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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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Prize-Winning Animation Lets You Fly Through 17th Century London

Six stu­dents from De Mont­fort Uni­ver­si­ty have cre­at­ed a stel­lar 3D rep­re­sen­ta­tion of 17th cen­tu­ry Lon­don, as it exist­ed before The Great Fire of 1666. The three-minute video pro­vides a real­is­tic ani­ma­tion of Tudor Lon­don, and par­tic­u­lar­ly a sec­tion called Pud­ding Lane where the fire start­ed. As Lon­don­ist notes, “Although most of the build­ings are con­jec­tur­al, the stu­dents used a real­is­tic street pat­tern [tak­en from his­tor­i­cal maps] and even includ­ed the hang­ing signs of gen­uine inns and busi­ness­es” men­tioned in diaries from the peri­od.

For their efforts, the De Mont­fort team was award­ed first prize in the Off the Map con­test, a com­pe­ti­tion run by The British Library and video game devel­op­ers GameCity and Cry­tek.

Com­ment­ing on the video, one judge from the esteemed British Library had this to say:

Some of these vis­tas would not look at all out of place as spe­cial effects in a Hol­ly­wood stu­dio pro­duc­tion. The haze effect lying over the city is bril­liant, and great atten­tion has been giv­en to key fea­tures of Lon­don Bridge, the wood­en struc­ture of Queen­shithe on the riv­er, even the glit­ter­ing win­dow case­ments. I’m real­ly pleased that the Pud­ding Lane team was able to repur­pose some of the maps from the British Library’s amaz­ing map col­lec­tion – a store­house of vir­tu­al worlds – in such a con­sid­ered way.

You can find more infor­ma­tion about how the ani­ma­tion came togeth­er over at the ani­ma­tors’ blog, plus at The British Library’s Dig­i­tal Schol­ar­ship blog.

Fol­low Open Cul­ture on Face­book and Twit­ter and share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox. And if you want to make sure that our posts def­i­nite­ly appear in your Face­book news­feed, just fol­low these sim­ple steps.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

His­to­ry: Free Online Cours­es

Rome Reborn – An Amaz­ing Dig­i­tal Mod­el of Ancient Rome

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

A Dig­i­tal Recon­struc­tion of Wash­ing­ton D.C. in 1814

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

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Watch Red Shirley, Lou Reed’s Short Documentary on His Fascinating 100-Year-Old Cousin (2010)

From fronting the Vel­vet Under­ground to putting out four sol­id sides of feed­back noise to col­lab­o­rat­ing with Metal­li­ca on a semi-spo­ken word album based on the plays of Frank Wedekind, the late avant-rock­er Lou Reed had a way of nev­er work­ing on quite what you’d expect him to. Eas­i­er said than done, of course, but Reed man­aged to sus­tain a long, always-inter­est­ing career and posi­tion in the cul­ture by exer­cis­ing that strength not just in music but in oth­er forms as well. Above we have Red Shirley, a half-hour doc­u­men­tary film he made with Ralph Gib­son in 2010. (Score pro­vid­ed by “the Met­al Machine Trio”.) We get the premise up front, onscreen: “On the eve of her 100th birth­day, Lou sat down with his cousin Shirley for a tête-à-tête.” Most near­ly-100-year-olds have, pre­sum­ably, seen a lot; Shirley Novick has seen even more.

“Dur­ing World War I she emerged unscathed from Poland after her fam­i­ly’s house was hit by a dud shell,” writes the Wall Street Jour­nal’s Nico­las Rapold in an arti­cle that also includes Reeds own’s reflec­tions on his cousin and her thor­ough­ly his­tor­i­cal life. “At 19, she jour­neyed to Cana­da with­out her par­ents, thus escap­ing the fate of rel­a­tives dur­ing World War II. (‘Hitler took care of them,’ she curt­ly remarks in the film.)

