David Foster Wallace’s Surprising List of His 10 Favorite Books, from C.S. Lewis to Tom Clancy

wallace syllabus

Image by Steve Rhodes, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Like many David Fos­ter Wal­lace fans, I bought a copy of J. Ped­er Zane’s The Top Ten (pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here), a com­pi­la­tion of var­i­ous famous writ­ers’ top-ten-books lists, express­ly for DFW’s con­tri­bu­tion. Like most of those David Fos­ter Wal­lace fans, I felt more than a lit­tle sur­prised when I turned to his page and found out which ten books he’d cho­sen. Here, as quot­ed in the Chris­t­ian Sci­ence Mon­i­tor, we have the Infi­nite Jest author and wide­ly rec­og­nized (if reluc­tant) “high-brow” lit­er­ary fig­ure’s top ten list:

1. The Screw­tape Let­ters, by C.S. Lewis

2. The Stand, by Stephen King

3. Red Drag­on, by Thomas Har­ris

4. The Thin Red Line, by James Jones

5. Fear of Fly­ing, by Eri­ca Jong

6. The Silence of the Lambs, by Thomas Har­ris

7. Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Hein­lein

8. Fuzz, by Ed McBain

9. Alli­ga­tor, by Shel­ley Katz

10. The Sum of All Fears, by Tom Clan­cy

Thrillers, killers, and a dose of Chris­tian­i­ty to top it off; I did­n’t blame Zane when he asked, “Is he seri­ous? Beats me. To be hon­est, I don’t know what Wal­lace was think­ing. But I do think there’s a cer­tain integri­ty to his list.” Wal­lace him­self seemed to read assid­u­ous­ly all over the map — or, more to the point, all up and down the scale of crit­i­cal respectabil­i­ty. Rat­tling off  â€śthe stuff that’s sort of rung my cher­ries” to Salon’s Lau­ra Miller in 1996, for a con­trast, he named, among oth­er wor­thy reads, Socrates’ funer­al ora­tion, John Donne, “Keats’ short­er stuff,” Schopen­hauer, William James’ Vari­eties of Reli­gious Expe­ri­ence, Wittgenstein’s Trac­ta­tus, Joyce’s Por­trait of the Artist as a Young Man, Hem­ing­way’s In Our Time, Don DeLil­lo, A.S. Byatt, Cyn­thia Ozick, Don­ald Barthelme, Moby-Dick, and The Great Gats­by. (You can find many of these texts in our Free eBooks col­lec­tion.)

That, some Wal­lace read­ers may think, sounds more like it. But those who’ve paid close atten­tion to Wal­lace’s lan­guage — that often breath­less­ly but hope­less­ly imi­tat­ed mix­ture of high-cal­iber vocab­u­lary, casu­al­ly spo­ken rhythm, decep­tive­ly sharp-edged per­cep­tion, shrug­ging pre­sen­ta­tion, and delib­er­ate sole­cism — know how ful­ly he simul­ta­ne­ous­ly embod­ied both “high” and “low” Eng­lish writ­ing. Just look at the Lit­er­ary Analy­sis syl­labus from his days teach­ing at Illi­nois State Uni­ver­si­ty, which demands stu­dents read not just The Silence of the Lambs but anoth­er Thomas Har­ris nov­el, Black Sun­day, as well as more C.S. Lewis (in this case The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe) and Stephen King (Car­rie). Lest you doubt his com­mit­ment to the seri­ous read­ing of pop­u­lar fic­tion, note the pres­ence of Jack­ie Collins’ Rock Star. In the class­room and in life, Wal­lace must tru­ly have believed that there exists no low fic­tion; just low ways of read­ing fic­tion.

