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In 1900, Ladies’ Home Journal Publishes 28 Predictions for the Year 2000

Ladies Home Journal Dec 1900 paleofuture paleo-future

At least since that 17th cen­tu­ry archi­tect of the sci­en­tif­ic rev­o­lu­tion, Sir Fran­cis Bacon (who was most­ly right), peo­ple have been mak­ing pre­dic­tions about the tech­nolo­gies and social advance­ments of the future. And since Bacon, sci­en­tists and futur­is­tic writ­ers have been espe­cial­ly in demand dur­ing times of great change and uncer­tain­ty, such as at the turn of the last cen­tu­ry. In 1900, civ­il engi­neer John Elfreth Watkins, Jr. in Ladies’ Home Jour­nal claimed to have sur­veyed “the most learned and con­ser­v­a­tive minds in Amer­i­ca… the wis­est and most care­ful men in our great­est insti­tu­tions of sci­ence and learn­ing.”

Spec­i­fy­ing advances like­ly to occur 100 years thence, “before the dawn of 2001,” Watkins culled 28 pre­dic­tions about such things as trav­el and the trans­mis­sion of infor­ma­tion over great dis­tances, bio­log­i­cal and genet­ic muta­tions, and the domes­tic com­forts of the aver­age con­sumer. Sev­er­al of the pre­dic­tions are very Bacon­ian indeed—as per the strange list at the end of Bacon’s sci­ence fic­tion frag­ment New Atlantis, a text obsessed with alter­ing the appear­ance of the nat­ur­al world for no par­tic­u­lar rea­son oth­er than that it could be done. Watkins’ list includes such pre­dic­tions as “Peas as Large as Beets,” “Black, Blue, and Green Ros­es,” and “Straw­ber­ries as Large as Apples.” Some are Bacon­ian in more sin­is­ter ways, and these are also a bit more accu­rate. Take the below, for exam­ple:

There will be No Wild Ani­mals except in menageries. Rats and mice will have been exter­mi­nat­ed. The horse will have become prac­ti­cal­ly extinct. A few of high breed will be kept by the rich for rac­ing, hunt­ing and exer­cise. The auto­mo­bile will have dri­ven out the horse. Cat­tle and sheep will have no horns. They will be unable to run faster than the fat­tened hog of to-day. A cen­tu­ry ago the wild hog could out­run a horse. Food ani­mals will be bred to expend prac­ti­cal­ly all of their life ener­gy in pro­duc­ing meat, milk, wool and oth­er by-prod­ucts. Horns, bones, mus­cles and lungs will have been neglect­ed.

I would defer to ecol­o­gists and meat indus­try watch­dogs to con­firm my intu­itions, but it does seem that some of this, except­ing the exter­mi­na­tion of ver­min and horns, has come to pass or is very like­ly in regard to sev­er­al species. Anoth­er pre­dic­tion, this one about our own species, is laugh­ably opti­mistic:

Every­body will Walk Ten Miles. Gym­nas­tics will begin in the nurs­ery, where toys and games will be designed to strength­en the mus­cles. Exer­cise will be com­pul­so­ry in the schools. Every school, col­lege and com­mu­ni­ty will have a com­plete gym­na­si­um. All cities will have pub­lic gym­na­si­ums. A man or woman unable to walk ten miles at a stretch will be regard­ed as a weak­ling.

We’re much clos­er to the future of Pixar’s Wall‑E than any­thing resem­bling this sce­nario (unless you live in the world of Cross­fit). Anoth­er pre­dic­tion is both dead on and dead wrong at once. Claim­ing that there will be “from 350,000,000 to 500,000,000 peo­ple in the Amer­i­c­as and its pos­ses­sions by the lapse of anoth­er cen­tu­ry” did in fact turn out to be almost uncan­ni­ly accurate—current esti­mates are some­where around 300,000,000. The “pos­ses­sions” allud­ed to, how­ev­er, dis­play the atti­tude of blithe Mon­roe doc­trine expan­sion­ism that held the nation in its sway at the turn of the cen­tu­ry. The pre­dic­tion goes on to say that most of the “South and Cen­tral Amer­i­can republics would be vot­ed into the Union by their own peo­ple.” A few more of Watkins’ pre­dic­tions, some pre­scient, some pre­pos­ter­ous:

Tele­phones Around the World. Wire­less tele­phone and tele­graph cir­cuits will span the world.

Store Pur­chas­es by Tube. Pneu­mat­ic tubes instead of store wag­ons, will deliv­er pack­ages and bun­dles.

Hot and Cold Air from Spig­ots. Ris­ing ear­ly to build the fur­nace fire will be a task of the old­en times.

Ready-Cooked Meals will be Bought from estab­lish­ments sim­i­lar to our bak­eries of to-day [see the above Wall‑E ref­er­ence]

There will be No C, X, or Q in our every-day alpha­bet. They will be aban­doned because unnec­es­sary.

Aeriel War-Ships and Forts on Wheels. Giant guns will shoot twen­ty-five miles or more, and will hurl any­where with­in such a radius shells explod­ing and destroy­ing whole cities.

How Chil­dren will be Taught. A uni­ver­si­ty edu­ca­tion will be free to every man and woman.

