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Digital Dubliners: Free, 21st Century Ways to Read Joyce’s Great Story Collection on its 100th Anniversary


Read near­ly any crit­i­cal com­men­tary on James Joyce’s Dublin­ers, his 1914 col­lec­tion of short sto­ries that chron­i­cle the lives of ordi­nary Irish res­i­dents of the title city, and you’re sure to come across the word “epiphany.” This is not some aca­d­e­m­ic jar­gon, but the word Joyce him­self used to describe the way that each sto­ry builds to a shock of recognition—often in the form of painful self-awareness—for key char­ac­ters. Short-cir­cuit­ing the typ­i­cal cli­max-res­o­lu­tion-dénoue­ment of con­ven­tion­al nar­ra­tive, Joyce’s epipha­nies give his sto­ries a verisimil­i­tude that can still feel very unset­tling, giv­en our typ­i­cal expec­ta­tions that real­ist fic­tion still obey the rules of fic­tion. Dra­mat­ic moments in our lives rarely have neat and tidy end­ings. But in sto­ries like “Eve­line,” “Ara­by,” “A Lit­tle Cloud,” and the collection’s cap­stone piece, “The Dead,” the often feck­less char­ac­ters find them­selves par­a­lyzed in states of exis­ten­tial dread by sud­den flash­es of self-knowl­edge, unable to assim­i­late new and painful insights into their lim­it­ed per­spec­tives.

That final sto­ry (adapt­ed into John Huston’s final film) “ele­vates the book to the lev­el of the supreme art­works of the 20th cen­tu­ry,” writes Mark O’Connell in Slate. O’Connell’s essay com­mem­o­rates the cen­te­nary of Dublin­er’s pub­li­ca­tion this month. Dublin­ers remains, he writes, a book that “writ­ers of the short sto­ry form seem basi­cal­ly resigned to nev­er sur­pass­ing.” Writ­ten in the author’s ear­ly 20s, the sto­ries, as Ulysses would eight years lat­er, “reveal some­thing pro­found and essen­tial and unre­al­ized about the city and its peo­ple”: “Dublin can feel less like a place that James Joyce wrote about than a place that is about James Joyce’s writ­ing.” All of us non-Dublin­ers can enter the city through Joyce’s exquis­ite sto­ries, and in an increas­ing vari­ety of ways, thanks to dig­i­tal tech­nol­o­gy. At the top of the post, find a dig­i­tized first edi­tion of Dublin­ers. Just above, we have a read­ing of “Eve­line” by “vel­vet-voiced” Dublin­er Tad­hg Hynes, and below, hear Irish actor Jim Nor­ton read “The Sis­ters.”

You’ll find many more read­ings of Dublin­ers’ sto­ries online, such as this dead­pan read­ing of “Ara­by” from one of our favorites, Tom O’Bedlam, a Blooms­day read­ing of “Eve­line” by award-win­ning Irish play­wright Miri­am Gal­lagher, and this Lib­rivox col­lec­tion of read­ings from var­i­ous voic­es. I think Joyce would have very much appre­ci­at­ed the use of tech­nol­o­gy to keep his work alive into the 21st cen­tu­ry. Part of his lit­er­ary mission—certainly in many of Dublin­ers’ stories—was to illus­trate the stul­ti­fy­ing effects of cling­ing to the past. An eager adopter of new tech­nolo­gies, Joyce in fact brought the first cin­e­ma, The Vol­ta, to Dublin in 1909. So it seems fit­ting that 100 years after the pub­li­ca­tion of Dublin­ers, his book receive the mul­ti­me­dia app treat­ment in the form of Dig­i­tal Dublin­ers, a free, “engag­ing and author­i­ta­tive edi­tion” of the book designed by Boston Col­lege stu­dents and fea­tur­ing “three hun­dred-odd images, sev­en hun­dred or so notes and expla­na­tions, two dozen videos, crit­i­cal essays and hyper­links, inter­ac­tive maps sourced from con­tem­po­rary news­pa­per, sound, film and pho­to­graph­ic archives, with essays, film, record­ings, back­ground and expert dis­cus­sion.” Watch a short pro­mo video for Dig­i­tal Dublin­ers below, and down­load the book on iTunes here.

