “Raskol­nikov from Crime and Pun­ish­ment bran­dish­es an axe over the elder­ly pawn­bro­ker Aly­ona Ivanov­na and her sis­ter, his mur­der vic­tims in the nov­el. Near by, a char­ac­ter from Demons holds a pis­tol to his tem­ple.” Noth­ing like con­fronting mur­der and sui­cide on the morn­ing com­mute.

If these gloomy scenes don’t sound famil­iar, don’t fret. Late last year, the Moscow sub­way sys­tem launched a pilot where Moscow sub­way com­muters, car­ry­ing smart­phones and tablets, can down­load over 100 clas­sic Russ­ian works, for free. As they shut­tle from one sta­tion to anoth­er, rid­ing on sub­way cars equipped with free wifi, straphang­ers can read texts by Dos­to­evsky, Tol­stoy, Chekhov, Pushkin, Bul­gakov, Ler­mon­tov, Gogol and more. Per­haps that takes the sting out of the soar­ing infla­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dig­i­tal Dos­to­evsky: Down­load Free eBooks & Audio Books of the Russ­ian Novelist’s Major Works

The Com­plete Works of Leo Tol­stoy Online: New Archive Will Present 90 Vol­umes for Free (in Russ­ian)

Stephen Fry Pro­files Six Russ­ian Writ­ers in the New Doc­u­men­tary Russia’s Open Book

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Take a Visual Walking Tour of Franz Kafka’s Prague with Will Self (Then Read His Digital Essay, “Kafka’s Wound”)

“There is noth­ing intrin­si­cal­ly imag­i­na­tive about the idea of ‘gold,’ nor the idea of ‘moun­tain,’” writes Will Self, cit­ing an idea of the philoso­pher David Hume, “but join them togeth­er and you have a fan­tas­ti­cal­ly gleam­ing ‘gold moun­tain.’ And might not that gold moun­tain be the Lau­ren­z­iberg in Prague? After all, it looms over con­tem­po­rary Prague just as it loomed in the con­scious­ness of Franz Kaf­ka, whose ear­li­est sur­viv­ing nar­ra­tive frag­ment, ‘Descrip­tion of a Strug­gle,’ is in part an account of a phan­tas­magor­i­cal ascent of its slopes.”

This asso­ci­a­tion comes from “Kafka’s Wound,” Will Self­’s new essay in the Lon­don Review of Books — or rather, a new “dig­i­tal essay” from the LRB on the BBC and Arts Coun­cil Eng­land’s new site The Space, one which takes full advan­tage of the mul­ti­me­dia future, much enthused over back in the 1990s, in which we now find our­selves. For some read­ers, myself includ­ed, the asso­ci­a­tion of the author of The Meta­mor­pho­sis and The Tri­al with Hume, the author of so many vol­umes fic­tion­al, non­fic­tion­al, and psy­cho­geo­graph­i­cal (find some in our col­lec­tion of Free Phi­los­o­phy eBooks), con­sti­tutes rea­son enough to min­i­mize all oth­er win­dows and get read­ing.

But Self has tak­en on an even more ambi­tious project than that: the mind-map­pish inter­face of “Kafka’s Wound” offers a wealth of audio, video, and oth­er tex­tu­al mate­r­i­al to sup­ple­ment the expe­ri­ence of the main text, all of which con­nects in some way to the essay’s sub­ject: Will Self­’s “per­son­al rela­tion­ship to Kafka’s work through the lens of the short sto­ry ‘A Coun­try Doc­tor’ (1919), and in par­tic­u­lar through the aper­ture of the wound described in that sto­ry.” Self­’s own site describes the essay as “ ‘through com­posed’ with Will’s own thoughts, as he works, being respond­ed to by dig­i­tal-con­tent providers,” with more of that con­tent to come through July.

The envi­ron­ment inter­net, which facil­i­tates our nat­ur­al ten­den­cy to drift from sub­ject to at least semi-relat­ed sub­ject with an addic­tive vengeance, encour­ages asso­ci­a­tion­al think­ing. But so do cities, as a psy­cho­geo­g­ra­ph­er like Will Self knows full well. And so part of this rich lit­er­ary inves­ti­ga­tion takes the form of an hour­long doc­u­men­tary (click here or the image above to view), in which Self takes a walk­ing tour of Kafka’s Prague, seek­ing out the writer’s “genius loci,” the sites that gave set­tings to the mile­stones of his life and shape to his artis­tic and intel­lec­tu­al sen­si­bil­i­ties. He also takes the oppor­tu­ni­ty to do a Kaf­ka read­ing right there in Kafka’s home­town. It’s one thing to read Kaf­ka with the Lau­ren­z­iberg in mind, but still quite anoth­er to do it with the Lau­ren­z­iberg in sight.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kafka’s Night­mare Tale, ‘A Coun­try Doc­tor,’ Told in Award-Win­ning Japan­ese Ani­ma­tion

Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque Love Let­ters

Vladimir Nabokov Makes Edi­to­r­i­al Tweaks to Franz Kafka’s Novel­la The Meta­mor­pho­sis

The Art of Franz Kaf­ka: Draw­ings from 1907–1917

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

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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