Ah, if only that last one had come true! To read all of Watkins pre­dic­tions in detail, click on the image above for a larg­er, read­able, ver­sion of the full arti­cle.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Isaac Asimov’s 1964 Pre­dic­tions About What the World Will Look 50 Years Lat­er — in 2014

Arthur C. Clarke Pre­dicts the Future in 1964 … And Kind of Nails It

1930s Fash­ion Design­ers Imag­ine How Peo­ple Would Dress in the Year 2000

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

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Watch Michel Gondry Animate Philosopher, Linguist & Activist Noam Chomsky

As an arts major who doo­dled my way through every required sci­ence course in high school and col­lege, I am deeply grat­i­fied by film­mak­er Michel Gondry’s approach to doc­u­ment­ing the ideas of Noam Chom­sky. Hav­ing filmed about three hours worth of inter­views with the activist, philoso­pher, and father of mod­ern lin­guis­tics in a ster­ile MIT con­fer­ence room, Gondry head­ed back to his charm­ing­ly ana­log Brook­lyn digs to spend three years ani­mat­ing the con­ver­sa­tions. It’s nice to see a film­mak­er of his stature using books to jer­ry-rig his cam­era set up. At one point, he hud­dles on the floor, puz­zling over some sequen­tial draw­ings on 3‑hole punch paper. Seems like the kind of thing most peo­ple in his field would tack­le with an iPad and an assis­tant.

Gondry may have felt intel­lec­tu­al­ly dwarfed by his sub­ject, but there’s a kind of genius afoot in his work too. Describ­ing the stop-motion tech­nique he used for Is the Man Who Is Tall Hap­py?, he told Amy Good­man of Democ­ra­cy Now, “I have a light­box, and I put paper on it, and I ani­mate with Sharpies, col­or Sharpies. And I have a 16-mil­lime­ter cam­era that is set up on a tri­pod and looks down, and I take a pic­ture. I do a draw­ing and take a pic­ture.”

A pret­ty apt summation—watch him in action above—but the curios­i­ty and human­i­ty so evi­dent in such fea­tures as Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind and The Sci­ence of Sleep is a mag­i­cal ingre­di­ent here, too. He attrib­ut­es bio­log­i­cal prop­er­ties to his Sharpie mark­ers, and takes a break from some of Chom­sky’s more com­plex thoughts to ask about his feel­ings when his wife passed away. He does­n’t seem to mind that he might seem a bit of a school­boy in com­par­i­son, one whose tal­ents lie beyond this par­tic­u­lar pro­fes­sor’s scope.

As Chom­sky him­self remarks in the trail­er, below, “Learn­ing comes from ask­ing why do things work like that, why not some oth­er way?”

Is the Man Who Is Tall Hap­py? is avail­able on iTunes.

H/T @kirstinbutler

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Film­mak­er Michel Gondry Presents an Ani­mat­ed Con­ver­sa­tion with Noam Chom­sky

Noam Chom­sky Schools 9/11 Truther; Explains the Sci­ence of Mak­ing Cred­i­ble Claims

Ayun Hal­l­i­day puts her life­long pen­chant for doo­dling to good use in her award-win­ning, hand­writ­ten, illus­trat­ed zine, The East Vil­lage Inky. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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View Bill Gates’ Mobile Library: The Books & Courses That Help Him Change The World

Step­ping down as Microsoft’s chief exec­u­tive offi­cer in 2000 had giv­en Bill Gates some extra time, which the auto­di­dact imme­di­ate­ly expend­ed by attempt­ing to learn… well, every­thing. Per­haps Gates threw him­self at learn­ing to make up for aban­don­ing col­lege for greater pursuits—he attend­ed Har­vard but left after two years’ study to pur­sue his pas­sion for com­put­ers. What­ev­er his rea­sons, Gates has begun to assid­u­ous­ly learn all he can about the world, and is record­ing his edu­ca­tion process for pos­ter­i­ty on his web­site, The Gates Notes. As the video above explains, Microsoft’s founder has lis­tened to hun­dreds of hours of uni­ver­si­ty lec­tures from The Teach­ing Com­pa­ny; he got hooked after lis­ten­ing to Robert Whap­les’ Mod­ern Eco­nom­ic Issues and breez­ing through Tim­o­thy Tay­lor’s Amer­i­ca and the New Glob­al Econ­o­my. His num­ber one pick? Big His­to­ry which is taught by David Chris­t­ian and, Gates says, “is still my favorite course of all. The course is so broad that it syn­the­sizes the his­to­ry of every­thing includ­ing the sci­ences into one frame­work.”

Wher­ev­er Gates trav­els, he is also eter­nal­ly accom­pa­nied by his read­ing bag. Sur­prised that the her­ald of the dig­i­tal age is pack­ing paper­backs? Don’t be. “I’m still pret­ty much an old-school print guy,” Gates writes, “because I like to jot notes in the mar­gins, but I assume I’ll move over to ebooks when anno­ta­tion fea­tures get bet­ter.”

Last week, Gates showed WIRED the con­tents of his decid­ed­ly 20th cen­tu­ry mobile library. The books, which Gates replen­ish­es at an impres­sive rate, encom­pass an admirable breadth of top­ics. As befit­ting the over­seer of the Bill and Melin­da Gates Foun­da­tion, the major­i­ty of Gates’ read­ing con­sists of non-fic­tion (only Gary Shteyn­gart’s recent nov­el made the fic­tion cut this round). His­to­ry, psy­chol­o­gy, sci­ence, sound busi­ness coun­sel, soci­ol­o­gy, eco­nom­ics, and his­to­ry all make up the dizzy­ing array of Gates’ every­day read­ing. Here is a selec­tion from WIRED’s par­tial list, includ­ing Gates’ own com­ments on the impor­tance of each choice:

-Feynman’s Tips on Physics by Richard Feyn­man– A short com­pan­ion book to Richard Feynman’s clas­sic Lec­tures on Physics. Always worth­while to return to the feet of the mas­ter.

-Super Sad True Love Sto­ry: A Nov­el by Gary Shteyn­gart– I don’t read a lot of fic­tion, but I thought this was an inter­est­ing study of the moral impli­ca­tions of tech­nol­o­gy. Will tech­nol­o­gy con­tribute to everyone’s well-being or just make peo­ple more nar­cis­sis­tic?