Final­ly, you may wish to read the text in a more late-20th-cen­tu­ry, and more open, for­mat with this ful­ly search­able “hyper­tex­tu­al, self-ref­er­en­tial edi­tion” pre­pared for Project Guten­berg. Whichev­er way you read Joyce’s Dublin­ers, you should, I pre­sume to sug­gest, read Joyce’s Dublin­ers. And if you have read these sto­ries before, even “some­where in the dou­ble fig­ures,” as Mark O’Connell has, then you’ll know how rich­ly they reward re-read­ing, or hear­ing, or study­ing along with oth­er read­ers and lovers of Joyce and a well-worn map of Dublin, or its shim­mer­ing touch-screen dig­i­tal equiv­a­lent.

Dublin­ers also appears in our two col­lec­tions, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free and 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Joyce’s Ulysses: Down­load the Free Audio Book

James Joyce’s Dublin Cap­tured in Vin­tage Pho­tos from 1897 to 1904

A Free Playlist of Music From The Works Of James Joyce (Plus Songs Inspired by the Mod­ernist Author)

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

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Animated Films Made During the Cold War Explain Why America is Exceptionally Exceptional

The CIA fought most of the Cold War on the cul­tur­al front, recruit­ing oper­a­tives and plac­ing agents in every pos­si­ble sphere of influ­ence, not only abroad but at home as well. As Fran­cis Ston­er Saun­ders’ book The Cul­tur­al Cold War: the CIA and the World of Arts and Let­ters details, the agency fund­ed intel­lec­tu­als across the polit­i­cal spec­trum as well as pro­duc­ers of radio, TV, and film. A well-financed pro­pa­gan­da cam­paign aimed at the Amer­i­can pub­lic attempt­ed to per­suade the pop­u­lace that their coun­try looked exact­ly like its lead­ers wished to see it, a well-run cap­i­tal­ist machine with equal oppor­tu­ni­ty for all. In addi­tion to the agency’s var­i­ous for­ays into jazz and mod­ern art, the CIA also helped finance and con­sult­ed on the pro­duc­tion of ani­mat­ed films, like the 1954 adap­ta­tion of George Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm we recent­ly fea­tured. We’ve also post­ed on oth­er ani­mat­ed pro­pa­gan­da films made by gov­ern­ment agen­cies, such as A is for Atom, a PR film for nuclear ener­gy, and Duck and Cov­er, a short sug­gest­ing that clean­li­ness may help cit­i­zens sur­vive a nuclear war.

Today we bring you three short ani­ma­tions fund­ed and com­mis­sioned by pri­vate inter­ests. These films were made for Arkansas’ Hard­ing Col­lege (now Hard­ing Uni­ver­si­ty) and financed by long­time Gen­er­al Motors CEO Alfred P. Sloan. The name prob­a­bly sounds famil­iar. Today the Alfred P. Sloan Foun­da­tion gen­er­ous­ly sup­ports pub­lic radio and tele­vi­sion, as well as med­ical research and oth­er altru­is­tic projects. In the post-war years, Sloan, wide­ly con­sid­ered “the father of the mod­ern cor­po­ra­tion,” writes Karl Cohen in a two-part essay for Ani­ma­tion World Net­work, sup­pos­ed­ly took a shine to the boot­strap­ping pres­i­dent of Hard­ing, George S. Ben­son, a Chris­t­ian mis­sion­ary and cru­sad­ing anti-Com­mu­nist who used his posi­tion to pro­mote God, fam­i­ly, and coun­try. Accord­ing to Cohen, Sloan donat­ed sev­er­al hun­dred thou­sand dol­lars to Hard­ing as fund­ing for “edu­ca­tion­al anti-Com­mu­nist, pro-free enter­prise sys­tem films.” Con­tract­ed by the col­lege, pro­duc­er John Suther­land, for­mer Dis­ney writer, made nine films in all. As you’ll see in the title card that opens each short, these were osten­si­bly made “to cre­ate a deep­er under­stand­ing of what has made Amer­i­ca the finest place in the world to live.” At the top, watch 1949’s “Why Play Leap Frog?” and just above, see anoth­er of the Hard­ing films, “Meet King Joe,” also from 1949.