Leav­ing Cana­da, which she deemed ‘too provin­cial,’ Ms. Novick joined thou­sands of immi­grants in New York City’s gar­ment indus­try. There, over the course of 47 years, her debate skills came in handy as an out­spo­ken activist dur­ing union scraps. She would lat­er join the 1963 civ­il rights march on Wash­ing­ton.” Snag­films tags Red Shirley with the apt label “fas­ci­nat­ing peo­ple,” but for a sol­id doc­u­men­tary, you also need a fas­ci­nat­ed inter­view­er, and Reed fills that role. “The only oth­er thing I would like to do is make a movie about mar­tial arts,” Reed told Rapold. “Like, trav­el around to dif­fer­ent teach­ers and tour­na­ments, com­pare tech­niques and train­ing.” That we’ll nev­er see it now fills me with regret.

The film should be view­able in most all geo­gra­phies, or so our Twit­ter fol­low­ers tell us. (Our apolo­gies if you’re not in one of them.) You can find Red Shirley per­ma­nent­ly housed in our col­lec­tion of 575 Free Movies Online.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Lou Reed — Vel­vet Under­ground Front­man, Influ­en­tial Solo Musi­cian — Dead at 71

Hear New­ly-Released Mate­r­i­al from the Lost Acetate Ver­sion of The Vel­vet Under­ground & Nico (1966)

Warhol’s Screen Tests: Lou Reed, Den­nis Hop­per, Nico, and More

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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The Best Writing Advice Pico Iyer Ever Received

Iyer

One can work with lan­guage all day, I have found—write, teach, blog and tweet incessantly—and still suc­cumb to all the worst habits of lazy writ­ers: indulging strings of clichés and abstrac­tions, mak­ing it impos­si­ble for a read­er to, as they say, “locate her­self” in time and space. Trav­el writer and essay­ist Pico Iyer found this out on the job. Though he had writ­ten his way through grad­u­ate school and the pages of Time mag­a­zine, he still need­ed to hear the advice of his edi­tor at Knopf, Charles Elliott. “The read­er wants to trav­el beside you,” said Elliott, “look­ing over your shoul­der.”

Such a sim­ple notion. Essen­tial even. But Elliott’s advice is not lim­it­ed to the dog­ma of “show, don’t tell” (maybe a lim­it­ed way to think of writ­ing). More point­ed­ly he stress­es the con­nec­tion of abstract ideas to con­crete, spe­cif­ic descrip­tions that anchor events to a real­i­ty out­side the author’s head, one the read­er wants see, hear, touch, etc. The “best writ­ing advice” Iyer ever received is a use­ful pre­cept espe­cial­ly, I think, for peo­ple who write all of the time, and who need to be remind­ed, like Iyer, to keep it fresh. Read his full descrip­tion at The Amer­i­can Schol­ar.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jack Ker­ouac Lists 9 Essen­tials for Writ­ing Spon­ta­neous Prose

Cor­mac McCarthy’s Three Punc­tu­a­tion Rules, and How They All Go Back to James Joyce

Toni Mor­ri­son Dis­pens­es Writ­ing Wis­dom in 1993 Paris Review Inter­view

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

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The Hunger Strikes at Guantánamo Bay Prison Revealed in Poignant Animated Video

In late Sep­tem­ber, the US mil­i­tary declared the hunger strikes at Guan­tá­namo Bay over. “At its peak,” writes Char­lie Sav­age in The New York Times, “106 of the 166 pris­on­ers … were list­ed as par­tic­i­pants” in the strike. That num­ber has now dropped to 19, they say, and they’re all being giv­en “the appro­pri­ate lev­el of care.” What exact­ly does that mean? You can get an idea from this ani­mat­ed video cre­at­ed by The Guardian. In 6 min­utes, you’ll get intro­duced to the world of peo­ple who have spent years in prison. They’ve nev­er been charged with a crime nor giv­en access to the legal sys­tem. Despite being cleared for release, many remain stuck in lim­bo year after year. When they lose hope and go on hunger strike, they have tubes and food crammed down their noses. Poignant as it may be, the col­or­ful ani­ma­tion may dull your reac­tion to what’s actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing in Guan­tá­namo. Per­haps it’s bet­ter to look at these col­or pho­tos to ful­ly appre­ci­ate the Kafkaesque sys­tem the gov­ern­ment has put in place.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Odd Col­lec­tion of Books in the Guan­tanamo Prison Library