-The Car­toon Intro­duc­tion to Sta­tis­tics by Grady Klein– Bought this to use with one of my kids. Help­ful in explain­ing a com­pli­cat­ed sub­ject to a teenag­er.

-The Path Between the Seas: The Cre­ation of the Pana­ma Canal by David McCul­lough – I read this to pre­pare for a fam­i­ly vaca­tion to Pana­ma. It’s pure McCul­lough: epic dra­ma, polit­i­cal intrigue, heart­break­ing defeats, and even­tu­al tri­umph.

-The Bet­ter Angels of Our Nature: Why Vio­lence Has Declined by Steven Pinker– One of the most impor­tant books I’ve read. Steven Pinker demon­strates how the world evolved to be far less vio­lent. Coun­ter­in­tu­itive, if you watch the news, but true.

We’ve also used the trusty Con­trol + Scroll func­tion to zoom in and name a few addi­tion­al titles:

An Uncer­tain Glo­ry: India and its Con­tra­dic­tions by Jean Drèze and Amartya Sen

Engi­neers of Vic­to­ry: The Prob­lem Solvers Who Turned The Tide in The Sec­ond World War by Paul Kennedy

The Price of Inequal­i­ty: How Today’s Divid­ed Soci­ety Endan­gers Our Future by Joseph Stiglitz

Why Does Col­lege Cost So Much? By Robert Archibald and David Feld­man

Mon­do Agnel­li: Fiat, Chrysler, and the Pow­er of a Dynasty by Jen­nifer Clark

How Chil­dren Suc­ceed: Grit, Curios­i­ty, and the Hid­den Pow­er of Char­ac­ter by Paul Tough

The One World School­house: Edu­ca­tion Reimag­ined by Salman Khan

Far From The Tree by Andrew Solomon

For the orig­i­nal list, head over to WIRED. For more of Gates’ com­men­tary, check out his site, The Gates Notes, here. You can also con­tin­ue your self-edu­ca­tion by vis­it­ing our lists of Free Online Cours­es, Free eBooks, Free Audio Books, Free Lan­guage Lessons, Free Text­books, and Free MOOCs.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

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The 100 Best Novels: A Literary Critic Creates a List in 1898

old books 32Book lists, despite what younger read­ers born into Buzzfeed’s ruth­less list­si­cle monop­oly may think, have always been pop­u­lar. Some, like David Bowie’s Top 100 Books, give us a sense of the artist’s devel­op­ment. Oth­ers, like Joseph Brodsky’s List of 84 Books for Basic Con­ver­sa­tion, pro­vide a Nobel prize-win­ning bench­mark for knowl­edge. Even though the books are with­in the reach of most read­ers, sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly digest­ing such lists often tries one’s patience. Despite the lack of will or inter­est in work­ing through some­one else’s lit­er­ary edu­ca­tion, how­ev­er, glanc­ing through such per­son­al antholo­gies pro­vides us with a glimpse into the maker’s life—be it their pri­vate tastes, or their social mores.

In late Octo­ber, The Times Lit­er­ary Supplement’s Michael Caines unearthed anoth­er Top 100 list; this one, how­ev­er, has the dis­tinc­tion of hail­ing from 1898. At the turn of the 20th cen­tu­ry, a jour­nal­ist and author of numer­ous books on the Bron­të sis­ters named Clement K. Short­er tried his hand at com­pil­ing the 100 Best Nov­els for a jour­nal called The Book­man. The ground rules were sim­ple: the list could fea­ture only one nov­el per nov­el­ist, and liv­ing authors were exclud­ed.  Today, Shorter’s com­pendi­um looks some­what hit-or-miss. There are some indis­putable clas­sics (many of which can be found in our Free eBooks and Free Audio Books col­lec­tions) and some oth­er texts that have fad­ed into obliv­ion. Still—one can’t help but expe­ri­ence a cer­tain his­tor­i­cal fris­son at a 19th cen­tu­ry list­si­cle. Here it goes:

1. Don Quixote — 1604 — Miguel de Cer­vantes

2. The Holy War — 1682 — John Bun­yan

3. Gil Blas — 1715 — Alain René le Sage

4. Robin­son Cru­soe — 1719 — Daniel Defoe

5. Gul­liv­er’s Trav­els — 1726 — Jonathan Swift

6. Rod­er­ick Ran­dom — 1748 — Tobias Smol­lett

7. Claris­sa — 1749 — Samuel Richard­son

8. Tom Jones — 1749 — Hen­ry Field­ing

9. Can­dide — 1756 — Françoise de Voltaire

10. Ras­se­las — 1759 — Samuel John­son

11. The Cas­tle of Otran­to — 1764 — Horace Wal­pole

12. The Vic­ar of Wake­field — 1766 — Oliv­er Gold­smith

13. The Old Eng­lish Baron — 1777 — Clara Reeve

14. Eveli­na — 1778 — Fan­ny Bur­ney

15. Vathek — 1787 — William Beck­ford

16. The Mys­ter­ies of Udolpho — 1794 — Ann Rad­cliffe

17. Caleb Williams — 1794 — William God­win

18. The Wild Irish Girl — 1806 — Lady Mor­gan

19. Corinne — 1810 — Madame de Stael

20. The Scot­tish Chiefs — 1810 — Jane Porter

21. The Absen­tee — 1812 — Maria Edge­worth

22. Pride and Prej­u­dice — 1813 — Jane Austen

23. Head­long Hall — 1816 — Thomas Love Pea­cock

24. Franken­stein — 1818 — Mary Shel­ley

25. Mar­riage — 1818 — Susan Fer­ri­er

26. The Ayr­shire Lega­tees — 1820 — John Galt

27. Valerius — 1821 — John Gib­son Lock­hart

28. Wil­helm Meis­ter — 1821 — Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe

29. Kenil­worth — 1821 — Sir Wal­ter Scott

30. Brace­bridge Hall — 1822 — Wash­ing­ton Irv­ing

31. The Epi­cure­an — 1822 — Thomas Moore

32. The Adven­tures of Hajji Baba — 1824 — James Mori­er (“usu­al­ly reck­oned his best”)

33. The Betrothed — 1825 — Alessan­dro Man­zoni

34. Licht­en­stein — 1826 — Wil­helm Hauff

35. The Last of the Mohi­cans — 1826 — Fen­i­more Coop­er

36. The Col­le­gians — 1828 — Ger­ald Grif­fin

37. The Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Man­sie Wauch — 1828 — David M. Moir

38. Riche­lieu — 1829 — G. P. R. James (the “first and best” nov­el by the “doyen of his­tor­i­cal nov­el­ists”)

39. Tom Cringle’s Log — 1833 — Michael Scott

40. Mr. Mid­ship­man Easy — 1834 — Fred­er­ick Mar­ry­at

41. Le Père Gori­ot — 1835 — Hon­oré de Balzac

42. Rory O’More — 1836 — Samuel Lover (anoth­er first nov­el, inspired by one of the author’s own bal­lads)

43. Jack Brag — 1837 — Theodore Hook

44. Far­dor­ougha the Miser — 1839 — William Car­leton (“a grim study of avarice and Catholic fam­i­ly life. Crit­ics con­sid­er it the author’s finest achieve­ment”)

45. Valen­tine Vox — 1840 — Hen­ry Cock­ton (yet anoth­er first nov­el)

46. Old St. Paul’s — 1841 — Har­ri­son Ainsworth

47. Ten Thou­sand a Year — 1841 — Samuel War­ren (“immense­ly suc­cess­ful”)

48. Susan Hop­ley — 1841 — Cather­ine Crowe (“the sto­ry of a resource­ful ser­vant who solves a mys­te­ri­ous crime”)

49. Charles O’Mal­ley — 1841 — Charles Lever

50. The Last of the Barons — 1843 — Bul­w­er Lyt­ton

51. Con­sue­lo — 1844 — George Sand

52. Amy Her­bert — 1844 — Eliz­a­beth Sewell

53. Adven­tures of Mr. Led­bury — 1844 — Eliz­a­beth Sewell

54. Sybil — 1845 — Lord Bea­cons­field (a. k. a. Ben­jamin Dis­raeli)

55. The Three Mus­ke­teers — 1845 — Alexan­dre Dumas

56. The Wan­der­ing Jew — 1845 — Eugène Sue

57. Emil­ia Wyn­d­ham — 1846 — Anne Marsh

58. The Romance of War — 1846 — James Grant (“the nar­ra­tive of the 92nd High­landers’ con­tri­bu­tion from the Penin­su­lar cam­paign to Water­loo”)

59. Van­i­ty Fair — 1847 — W. M. Thack­er­ay

60. Jane Eyre — 1847 — Char­lotte Bron­të

61. Wuther­ing Heights — 1847 — Emi­ly Bron­të

62. The Vale of Cedars — 1848 — Grace Aguilar

63. David Cop­per­field — 1849 — Charles Dick­ens

64. The Maid­en and Mar­ried Life of Mary Pow­ell — 1850 — Anne Man­ning (“writ­ten in a pas­tiche sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry style and print­ed with the old-fash­ioned typog­ra­phy and page lay­out for which there was a vogue at the peri­od …”)

65. The Scar­let Let­ter — 1850 — Nathaniel Hawthorne

66. Frank Fair­leigh — 1850 — Fran­cis Smed­ley (“Smed­ley spe­cialised in fic­tion that is hearty and active, with a strong line in bois­ter­ous col­lege escapades and adven­tur­ous esques­tri­an exploits”)

67. Uncle Tom’s Cab­in — 1851 — H. B. Stowe

68. The Wide Wide World — 1851 — Susan Warn­er (Eliz­a­beth Wetherell)

69. Nathalie — 1851 — Julia Kavanagh

70. Ruth — 1853 — Eliz­a­beth Gaskell

71. The Lamp­lighter — 1854 — Maria Susan­na Cum­mins

72. Dr. Anto­nio — 1855 — Gio­van­ni Ruffi­ni

73. West­ward Ho! — 1855 — Charles Kings­ley

74. Deb­it and Cred­it (Soll und Haben) — 1855 — Gus­tav Frey­tag

75. Tom Brown’s School-Days — 1856 — Thomas Hugh­es

76. Barch­ester Tow­ers — 1857 — Antho­ny Trol­lope

77. John Hal­i­fax, Gen­tle­man — 1857 — Dinah Mulock (a. k. a. Dinah Craik; “the best-known Vic­to­ri­an fable of Smile­sian self-improve­ment”)

78. Ekke­hard — 1857 — Vik­tor von Schef­fel

79. Elsie Ven­ner — 1859 — O. W. Holmes

80. The Woman in White — 1860 — Wilkie Collins

81. The Clois­ter and the Hearth — 1861 — Charles Reade

82. Raven­shoe — 1861 — Hen­ry Kings­ley (“There is much con­fu­sion in the plot to do with changelings and frus­trat­ed inher­i­tance” in this suc­cess­ful nov­el by Charles Kings­ley’s younger broth­er, the “black sheep” of a “high­ly respectable” fam­i­ly)