Just above, watch a third of the Hard­ing pro­pa­gan­da films, “Make Mine Free­dom,” from 1948. Each of these films, call­ing them­selves “Fun and Facts about Amer­i­ca,” present sim­plis­tic patri­ot­ic sto­ries with an author­i­ta­tive nar­ra­tor who patient­ly explains the ins and outs of Amer­i­can excep­tion­al­ism. “Why Play Leapfrog?” tells the sto­ry of Joe, a dis­grun­tled doll-fac­to­ry work­er who learns some impor­tant lessons about the sup­ply chain, wages, and prices. He also learns that he’d bet­ter work hard­er to increase his pro­duc­tiv­i­ty (and coop­er­ate with man­age­ment) if he wants to keep up with the ris­ing cost of liv­ing. “Meet King Joe” intro­duces us to the “king of the work­ers of the world,” so called because he can buy more stuff than the poor schlubs in oth­er coun­tries. Joe, “no smarter” and “no stronger than work­ers in oth­er lands” has such advan­tages only because of, you guessed it, the won­ders of cap­i­tal­ism. “Make Mine Free­dom” reminds view­ers of their Con­sti­tu­tion­al rights before intro­duc­ing us to a snake oil char­la­tan sell­ing “ism,” a Com­mie-like ton­ic, to a group of U.S. labor disputants—if only they’ll sign over their rights and prop­er­ty. The assem­bled crowd jumps at the chance, but then along comes John Q. Pub­lic, who won’t give up his free­dom for “some import­ed dou­ble-talk.”

You can read much more about the rela­tion­ship between Sloan and Ben­son and the oth­er films Suther­land pro­duced with Sloan’s mon­ey, in Cohen’s essay, which also includes infor­ma­tion on Cold War ani­mat­ed pro­pa­gan­da films made by Warn­er Broth­ers and Dis­ney.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ani­mal Farm: Watch the Ani­mat­ed Adap­ta­tion of Orwell’s Nov­el Fund­ed by the CIA (1954)

A is for Atom: Vin­tage PR Film for Nuclear Ener­gy

How a Clean, Tidy Home Can Help You Sur­vive the Atom­ic Bomb: A Cold War Film from 1954

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

 

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Hear Isolated Tracks From Five Great Rock Bassists: McCartney, Sting, Deacon, Jones & Lee

Last week we sparked some heat­ed debate (and some typ­i­cal inter­net vit­ri­ol) with a post fea­tur­ing iso­lat­ed drum tracks from six of rock’s best drum­mers. Well, here we go again, this time with iso­lat­ed bass tracks…. Bear in mind that the bassists fea­tured here are some of the top play­ers in rock who actu­al­ly have bass tracks avail­able online. There are many more I’d love to hear out of the mix—and no short­age of jazz, reg­gae, funk, and soul bassists I deeply dig. If you don’t see your favorite play­er here… real­ly, don’t take it per­son­al­ly.

The bass gui­tar tends to be a for­got­ten instru­ment, some­times not even missed when it’s gone (think Black Keys, The Doors), but despite the suc­cess of the rare bass-less band, it’s hard to imag­ine some of the songs rep­re­sent­ed here with­out the fun­da­men­tal thump and groove of well-played basslines. We begin with John Deacon’s bassline for Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pres­sure,” above. As we men­tioned in a recent post on that song’s evo­lu­tion, Sty­lus named this the #1 bassline of all time.

I don’t know what that acco­lade is worth, but the bassline is at least one of the most rec­og­niz­able, thanks in no small part to Vanil­la Ice. In the con­text of Queen, Deacon’s per­haps best known for the pound­ing stomp of “Anoth­er One Bites the Dust,” one of many songs he wrote for the band. He has very delib­er­ate­ly dis­ap­peared from the spot­light since Fred­die Mercury’s death, but his taste­ful, melod­ic play­ing is in no dan­ger of being for­got­ten.

Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones, on the oth­er hand, refus­es to leave the stage, for which the sev­er­al dozen musi­cians he’s toured and record­ed with since Zeppelin’s demise are all grate­ful. Cur­rent­ly one-third of super­group Them Crooked Vul­tures (with Dave Grohl and Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme), Jones also plays man­dolin (on Zep’s “Going to Cal­i­for­nia,” for exam­ple), lap steel, and this triple-necked mon­ster. For all his con­tin­ued rel­e­vance into the 21st cen­tu­ry, Jones’s some­times smooth, some­times burly basslines for Led Zep­pelin, such as the unfor­get­table “Ram­ble On” riff above, will be his endur­ing lega­cy. One would have to be a hell of a bass play­er to keep up with John Bon­ham, and John Paul Jones is exact­ly that. He got his start play­ing jazz at age 15, and while still a teenag­er, played in a jazz-rock col­lec­tive that includ­ed John McLaugh­lin (whom Jeff Beck has called “the best gui­tarist alive”). Want to learn how Jones does it? Check out this bass les­son with the mas­ter him­self.

When the sub­ject of rock bassists aris­es, Ged­dy Lee’s name will invari­ably come up. Like his band­mate Neil Peart, Lee’s musi­cian­ship astounds, his prog-rock stylings seem inim­itable, except per­haps by Primus’ Les Clay­pool (who Lee names as one of his favorites). Bass mag­a­zine No Tre­ble calls Rush’s “YYZ” (above) “one of the great­est bass lines of all time.” It’s not exact­ly my cup of tea, but I do know at least one bass play­er who left for Berklee Col­lege of Music hat­ing Rush, then came back lis­ten­ing to this song over and over in hushed awe. Not every­one loves Lee’s over-the-top high pitched vocals, but one has to admire the fact that he plays basslines like this while singing some of the most philo­soph­i­cal lyrics in rock, cour­tesy of drum­mer Peart.

The last two bass tracks fea­ture bassists who, like Lee, are also singers. No one pulls that off with more grace and style than Paul McCart­ney. In the bassline to The Bea­t­les “Come Togeth­er” (above), you can hear the deep, res­o­nant tone of McCartney’s semi-hol­low Hofn­er vio­lin bass (many of which have been “nicked” over the years). Of McCartney’s play­ing, John Lennon once said, “Paul was one of the most inno­v­a­tive bass play­ers ever. And half the stuff that is going on now is direct­ly ripped off from his Bea­t­les peri­od.” In my own bass-play­ing days, I cer­tain­ly stole my share of ideas from McCartney—or more prob­a­bly, his basslines were etched into my music brain, and my fin­gers auto­mat­i­cal­ly plucked out McCart­ney-style pat­terns. Music Radar puts “Come Togeth­er” at the top of a list of “Paul McCartney’s 12 great­est Bea­t­les bass per­for­mances,” for the “spooky, sin­u­ous, throb­bing and groovy” track above, “as orig­i­nal as it gets.”

Our iso­lat­ed drum tracks post hap­pened to fea­ture the oth­er rhyth­mic halves of every play­er on this list except John Dea­con, and while this wasn’t exact­ly by design, it’s no sur­prise to me that’s how it worked out. A great rhythm sec­tion works as a close­ly-aligned team, find­ing locked grooves, cre­at­ing empha­sis and punc­tu­a­tion, build­ing struc­tures and spaces for lead play­ers to fill. A drum­mer like the Police’s Stew­art Copeland need­ed a bassist as pre­cise yet pas­sion­ate as Sting. Very few oth­er bands have suc­cess­ful­ly fused punk, jazz, and reg­gae rhythms into a greater whole, a feat accom­plished in part because of Sting’s ver­sa­til­i­ty as a play­er. From the mut­ed “train engine” punk of “Next to You” to the left-field pop of “Mes­sage in a Bot­tle” (above), Sting’s aggres­sive play­ing, often fret­less, most­ly finger-picked—to quote that rep­utable source Uncy­clo­pe­dia—“makes him bet­ter than all oth­er musi­cians com­bined by 12 orders of mag­ni­tude, and that’s a pop fact.”