Look­ing for free, pro­fes­sion­al­ly-read audio books from Audible.com? Here’s a great, no-strings-attached deal. If you start a 30 day free tri­al with Audible.com, you can down­load two free audio books of your choice. Get more details on the offer here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

30 Free Essays & Sto­ries by David Fos­ter Wal­lace on the Web

David Fos­ter Wal­lace: The Big, Uncut Inter­view (2003)

David Fos­ter Wallace’s 1994 Syl­labus

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

Free: F. W. Murnau’s Sunrise, the 1927 Masterpiece Voted the 5th Best Movie of All Time

sunrise-movie-poster-197

Ger­man direc­tor F.W. Murnau’s silent mas­ter­piece Sun­rise: A Song of Two Humans (1927) is a rare exam­ple of a for­eign auteur who man­aged to keep his vision in the face of the Hol­ly­wood machine.

Pri­or to this movie, F. W. Mur­nau was arguably the most impor­tant film direc­tor of his time. He direct­ed a string of Ger­man Expres­sion­ist works that were as bleak and brood­ing as they were tech­ni­cal­ly bril­liant. Murnau’s eeri­ly, hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Nos­fer­atu (1922) rede­fined the hor­ror movie. The spec­tac­u­lar­ly depress­ing Der Let­zte Mann (1924) fea­tured a rov­ing cam­era, dou­ble-expo­sure and forced per­spec­tive to bril­liant­ly evoke the shame, humil­i­a­tion and (in one tour-de-force sequence) drunk­en­ness of a proud door­man demot­ed to a wash­room atten­dant. And his adap­ta­tion of Faust (1926) was the most lav­ish, expen­sive movie Ger­many had ever pro­duced at the time.

Enter William Fox, a Jew­ish-Hun­gar­i­an immi­grant who found­ed the Fox Film Cor­po­ra­tion. Though his stu­dio was mod­er­ate­ly suc­cess­ful pro­duc­ing Tom Mix seri­als, he aspired to some­thing greater; he aspired to art. Fox con­vinced Mur­nau to make the jump to Hol­ly­wood, in part by agree­ing to build a $200,000 set for the movie — an astro­nom­i­cal sum in those days.

Sun­rise opens with a series of title cards that announce just what this movie is about:

This song of the man and his wife is of no place and every place; you might hear it any­where at any time. For wher­ev­er the sun ris­es and sets in the city’s tur­moil or under the open sky on the farm, life is much the same; some­times bit­ter, some­times sweet.

Mur­nau and his screen­writer Carl Mey­er (who also wrote Der Let­zte Mann) made the plot­line so sim­ple, so uni­ver­sal that the char­ac­ters don’t even have names.

A strug­gling farmer is smit­ten with a femme fatale from the city. She invei­gles him to drown his young wife and run off to the city with her. But when it comes time to do the deed, he real­izes that he can’t do it. When the wife flees from him, he fol­lows her into the city, apol­o­giz­ing pro­fuse­ly. Even­tu­al­ly, he and his remark­ably for­giv­ing wife rec­on­cile and rekin­dle their love for one oth­er. The sto­ry is so ele­men­tal that it could be a fairy tale.

Yet Murnau’s abil­i­ty to spin absolute­ly daz­zling images — using tech­nol­o­gy per­fect­ed in Ger­many – is what makes Sun­rise so mem­o­rable. At one point in the movie, the cam­era seem­ing­ly floats over a crowd in an amuse­ment park; at anoth­er the lovers walk down a city street that, with­out a cut, trans­forms into a flow­er­ing mead­ow. Com­pared to his Hol­ly­wood con­tem­po­raries – D.W. Grif­fith for exam­ple – Murnau’s movie seems vital, mod­ern, and sur­pris­ing­ly poignant.