83. Fathers and Sons — 1861 — Ivan Tur­ge­ni­eff

84. Silas Marn­er — 1861 — George Eliot

85. Les Mis­érables — 1862 — Vic­tor Hugo

86. Salamm­bô — 1862 — Gus­tave Flaubert

87. Salem Chapel — 1862 — Mar­garet Oliphant

88. The Chan­nings — 1862 — Ellen Wood (a. k. a. Mrs Hen­ry Wood)

89. Lost and Saved — 1863 — The Hon. Mrs. Nor­ton

90. The Schön­berg-Cot­ta Fam­i­ly — 1863 — Eliz­a­beth Charles

91. Uncle Silas — 1864 — Joseph Sheri­dan Le Fanu

92. Bar­bara’s His­to­ry — 1864 — Amelia B. Edwards (“Con­fus­ing­ly for bib­li­og­ra­phers, she was relat­ed to Matil­da Betham-Edwards and pos­si­bly to Annie Edward(e)s …”)

93. Sweet Anne Page — 1868 — Mor­timer Collins

94. Crime and Pun­ish­ment — 1868 — Feodor Dos­toieff­sky

95. Fromont Junior — 1874 — Alphonse Daudet

96. Mar­morne — 1877 — P. G. Hamer­ton (“writ­ten under the pseu­do­nym Adol­phus Seg­rave”)

97. Black but Come­ly — 1879 — G. J. Whyte-Melville

98. The Mas­ter of Bal­lantrae — 1889 — R. L. Steven­son

99. Reuben Sachs — 1889 — Amy Levy

100. News from Nowhere — 1891 — William Mor­ris

In addi­tion to the canon, Shorter—unable to heed his own cau­tious coun­sel and throw­ing the door open to the winds of lit­er­ary passion—included 8 books by liv­ing nov­el­ists whom he called “writ­ers whose rep­u­ta­tions are too well estab­lished for their juniors to feel towards them any sen­ti­ments oth­er than those of rev­er­ence and regard:”

An Egypt­ian Princess — 1864 — Georg Ebers

Rho­da Flem­ing — 1865 — George Mered­ith

Lor­na Doone — 1869 — R. D. Black­more

Anna Karen­i­na — 1875 — Count Leo Tol­stoi

The Return of the Native — 1878 — Thomas Hardy

Daisy Miller — 1878 — Hen­ry James

Mark Ruther­ford — 1881 — W. Hale White

Le Rêve — 1889 — Emile Zola

via The Times Lit­er­ary Sup­ple­ment

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie’s List of Top 100 Books

Christo­pher Hitchens Cre­ates a Read­ing List for Eight-Year-Old Girl

See Nobel Lau­re­ate Joseph Brodsky’s Read­ing List For Hav­ing an Intel­li­gent Con­ver­sa­tion

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman 

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Joseph Brodsky’s List of 83 Books You Should Read to Have an Intelligent Conversation

Josef_Brodsky_Michigan

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In 1955, a mere two months into eighth grade, a 15-year-old teenag­er dropped out of a Leningrad school. He had already repeat­ed sev­enth grade; the thought of anoth­er bor­ing year was unbear­able. He wan­dered into work at a fac­to­ry, but only last­ed six months. For the next sev­en years, he drift­ed in and out of menial jobs at a light­house, a crys­tal­log­ra­phy lab, and a morgue. For a time, he worked as a man­u­al labor­er on geo­log­i­cal expe­di­tions and as a stok­er at a pub­lic bath­house. Still, it wasn’t a whol­ly inaus­pi­cious start—by the end of his life, he had taught at Yale, Colum­bia, Cam­bridge, Michi­gan, and Mount Holyoke. He had also been award­ed the Nobel Prize for lit­er­a­ture.

Despite spurn­ing his own for­mal edu­ca­tion, Russ­ian poet and Sovi­et dis­si­dent Joseph Brod­sky imme­di­ate­ly rose to the high­est aca­d­e­m­ic ech­e­lon when he arrived in Amer­i­ca in 1972. By all accounts, the auto­di­dact held his class­es to a high stan­dard, fre­quent­ly dis­miss­ing any stu­dent argu­ments about lit­er­ary great­ness unless they cen­tered on Milosz, Low­ell, or Auden.

Mon­i­ca Par­tridge, a for­mer stu­dent in his class, told Open Cul­ture, “I took a poet­ry class with [Joseph Brod­sky] at Mount Holyoke Col­lege my fresh­man year… It was all 19th [cen­tu­ry] Russ­ian poet­ry, and he would give us four pages of poems to mem­o­rize overnight. We would have to come in the next [morn­ing] and tran­scribe the poems we had mem­o­rized. Very Russ­ian.”

No less impres­sive was the list of books that Brod­sky dis­trib­uted to Partridge’s class.