The Lost/Animated Inter­view with Fidel Cas­tro: If the Rev­o­lu­tion Fails, Cuba Will be “Hell Itself” (1959)

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What Happens When Everyday People Get a Chance to Conduct a World-Class Orchestra

Here’s what ImprovEv­ery­where did. They:

put a Carnegie Hall orches­tra in the mid­dle of New York City and placed an emp­ty podi­um in front of the musi­cians with a sign that read, “Con­duct Us.” Ran­dom New York­ers who accept­ed the chal­lenge were giv­en the oppor­tu­ni­ty to con­duct this world-class orches­tra. The orches­tra respond­ed to the con­duc­tors, alter­ing their tem­po and per­for­mance accord­ing­ly.

Improv Every­where is “a New York City-based prank col­lec­tive that caus­es scenes of chaos and joy in pub­lic places. Cre­at­ed in August of 2001 by Char­lie Todd, the orga­ni­za­tion “has exe­cut­ed over 100 mis­sions involv­ing tens of thou­sands of under­cov­er agents.” Find more of their “work” on YouTube.

Fol­low Open Cul­ture on Face­book and Twit­ter and share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox. And if you want to make sure that our posts def­i­nite­ly appear in your Face­book news­feed, just fol­low these sim­ple steps.

via Devour

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” Mov­ing­ly Flash­mobbed in Spain

Copen­hagen Phil­har­mon­ic Plays Ravel’s Bolero at Train Sta­tion

Flash­mob Recre­ates Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch” in a Dutch Shop­ping Mall

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James Joyce’s “Dirty Letters” to His Wife (1909)

Writer and artist Alis­tair Gen­try once pro­posed a lec­ture series he called “One Eyed Mon­ster.” Cen­tral to the project is what Gen­try calls “the cult of James Joyce,” an exem­plar of a larg­er phe­nom­e­non: “the vul­ture-like pick­ing over of the cre­ative and mate­r­i­al lega­cies of dead artists.” “Untal­ent­ed and non­cre­ative peo­ple,” writes Gen­try, “are able to build last­ing careers from what one might call the Tal­ent­ed Dead.” Gentry’s judg­ment may seem harsh, but the ques­tions he asks are inci­sive and should give pause to schol­ars (and blog­gers) who make their liv­ings comb­ing through the per­son­al effects of dead artists, and to every­one who takes a spe­cial inter­est, pruri­ent or oth­er­wise, in such arti­facts. Just what is it we hope to find in artists’ per­son­al let­ters that we can’t find in their pub­lic work? I’m not sure I have an answer to that ques­tion, espe­cial­ly in ref­er­ence to James Joyce’s “dirty let­ters” to his wife and chief muse, Nora.

The let­ters are by turns scan­dalous, tit­il­lat­ing, roman­tic, poet­ic, and often down­right fun­ny, and they were writ­ten for Nora’s eyes alone in a cor­re­spon­dence ini­ti­at­ed by her in Novem­ber of 1909, while Joyce was in Dublin and she was in Tri­este rais­ing their two chil­dren in very strait­ened cir­cum­stances. Nora hoped to keep Joyce away from cour­te­sans by feed­ing his fan­tasies in writ­ing, and Joyce need­ed to woo Nora again—she had threat­ened to leave him for his lack of finan­cial sup­port. In the let­ters, they remind each oth­er of their first date on June 16, 1904 (sub­se­quent­ly memo­ri­al­ized as “Blooms­day,” the date on which all of Ulysses is set). We learn quite a lot about Joyce’s predilec­tions, much less about Nora’s, whose side of the cor­re­spon­dence seems to have dis­ap­peared. Declared lost for some time, Joyce’s first reply let­ter to Nora in the “dirty let­ters” sequence was recent­ly dis­cov­ered and auc­tioned off by Sotheby’s in 2004.