Though the movie earned a few Oscars – includ­ing one for Best Unique and Artis­tic Pro­duc­tion and one for Best Actress for Janet Gaynor — Sun­rise suf­fered the fate of many cin­e­mat­ic mas­ter­pieces: It flopped. Yet over the years, its crit­i­cal rep­u­ta­tion has only grown. In 2012, it was named the 5th best movie of all time by Sight and Sound mag­a­zine just ahead of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Unlike Kubrick’s sci-fi saga, how­ev­er, you can watch Sun­rise for free on Archive.org. Check it out. Also find the clas­sic on our list of Great Silent Films, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free: Dzi­ga Vertov’s A Man with a Movie Cam­era, Named the 8th Best Film Ever Made

Watch Ten of the Great­est Silent Films of All Time — All Free Online

Watch Nos­fer­atu, the Sem­i­nal Vam­pire Film, Free Online (1922)

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

15 Minute History: Quick History Lessons from a New, Chart-Topping Podcast

15 minute history

I’ve always been jeal­ous of friends who stud­ied his­to­ry in col­lege. They’ve got a work­ing knowl­edge of the caus­es of wars, eco­nom­ic crises, polit­i­cal upheavals, and any oth­er triv­ia ques­tion-wor­thy events. Thank­ful­ly, what­ev­er I’d like to learn is mere­ly a click away: we’ve got over 800 free online cours­es (includ­ing 67 free his­to­ry cours­es) list­ed on Open Cul­ture at the time of writ­ing, and edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tions con­tin­ue to upload new lec­tures every week. Most of the lec­tures, how­ev­er, last from 30 min­utes to an hour, requir­ing users to cor­don off a block of time for study. Want some­thing short­er? Enter the 15 Minute His­to­ry pod­cast, cur­rent­ly the fourth most pop­u­lar pod­cast on iTune­sU.

The result of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Hemi­spheres and Not Even Past pub­lic out­reach efforts, the 15 Minute His­to­ry pod­cast focus­es on key sub­jects in world his­to­ry and U.S. his­to­ry. Although the pod­cast is tai­lored to Texas teach­ers and stu­dents, empha­siz­ing the state’s K‑12 cur­ricu­lum, it also hap­pens to be a trea­sure trove of free con­tent for any­one inter­est­ed in his­to­ry. The short pod­casts, which last some 15 min­utes on aver­age, cov­er every­thing from Russia’s Octo­ber 1917 Rev­o­lu­tion, to the Ottoman Empire, to the glob­al con­text of the Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion. Each episode is led by one of three UT Austin aca­d­e­mics, who dis­cuss the top­ic at hand with anoth­er uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sor or grad­u­ate stu­dent. Con­ve­nient­ly, on the 15 Minute His­to­ry web site, the pod­casts are accom­pa­nied by a care­ful­ly for­mat­ted tran­script, plus addi­tion­al read­ing mate­ri­als for those who find them­selves curi­ous about a par­tic­u­lar top­ic.

Inter­est­ed read­ers can find the whole pod­cast series on iTunes, or on the web.

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Crash Course in World His­to­ry

The Com­plete His­to­ry of the World (and Human Cre­ativ­i­ty) in 100 Objects

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy, from 600 B.C.E. to 1935, Visu­al­ized in Two Mas­sive, 44-Foot High Dia­grams

Animated Video: Dock Ellis Throws a No-Hitter Against the Padres While Tripping on LSD (1970)

For a sport obsessed with sta­tis­ti­cal aver­ages, base­ball seems to thrive like no oth­er on out­ra­geous anec­dotes and sin­gu­lar char­ac­ters. One of those char­ac­ters, pitch­er Dock Ellis, had a drug-fueled run in the 70s with the Pitts­burgh Pirates, claim­ing that he almost nev­er pitched a game sober, includ­ing sev­er­al Nation­al League East Cham­pi­onships and a 1971 World Series win. The drugs even­tu­al­ly became too much and he got help, but they gave Ellis his career best anec­dote, the sto­ry he tells in the short film above, “Dock Ellis and the LSD No-No.” It’s ani­mat­ed by James Blag­don from an inter­view Ellis gave to Don­nell Alexan­der and Neille Ilel that aired on NPR in March of 2008.