But seri­ous­ly, he’s good, and so are dozens of oth­er rock bassists who don’t appear above. Name your favorites, and if you find their bass tracks online, share ‘em! Alright, let the bass slugfest begin, and be sure to check out No Tre­ble’s “Iso­lat­ed Bass Track Week” posts, with tracks from undis­put­ed mas­ters of the instru­ment like James Jamer­son and Jaco Pas­to­ri­ous.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Iso­lat­ed Drum Tracks From Six of Rock’s Great­est: Bon­ham, Moon, Peart, Copeland, Grohl & Starr

Paul McCart­ney Offers a Short Tuto­r­i­al on How to Play the Bass Gui­tar

The Sto­ry of the Bass: New Video Gives Us 500 Years of Music His­to­ry in 8 Min­utes

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

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Famous Writers’ Report Cards: Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Norman Mailer, E.E. Cummings & Anne Sexton

MailerReportCard

“It’s not about the grade,” I’d say to per­turbed stu­dents ask­ing me to change theirs: “it’s about what you learned.” No one will care what you got in first-year Eng­lish Com­po­si­tion; they’ll care if you can write a sen­tence, a para­graph, a pro­fes­sion­al, ele­gant, or mov­ing text. All of this is true, and yet (of course I nev­er told them this) I still remem­ber every grade I earned in every class I took in high school, col­lege, and grad­u­ate school. Obses­sive? Maybe. But it’s also symp­to­matic of that same com­pul­sion that dri­ves stu­dents to try, by any means, to get pro­fes­sors to bump their grades up at the end of the semester—fear of the “per­ma­nent record.” Like Sein­feld’s Elaine, strug­gling to expunge a black mark from her med­ical chart, we all fear the reams of documents—or archives of data—that cat­a­logue our every mis­step, stum­ble, fail­ure or faux pas.

CummingsReportCard

In many cas­es, this anx­i­ety is jus­ti­fi­able, but as you can see here, the occa­sion­al bad mark didn’t stop famed writ­ers Nor­man Mail­er or E.E. Cum­mings from achiev­ing lit­er­ary great­ness, even if those grades remain, in ink, on record today. See Mailer’s first-year Har­vard Col­lege report card at the top of the post, aca­d­e­m­ic year 1939–40. The bear­ish nov­el­ist did well, but for the C in his sec­ond semes­ter of Engi­neer­ing Sci­ence. Just above, we have Cum­mings’ report card from what is like­ly his fifth grade year giv­en his age of 11 at the time. The 1905-06 grad­ing sys­tem looks for­eign to us now, but the C that Cum­mings received that year prob­a­bly did not put him at the top of the class. Nor, I’m sure, did his 61 absences.

HemingwayReportCard

Ernest Hem­ing­way, on the oth­er hand, had lit­tle rea­son to hide the high school report card above, but if you look close­ly, you’ll see that the col­umn of straight A’s does not mean what we might think. The Oak Park and Riv­er For­est Town­ship High School only gave two let­ter grades, A for “Accept­ed” and D for “Defi­cient.” Still, Hemingway’s numer­i­cal per­cent­ages show his schol­ar­ly apti­tude, though his 75 in Latin may have haunt­ed him.

FaulknerReportCard

Hemingway’s mod­ernist con­tem­po­rary William Faulkn­er, you may know, strug­gled in school after the fourth grade, and even­tu­al­ly dropped out of high school after the 11th (though his father’s job at Ole Miss meant he could enroll there for the three semes­ters he attend­ed). The sev­enth grade report card above does not show us his grades, and Faulkner’s teacher neglect­ed to fill in the “Espe­cial­ly Good In” and “Espe­cial­ly Poor In” box­es. Nev­er­the­less, Faulkn­er (then William Falkn­er), did well enough to move up, and his moth­er signed off on each month of the term but the last.

SextonReportCard

Final­ly we bring you the report card of Anne Sex­tonnée Harvey—for a 10th grade Amer­i­can Lit­er­a­ture class at the Junior-Senior High School in Welles­ley, Mass­a­chu­setts, from which Sylvia Plath also grad­u­at­ed. As you can see, Sex­ton received a C in the class, with an F for effort in the first quar­ter. Accord­ing to Beth Hinch­liffe—a Welles­ley native who con­duct­ed one of Sexton’s final interviews—the poet remem­bered the grade. She also remem­bered her teenage self as “ ‘a pim­ply, boy-crazy thing’ who was obsessed with flirt­ing.”