1.   Bha­gavad Gita
2.   Mahab­hara­ta
3.   Gil­gamesh
4.   The Old Tes­ta­ment
5.   Homer: Ili­ad, Odyssey
6.   Herodotus: His­to­ries
7.   Sopho­cles: Plays
8.   Aeschy­lus: Plays
9.   Euripi­des: Plays (Hip­poly­tus, The Bachantes, Elec­tra, The Phoeni­cian Women)
10. Thucy­dides: The Pelo­pon­nesian War
11. Pla­to: Dia­logues
12. Aris­to­tle: Poet­ics, Physics, Ethics, De Ani­ma
13. Alexan­dri­an Poet­ry: The Greek Anthol­o­gy
14. Lucretius: On the Nature of Things
15. Plutarch: Lives [pre­sum­ably Par­al­lel Lives]
16. Vir­gil: Aeneid, Bucol­ics, Geor­gics
17. Tac­i­tus: Annals
18. Ovid: Meta­mor­phoses, Hero­ides, Amores
19. The New Tes­ta­ment
20. Sue­to­nius: The Twelve Cae­sars
21. Mar­cus Aure­lius: Med­i­ta­tions
22. Cat­ul­lus: Poems
23. Horace: Poems
24. Epicte­tus: Dis­cours­es
25. Aristo­phanes: Plays
26. Claudius Aelianus: His­tor­i­cal Mis­cel­lany, On the Nature of Ani­mals
27. Apol­lo­nius Rhodius: Arg­onau­ti­ca
28. Michael Psel­lus: Four­teen Byzan­tine Rulers
29. Edward Gib­bon: The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire
30. Plot­i­nus: The Enneads
31. Euse­bius: Eccle­si­as­ti­cal His­to­ry
32. Boethius: Con­so­la­tions of Phi­los­o­phy
33. Pliny the Younger: Let­ters
34. Byzan­tine verse romances
35. Her­a­cli­tus: Frag­ments
36. St. Augus­tine: Con­fes­sions
37. Thomas Aquinas: Sum­ma The­o­log­i­ca
38. St. Fran­cis of Assisi: The Lit­tle Flow­ers
39. Nic­colò Machi­avel­li: The Prince
40. Dante Alighieri: Divine Com­e­dy (Tr. By John Cia­r­di)
41. Fran­co Sac­chet­ti: Nov­el­le
42. Ice­landic sagas
43. William Shake­speare (Antho­ny and Cleopa­tra, Ham­let, Mac­beth, Hen­ry V)
44. François Rabelais
45. Fran­cis Bacon
46. Mar­tin Luther: Select­ed Works
47. John Calvin:  Insti­tu­tio Chris­tianae reli­gio­n­is
48. Michel de Mon­taigne: Essays
49. Miguel de Cer­vantes: Don Quixote
50. René Descartes: Dis­cours­es
51. Song of Roland
52. Beowulf
53. Ben­venu­to Celli­ni
54. Hen­ry Adams: Edu­ca­tion of Hen­ry Adams
55. Thomas Hobbes: The Leviathan
56. Blaise Pas­cal: Pen­sées
57. John Mil­ton: Par­adise Lost
58. John Donne
59. Andrew Mar­vell
60. George Her­bert
61. Richard Crashaw
62. Baruch Spin­oza: Trea­tis­es
63. Stend­hal: Char­ter­house of Par­ma, Red and Black, The Life of Hen­ry Bru­lard 
64. Jonathan Swift: Gulliver’s Trav­els
65. Lau­rence Sterne: Tris­tram Shandy
66. Choder­los de Lac­los: Les Liaisons Dan­gereuses
67.  Baron de Mon­tesquieu: Per­sian Let­ters
68. John Locke: Sec­ond Trea­tise on Gov­ern­ment
69. Adam Smith: The Wealth of Nations
70. Got­tfried Wil­helm Leib­niz: Dis­course on Meta­physics
71. David Hume: Every­thing
72. The Fed­er­al­ist Papers
73. Immanuel Kant: Cri­tique of Pure Rea­son
74. Søren Kierkegaard: Fear and Trem­bling, Either/Or, Philo­soph­i­cal Frag­ments
75. Fyo­dor Dos­to­evsky: Notes From the Under­ground, The Pos­sessed
76. Alex­is de Toc­queville: Democ­ra­cy in Amer­i­ca
77. Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe: Faust, Ital­ian Jour­ney
78. Astolphe-Louis-Léonor, Mar­quis de Cus­tine: Empire of the Czar: A Jour­ney Through Eter­nal Rus­sia
79. Eric Auer­bach: Mime­sis
80. William H. Prescott: Con­quest of Mex­i­co
81. Octavio Paz: Labyrinths of Soli­tude
82. Sir Karl Pop­per: The Log­ic of Sci­en­tif­ic Dis­cov­ery, The Open Soci­ety and Its Ene­mies
83. Elias Canet­ti: Crowds and Pow­er

“Short­ly after the class began, he passed out a hand­writ­ten list of books that he said every per­son should have read in order to have a basic con­ver­sa­tion,” Par­tridge writes on the Brod­sky Read­ing Group blog.  “At the time I was think­ing, ‘Con­ver­sa­tion about what?’ I knew I’d nev­er be able to have a con­ver­sa­tion with him, because I nev­er thought I’d ever get through the list. Now that I’ve had a lit­tle liv­ing, I under­stand what he was talk­ing about. Intel­li­gent con­ver­sa­tion is good. In fact, maybe we all need a lit­tle more.”

In addi­tion to the poet­’s 1988 Uni­ver­si­ty of Michi­gan com­mence­ment address that we post­ed last week, we bring you Joseph Brodsky’s req­ui­site read­ing list, anno­tat­ed with the poet’s hand­writ­ten notes.

Note: You can click each image to read them in a larg­er for­mat.

Brodsky List 1_web_without notes 

Brodsky List 2_web

Brodsky List 3_web

Brodsky List 4_web

Brodsky List 5_web

Get read­ing, friends.

Via Brod­sky Read­ing Group, and with the deep­est grat­i­tude to Mon­i­ca Par­tridge, who pro­vid­ed pho­tographs of the orig­i­nal. Props go to Stan­ford for the typed out list of books.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

W.H. Auden’s 1941 Lit­er­a­ture Syl­labus Asks Stu­dents to Read 32 Great Works, Cov­er­ing 6000 Pages

Neil deGrasse Tyson Lists 8 (Free) Books Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Should Read

Ernest Hemingway’s List for a Young Writer

Carl Sagan’s Under­grad Read­ing List: 40 Essen­tial Texts for a Well-Round­ed Thinker

David Fos­ter Wallace’s 1994 Syl­labus: How to Teach Seri­ous Lit­er­a­ture with Light­weight Books

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence write. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

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Watch Goethe’s Haunting Poem, “Der Erlkönig,” Presented in an Artful Sand Animation

Back in col­lege, I took a fall-quar­ter intro­duc­to­ry music course. We hap­pened to have class on Hal­loween (an event quite seri­ous­ly tak­en around the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, San­ta Bar­bara, in case you did­n’t know), and the pro­fes­sor held an espe­cial­ly mem­o­rable lec­ture that day. He had us study “Der Erlkönig,” music by Franz Schu­bert, words by none oth­er than Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe. While I will not claim that this tale of the haunt­ing of a mori­bund child, even with its dri­ving score, gen­uine­ly fright­ened me, I will say that it put the fear into me in a more exis­ten­tial way, a blow which only a sim­ple sto­ry can land effec­tive­ly.