I do not excerpt here any of the lan­guage from Joyce’s sub­se­quent let­ters, not for modesty’s sake but because there is far too much of it to choose from. If those prud­ish cen­sors of Ulysses had read this exchange, they might have dropped dead from grave wounds to their sense of deco­rum. As far as I can ascer­tain, the let­ters exist in pub­li­ca­tion only in the out-of-print Select­ed Let­ters of James Joyce, edit­ed by pre-emi­nent Joyce biog­ra­ph­er Richard Ell­mann, and in a some­what trun­cat­ed form on this site. Alis­tair Gen­try has done us the favor of tran­scrib­ing the let­ters as they appear in Ellmann’s Select­ed Let­ters on his site here. Of our inter­est in them, he asks:

Does any­one have the right to read things that were clear­ly meant only for two spe­cif­ic peo­ple…? Now that they have been exposed to the world’s gaze, albeit in a fair­ly lim­it­ed fash­ion, does any­body except these two (who are dead) have any right to make objec­tions about or exer­cise con­trol over the man­ner in which these pri­vate doc­u­ments and records of inti­ma­cy are used?

Ques­tions worth con­sid­er­ing, if not answered eas­i­ly. Nev­er­the­less, despite his crit­i­cal mis­giv­ings, Gen­try writes: “These let­ters stand on their own as bril­liant and, dare I say, arous­ing Joycean writ­ing. In my opin­ion they’re def­i­nite­ly worth read­ing.” I must say I agree. Joyce’s broth­er Stanis­laus once wrote in a diary entry: “Jim is thought to be very frank about him­self but his style is such that it might be con­tend­ed that he con­fess­es in a for­eign language—an eas­i­er con­fes­sion than in the vul­gar tongue.” In the “dirty let­ters,” we get to see the great alchemist of ordi­nary lan­guage and expe­ri­ence prac­ti­cal­ly rev­el in the most vul­gar con­fes­sions.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Joyce Plays the Gui­tar, 1915

On Blooms­day, Hear James Joyce Read From his Epic Ulysses, 1924

James Joyce, With His Eye­sight Fail­ing, Draws a Sketch of Leopold Bloom (1926)

James Joyce’s Ulysses: Down­load the Free Audio Book

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

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“The Autobiography of Jane Eyre” Adapts Brontë’s Heroine for Vlogs, Tumblr, Twitter & Instagram

Lest you remain unaware, Jane Eyre has a vlog. And though I would fain speak well of it, the truth must out. I pre­fer my Jane with bon­net strings knot­ted firm­ly beneath her chin. This Jane, as embod­ied by project co-cre­ator, Alysson Hall, often seems like a fan putting togeth­er a home­made audi­tion tape for Girls.

I sus­pect that’s the demo­graph­ic most like­ly to appre­ci­ate Char­lotte Bron­të’s rein­vent­ed hero­ine.  Like The Lizzie Ben­net Diaries, a self-declared “online mod­ern­ized adap­ta­tion” of Pride and Prej­u­dice, The Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Jane Eyre takes a trans­me­dia approach, seri­al­iz­ing across mul­ti­ple dig­i­tal plat­forms.

In addi­tion to the YouTube chan­nel, Jane tweets to over 1500 fol­low­ers, and uploads pho­tos to Insta­gram. Her video diary might not be my cup of tea, but I must con­fess, I do rather enjoy her tum­blr. Per­haps not as much as I’d enjoy reread­ing the nov­el (find it in our col­lec­tion Free eBooks and Free Audio Books col­lec­tions), but it’s not a bad way to while away a minute or two.

Put anoth­er way, any­one who likes read­ing Bron­të is prob­a­bly amenable to pic­tures of tea cups, dead trees, and Tim Bur­ton’s ani­mat­ed dolls.

Jane’s embrace of social media is shared by many in her orbit, includ­ing Mr. Rochester’s employ­ee, Grace Poole, and his 8‑year-old daugh­ter, Adele, whose (ille­gal) Twit­ter feed will appeal to any pre­co­cious lit­tle smar­ty­pants eager for ran­dom facts regard­ing Bernese Moun­tain Dogs and Uranus’ moons.