Most of these report cards come from col­lec­tions at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas’ Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter, a trove of his­tor­i­cal and lit­er­ary doc­u­ments that, unlike some oth­er archives, I’m very glad keeps per­ma­nent records. Anne Sex­ton’s report card comes to us via the always infor­ma­tion-rich Brain Pick­ings.

via The Wall Street Jour­nal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ernest Hem­ing­way Cre­ates a Read­ing List for a Young Writer, 1934

The Art of William Faulkn­er: Draw­ings from 1916–1925

Two Child­hood Draw­ings from Poet E.E. Cum­mings Show the Young Artist’s Play­ful Seri­ous­ness

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

How Famous Writ­ers — From J.K. Rowl­ing to William Faulkn­er — Visu­al­ly Out­lined Their Nov­els

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

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Rare Video: Fidel Castro Plays Baseball (1959)

Base­ball has the great capac­i­ty to tran­scend pol­i­tics. Peo­ple on the right love it. (Think George Will, the colum­nist who finds him­self at the cen­ter of a hot con­tro­ver­sy this week). The same holds true for folks on the left. One left­ist with a deep and abid­ing love for base­ball is Fidel Cas­tro. Before he seized pow­er in 1959, Cas­tro spent some time on the dia­mond. Baseball-Reference.com tells us that Fidel like­ly “pitched in intra­mur­al com­pe­ti­tion in col­lege for the Uni­ver­si­ty of Havana law school.” But “he was not good enough to pitch on the col­lege’s var­si­ty team.” Nor is the long-stand­ing myth true that “Cas­tro tried out for either the New York Yan­kees or Wash­ing­ton Sen­a­tors and failed to impress enough to sign a con­tract.” He was nev­er going to have a big league career. That’s for sure. But once Cas­tro actu­al­ly rose to pow­er, no one was going to stop him from hit­ting or pitch­ing in a 1959 char­i­ty game. (Watch above.) As they say, some­times “it’s good to be the king.” Just ask Vladimir Putin, who recent­ly scored 6 goals, and made 5 assists, in a hock­ey game

The 1959 clip above comes from British Pathé, which made an archive of 85,000 his­tor­i­cal films avail­able on YouTube in April. Don’t miss it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bill Murray’s Base­ball Hall of Fame Speech (and Hideous Sports Coat)

The Grate­ful Dead Rock the Nation­al Anthem at Can­dle­stick Park: Open­ing Day, 1993

Free: Watch Jack­ie Robin­son Star in The Jack­ie Robin­son Sto­ry (1950)

Lou Gehrig, Yan­kee Leg­end, Stars in 1938 West­ern Rawhide

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Rik Mayall Voices the Animation “Don’t Fear Death” Just Months Before His Untimely Passing

To para­phrase an acquaintance’s trib­ute to Rik May­all (leg­endary British come­di­an who died yes­ter­day at age 56), the cult com­e­dy The Young Ones turned a gen­er­a­tion of Amer­i­can mis­fits into Anglophiles before they’d ever set foot in Britain. I was one of those kids, stay­ing up late to catch the riotous­ly slap­stick show about four slack­er room­mates who mer­ci­less­ly abused each oth­er to insane degrees while attend­ing “Scum­bag Col­lege.” Fea­tur­ing musi­cal appear­ances by British alter­na­tive heroes like Mad­ness, Dexys Mid­night Run­ners, Motör­head, and The Damned, the show only ran for 12 episodes, but it had an enor­mous influ­ence on both sides of the Atlantic as a Mon­ty Python for absur­dist post-punk 80s brats.

May­all co-cre­at­ed and co-wrote the show, and his anar­chic gal­lows humor per­me­at­ed every episode. He lat­er went on to write and/or star in sit­coms Bot­tom and The New States­man, and had a beloved, if brief, role in the Rowan Atkin­son com­e­dy Black­ad­der. Short­ly before his death, May­all voiced the ani­ma­tion above, “Don’t Fear Death,” for Chan­nel 4. Writ­ten and pro­duced by Louis Hud­son and Ian Raven­scroft, this per­fect vehi­cle for Mayall’s snide sen­si­bil­i­ties explores “the ben­e­fits of being dead,” includ­ing nev­er hav­ing to “waste one more sin­gle, soul-crush­ing hour in your mind­less dead-end job.” Luck­i­ly for his fans, May­all avoid­ed that hor­ri­ble fate and instead cre­at­ed some of the most mem­o­rably obnox­ious char­ac­ters in British com­e­dy his­to­ry, although writer Lau­rence Marks tells the BBC he was “the antithe­sis” of those char­ac­ters, “a qui­et, polite, car­ing gen­tle­man.”