“Who rides, so late, through night and wind?” asks Goethe’s poem, trans­lat­ed from the Ger­man. “It is the father with his child. He has the boy well in his arm. He holds him safe­ly, he keeps him warm.” The man feels con­cern for his ail­ing son, but the boy has trou­bles of his own: “Father, do you not see the Erlk­ing?” The father explains his son’s vision of this men­ac­ing­ly regal fig­ure away as the fog, as the wind, as the trees. But the child insists: “My father, my father, he’s grab­bing me now! The Erlk­ing has done me harm!” By the time their horse reach­es home, indeed, the Erlk­ing — or some obscure agent of mor­tal­i­ty — has him. Hear this fable sung, and watch it vivid­ly ani­mat­ed with sand on glass (no doubt a painstak­ing process) by Ben Zelkow­icz above. Hal­loween itself may have just passed, but “Der Erlkönig” remains time­less­ly haunt­ing.

We’ll add “Der Erlkönig” to the Ani­ma­tion sec­tion of our col­lec­tion of Free Movies Online.

via NFB

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Tale of the Fox: Watch Ladis­las Starevich’s Ani­ma­tion of Goethe’s Great Ger­man Folk­tale (1937)

Goethe’s The­o­ry of Col­ors: The 1810 Trea­tise That Inspired Kandin­sky and Ear­ly Abstract Paint­ing

World War II Reliv­ed through Sand Paint­ing

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Doodlebug, Christopher Nolan’s First Short: What Came Before The Dark Night, Memento & Inception (1997)

We know British film­mak­er Christo­pher Nolan best today for direct­ing the lat­est tril­o­gy of Bat­man films, Bat­man BeginsThe Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Ris­es. His recent high-pro­file non-super­hero hit Incep­tion made an impres­sive, if brief, splash as a main­stream brain­ben­der, which, for me, faint­ly echoed the thrill he sent through the world of crossover inde­pen­dent film with 2000’s back­ward-told Memen­to. Yet, if this does­n’t make me too much of an I‑liked-the-ear­ly-stuff-cliché, I still think of him most fond­ly for direct­ing his 1998 fea­ture debut Fol­low­ing, a 16-mil­lime­ter, black-and-white, $6000-bud­get tale of theft, imper­son­ation, and iden­ti­ty shot on the streets of Lon­don. (One of the char­ac­ters breaks into an apart­ment with a now-strik­ing Bat­man logo on its door.) But even a project as small-scale as Fol­low­ing has a pre­de­ces­sor, Doo­dle­bug, which you can watch above.

“The depths of insan­i­ty are explored by a man chas­ing some­thing in his apart­ment with a shoe,” promis­es the video descrip­tion of the three-minute Doo­dle­bug. In the cen­ter of this shad­owy, para­noid tale we have Jere­my Theobald, who would go on to star in Fol­low­ing (and appear as a Gotham Water Board Tech­ni­cian in Bat­man Begins). Nolan shot it back in his days study­ing Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture at Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege Lon­don, a school whose film soci­ety he led and which he chose express­ly for the avail­abil­i­ty of its cam­eras and edit­ing gear. His ear­ly, hand­made pic­tures have become even more fas­ci­nat­ing to watch in light of his dec­la­ra­tions in DGA Quar­ter­ly inter­view that he far prefers shoot­ing in film to shoot­ing dig­i­tal­ly, and that 3D tech­nol­o­gy has­n’t much impressed him. But he hard­ly dis­dains spec­ta­cle, and the arti­cle con­tains a good deal of talk about how he uses CGI and crafts action sequences. Over the years, Nolan’s core enthu­si­asms seem­ing­ly haven’t changed; even Doo­dle­bug, espe­cial­ly by stu­dent-film stan­dards, has some pret­ty cool spe­cial effects.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dark Knight: Anato­my of a Flawed Action Scene

Slavoj Žižek’s Pervert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy Decodes The Dark Knight and They Live

The First Films of Great Direc­tors: Kubrick, Cop­po­la, Scors­ese, Taran­ti­no & Truf­faut

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg & Margaret Mead Explain the Meaning of “Beat” in Rare 1950s Audio Clips

Kerouac_by_Palumbo

In 1948, Jack Ker­ouac first start­ed talk­ing about a “Beat Gen­er­a­tion,” by which he meant a “swing­ing group of new Amer­i­can men intent on joy.” Ten years lat­er, the term, now com­mon­place in Amer­i­ca’s lex­i­con, was get­ting co-opt­ed by the main­stream media, and not for the bet­ter. “Beat” had become a short­hand for “crime, delin­quen­cy, immoral­i­ty, amoral­i­ty” and more. In 1958, Ker­ouac deliv­ered a speech at Hunter Col­lege where he tried to restore the true prin­ci­ples of the beat move­ment and sweep aside the fab­ri­cat­ed mis­con­cep­tions. You can lis­ten to a 7 minute excerpt of that speech below, or hear the full speech here:

The next year, Play­boy explic­it­ly asked Ker­ouac to elab­o­rate on the Hunter Col­lege speech. He agreed and gave them “The Ori­gins of the Beat Gen­er­a­tion,” which, too, you can read online: Page 1  — Page 2 — Page 3 — Page 4.