The veil is lift­ed some­what on the series’ Face­book page, where the cre­ators inter­act with fans out-of-char­ac­ter and address mod­ern tech­ni­cal dif­fi­cul­ties, such as soft­ware issues and audio glitch­es.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

20 Books Peo­ple Pre­tend to Read (and Now Your Con­fes­sions?)

Bron­të Sis­ters Pow­er Dolls

Jane Austen’s Fight Club

Ayun Hal­l­i­day was gob­s­macked to learn that her sec­ond book, No Touch Mon­key!  has been made avail­able in ebook form.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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The 10 Greatest Films of All Time According to 846 Film Critics

citizen kane best

We’ve recent­ly fea­tured the all-time-great­est-film-selec­tions from such cel­e­brat­ed direc­tors as Stan­ley Kubrick, Mar­tin Scors­ese, Woody Allen, and Quentin Taran­ti­no. Some of these lists came from the grand poll put on last year by Sight & Sound, the British Film Insti­tute’s well-respect­ed cin­e­ma jour­nal. While scru­ti­niz­ing the vot­ing records in the direc­tors’ divi­sion yields no small plea­sure for the cinephile, to focus too close­ly on that would ignore the big pic­ture. By that, I mean the over­all stand­ings in this most painstak­ing crit­i­cal effort to deter­mine “the Great­est Films of All Time”:

  1. Ver­ti­go (Alfred Hitch­cock, 1958)
  2. Cit­i­zen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941)
  3. Tokyo Sto­ry (Yasu­jirô Ozu, 1953)
  4. La Règle du jeu (Jean Renoir, 1939)
  5. Sun­rise (F.W. Mur­nau, 1927)
  6. 2001: A Space Odyssey (Stan­ley Kubrick, 1968)
  7. The Searchers (John Ford, 1956)
  8. Man with a Movie Cam­era (Dzi­ga Ver­tov, 1929)
  9. The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc (Carl Theodor Drey­er, 1928)
  10. (Fed­eri­co Felli­ni, 1963)

These results came out with a bang — the sound, of course, of Ver­ti­go dis­plac­ing Cit­i­zen Kane. How many who watched the young Orson Welles’ debut dur­ing its finan­cial­ly inaus­pi­cious orig­i­nal run could have guessed it would one day stand as a byword for the height of cin­e­mat­ic crafts­man­ship?

But Cit­i­zen Kane just flopped, draw­ing a good deal of crit­i­cal acclaim even as it did so, where­as, sev­en­teen years lat­er, Hitch­cock­’s Ver­ti­go not only flopped, but did so into a fog of mixed reviews, tum­bling uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly from there into obscu­ri­ty. Prints became scarce, and the ones Hitch­cock afi­ciona­dos could lat­er track down had seen bet­ter days. It would take a kind of obses­sion — not to men­tion a thor­ough restora­tion — to return Ver­ti­go to the zeit­geist.

We ignored Ver­ti­go at our per­il, and if we now ignore Cit­i­zen Kane because of its new sec­ond-chair sta­tus, we do that at our per­il as well. The 90-minute doc­u­men­tary, The Com­plete Cit­i­zen Kane, orig­i­nal­ly aired in 1991 as an episode of the BBC’s Are­na. It looks at Welles’ mas­ter­piece from every pos­si­ble angle, even bring­ing in New York­er crit­ic Pauline Kael, whose essay “Rais­ing Kane” took a con­tro­ver­sial anti-auteurist posi­tion about this most seem­ing­ly auteur-dri­ven of all Amer­i­can films.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films (The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed)

Philoso­pher Slavoj Zizek Inter­prets Hitchcock’s Ver­ti­go in The Pervert’s Guide to Cin­e­ma (2006)

Orson Welles Explains Why Igno­rance Was the Genius Behind Cit­i­zen Kane

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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Synchronized, Timelapse Video Shows Train Traveling from London to Brighton in 1953, 1983 & 2013

In 1953, the BBC filmed a train jour­ney from Lon­don to Brighton, “squeezed into just four min­utes.”  30 years lat­er, in 1983, they record­ed the same jour­ney again. And then for a third time in 2013. Above, you can watch all three jour­neys side by side. The videos are per­fect­ly in sync, which makes it par­tic­u­lar­ly easy to see what has changed — and what hasn’t — over the course of 60 years. You will see sim­i­lar­i­ties and dif­fer­ences in the land­marks along the routes. But the biggest con­trast? It’s the peo­ple who get off of the train at the end. Enjoy the ride.
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