See May­all below do an ear­ly ver­sion of his Young Ones char­ac­ter in a clas­sic 80s stand-up rou­tine .

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Ani­mat­ed Film Tells the Life Sto­ry of Mon­ty Python’s Gra­ham Chap­man

John Cleese’s Eulo­gy for Gra­ham Chap­man: ‘Good Rid­dance, the Free-Load­ing Bas­tard, I Hope He Fries’

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

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Free Physics Textbooks





Free text­books (aka open text­books) writ­ten by knowl­edgable schol­ars are a rel­a­tive­ly new phe­nom­e­non. Below, find a meta list of Free Physics Text­books, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion 200 Free Text­books: A Meta Col­lec­tion. Also see our online col­lec­tion1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties. Read More...

Free Math Textbooks


Free text­books (aka open text­books) writ­ten by knowl­edgable schol­ars are a rel­a­tive­ly new phe­nom­e­non. Below, find a meta list of Free Math Text­books, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion 200 Free Text­books: A Meta Col­lec­tion. Also see our online col­lec­tion1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

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Free Textbooks: Computer Science

Free text­books (aka open text­books) writ­ten by knowl­edgable schol­ars are a rel­a­tive­ly new phe­nom­e­non. Below, find a meta list of Free Com­put­er Sci­ence Text­books, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion 200 Free Text­books: A Meta Col­lec­tion. Also see our online col­lec­tion1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

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Matthew Weiner on The Art of Writing Mad Men: The Paris Review Interview

mad-men-title

This week­end, AMC aired episode 7 of Mad Men’s final sea­son. The show will now take a break, until episodes 8–14 hit the air­waves ear­ly next year. Before you turn your atten­tion else­where, you may want to spend some time with the Paris Review’s big inter­view with Matthew Wein­er, the cre­ator of Mad Men. The inter­view cov­ers a lot of ground.

We learn that Wein­er is a par­tic­u­lar fan of John Cheev­er. “[W]ith John Cheev­er, I rec­og­nized myself in the voice of the nar­ra­tor.” “Cheev­er holds my atten­tion more than any oth­er writer. He is in every aspect of Mad Men, start­ing with the fact that Don lives in Ossin­ing on Bul­let Park Road.” (Find the Paris Review’s 1976 inter­view with Cheev­er here.)

We also dis­cov­er that Wein­er stud­ied poet­ry in col­lege with Christo­pher Reeve’s father, Frank Reeve, and there were a cou­ple of years when Wein­er con­sid­ered T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land “the most inter­est­ing thing in the world.”

Then the con­ver­sa­tion turns to Mad Men, where Wein­er reveals what’s at the heart of the show: “I’ve always said this is a show about becom­ing white. That’s the def­i­n­i­tion of suc­cess in America—becoming a WASP. A WASP male.” “Don Drap­er knows he’s poor, very much in the mod­el of [Lee] Iacoc­ca or [Sam] Wal­ton, who came out of the Great Depres­sion, out of real­ly hum­ble begin­nings. Or like Con­rad Hilton, on the show. These men don’t take no for an answer, they build these big busi­ness­es, these empires, but real­ly it’s all based on fail­ure, inse­cu­ri­ty, and an iden­ti­ty mod­eled on some abstract ide­al of white pow­er.”

Wein­er has lots more to say, includ­ing about his days writ­ing for The Sopra­nos. Read the com­plete inter­view here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

T.S. Eliot Reads His Mod­ernist Mas­ter­pieces “The Waste Land” and “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

Gay Talese: Drink­ing at New York Times Put Mad Men to Shame

The Paris Review Inter­views Now Online

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