By ’59, Allen Gins­berg, the poet lau­re­ate of the Beats, knew there was lit­tle use in try­ing to reap­pro­pri­ate the term from the mag­a­zines and mar­keters. When asked to define the word, he effec­tive­ly refused to play the game. But famed anthro­pol­o­gist Mar­garet Mead, a more neu­tral out­side observ­er, was will­ing to take a shot. Lis­ten below, or hear a slight­ly longer audio clip here:

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Free Audio: Bryan Cranston, Breaking Bad Star, Reads First Chapter of The Things They Carried

cranston reads

If you’re going through Break­ing Bad with­draw­al, here’s a small way to fill the void. Audible.com has made avail­able a record­ing of Bryan Cranston, the actor behind Wal­ter White, read­ing the first chap­ter from The Things They Car­ried, Tim O’Brien’s famous sto­ry col­lec­tion that offers a chill­ing, boots-on-the-ground por­tray­al of sol­diers’ expe­ri­ence dur­ing the Viet­nam War. A final­ist for the 1990 Pulitzer Prize and the Nation­al Book Crit­ics Cir­cle Award, the book has sold over 2 mil­lion copies world­wide and is now a sta­ple of col­lege and high school Eng­lish class­es across Amer­i­ca. Cranston’s read­ing runs over 47 min­utes.

Cranston actu­al­ly nar­rates the entire book, and if you’re inter­est­ed in down­load­ing it, there’s a way to do it for free. Just head over to Audible.com and reg­is­ter for a 30-day free tri­al. You can down­load any audio book for free, includ­ing The Things They Car­ried. Then, when the tri­al is over, you can con­tin­ue your Audi­ble sub­scrip­tion, or can­cel it, and still keep the audio book. The choice is  yours. And, in full dis­clo­sure, let me tell you that we have a nice arrange­ment with Audi­ble. When­ev­er some­one signs up for their amaz­ing ser­vice, it helps sup­port Open Cul­ture. Get more infor­ma­tion on Audi­ble’s free tri­al here.

Also don’t miss our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free. It’s a price­less resource.

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Stephen Fry Hosts “The Science of Opera,” a Discussion of How Music Moves Us Physically to Tears

I vivid­ly recall my first opera. It was The Mar­riage of Figaro at the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Opera in New York. A friend bought two fam­i­ly cir­cle tickets—nosebleed seats—and insist­ed that I come along. She was a trained opera singer and afi­ciona­do. I was an unlearned neo­phyte. Most of my expec­ta­tions were ful­filled: the enor­mous­ly impres­sive space, plen­ty of bom­bast, intri­cate­ly designed sets and cos­tum­ing. And it was long. Very long. But not, as I had feared, bor­ing. Not at all. I had not expect­ed, in fact, to be so phys­i­cal­ly moved by the per­for­mances, and not only moved to basic emotions—I was moved deep in my gut. There’s no way I could ade­quate­ly explain it.

But the med­ical sci­en­tists in the video above can. In “The Sci­ence of Opera,” actor Stephen Fry and come­di­an Alan Davies con­vene a pan­el of researchers from Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege Lon­don to dis­cuss what hap­pened phys­i­o­log­i­cal­ly when the pair were hooked up to var­i­ous sen­sors as they attend­ed Verdi’s Simon Boc­cane­gra at the Roy­al Opera House. Like the pair­ing at my first opera, Fry is a knowl­edge­able lover of the art and Davies is almost an opera vir­gin (the sto­ry of his actu­al first opera gets a good laugh). The gad­gets attached to Fry and Davies mea­sured their heart rates, breath­ing, sweat, and “var­i­ous oth­er emo­tion­al respons­es.” What do we learn from the exper­i­ment? For one thing, as neu­ro­bi­ol­o­gist Michael Trim­ble informs us, “music is dif­fer­ent from all the oth­er arts.” For exam­ple, nine­ty per­cent of peo­ple sur­veyed admit to being moved to tears by a piece of music. Only five to ten per­cent say the same about paint­ing or sculp­ture. Fry and Davies’ auto­nom­ic ner­vous sys­tem respons­es con­firm the pow­er of music (and sto­ry) to move us beyond our con­scious con­trol and aware­ness.

And why is this? You’ll have to watch the dis­cus­sion to learn more—I won’t sum­ma­rize it here. Just know that we get insights not only into the sci­ence of opera, but the art as well—Verdi’s art in particular—and the var­i­ous dis­ci­plines rep­re­sent­ed here do much to expand our appre­ci­a­tion of music, whether we specif­i­cal­ly love opera or not. This is not the first talk on opera Fry has been a part of. He pre­vi­ous­ly host­ed anoth­er Roy­al Opera Com­pa­ny event called “Ver­di vs. Wag­n­er: the 200th birth­day debate” (above). Though I favor the Ger­mans, I’d say it’s a draw, but par­ti­sans of either one will like­ly come away with their opin­ions intact, hav­ing learned a thing or two along the way.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Fry Reads Oscar Wilde’s Children’s Sto­ry “The Hap­py Prince”

Stephen Fry, Lan­guage Enthu­si­ast, Defends The “Unnec­es­sary” Art Of Swear­ing

Math­e­mu­si­cian Vi Hart Explains the Space-Time Con­tin­u­um With a Music Box, Bach, and a Möbius Strip

Find Yale’s Course “Lis­ten­ing to Music” in our Col­lec­tion of 775 Free Online Cours­es

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

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