In June 1970, Ellis took a day off, dropped acid at the air­port and, “high as a Geor­gia pine,” checked into a friend’s girlfriend’s house to enjoy the rest of his trip. He woke up two days lat­er, still trip­ping, went to the sta­di­um, took some stimulants—which “over 90% of the league was using,” he says—and got to work, pitch­ing a no-hit­ter against the San Diego Padres. “I didn’t see the hit­ters,” Ellis says, “all I could tell was whether they were on the right side or left side.” Above, his col­or­ful nar­ra­tion gets a full com­pli­ment of sound effects and day-glo excla­ma­tions. (We also see allu­sions to Ellis’ oth­er sto­ried antics, like appear­ing on the mound in curlers and bean­ing oppos­ing play­ers with fast­balls.) â€śIt was eas­i­er,” he says, “to pitch with the LSD because I was used to med­icat­ing myself.” In this instance at least, the meds were mag­ic.

The short film pre­miered at Sun­dance and film fes­ti­vals world­wide in 2010, and the Dock Ellis leg­end has only grown since. The same inter­view become part of Beyond Ellis D, a “mul­ti­me­dia book” for iPads devel­oped in 2012 by Don­nell Alexan­der and ani­mat­ed by Hei­di Per­ry. (See Part 1, “Super­fly Spit­ball,” above.) In an essay for Dead­spin, Alexan­der laments that Ellis—an out­spo­ken crit­ic of racism in baseball—has been large­ly reduced to the LSD no-hit­ter, which he calls “a short take on a big life.” While it’s a hell of a good sto­ry, Alexan­der also sees Ellis “on a con­tin­u­um with Jack­ie Robin­son” (who advised him to tone it down), “a black ballplay­er strad­dling the reserve-clause era and the arrival of free agency, a man who brought many of the old ways with him into baseball’s new, Day-Glo epoch.” Ellis—who died in 2008 of liv­er fail­ure at age 63 after years as a drug counselor—certainly lived up to the hype. His wild life and career get a full treat­ment in the doc­u­men­tary No No, which just screened at Sun­dance this past month. Watch the film’s trail­er below.

via The Paris Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ken Kesey’s First LSD Trip Ani­mat­ed

Errol Mor­ris’ New Short Film, Team Spir­it, Finds Sports Fans Lov­ing Their Teams, Even in Death

This is What Oliv­er Sacks Learned on LSD and Amphet­a­mines

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

Jorge Luis Borges Chats with William F. Buckley on Firing Line (1977)

Despite his respect­ed facil­i­ty with the Eng­lish lan­guage, Argen­tine mas­ter crafts­man of short fic­tion Jorge Luis Borges did his best work in his native Span­ish. Though we remem­ber pro­lif­ic inter­view­er and even more pro­lif­ic writer William F. Buck­ley for his for­mi­da­ble com­mand of Eng­lish above all else, he did­n’t even learn it as his first lan­guage, start­ing in on his Eng­lish edu­ca­tion at age sev­en, hav­ing already learned Span­ish (not to men­tion French).

This must have placed him well to appre­ci­ate Borges’ writ­ing, and indeed, in his intro­duc­tion to their Fir­ing Line con­ver­sa­tion above, Buck­ley cites Borges’ rep­u­ta­tion as the great­est, most influ­en­tial writer then alive. â€śWe met in Buenos Aires, in 1977, dur­ing the mil­i­tary jun­ta days,” Buck­ley recalls of the tap­ing in a Paris Review inter­view. â€śHe seemed aston­ish­ing­ly frail, but he spoke with­out a pause.”

Buck­ley goes on to pro­vide many choice quotes from Borges’ answers to ques­tions about his sight (“When you are blind, time flows in a dif­fer­ent way. It flows, let’s say, on an easy slope”), his love of Amer­i­can writ­ers like Emer­son and Melville, his lan­guages (“Of course, my Latin is very rusty. But still, as I once wrote, to have for­got­ten Latin is already, in itself, a gift”), and where he finds beau­ty and art (“A man may say a very fine thing, not being aware of it. I am hear­ing fine sen­tences all the time from the man in the street, for exam­ple. From any­body”), and how he taught (“I tried to teach my stu­dents not literature—that can’t be taught—but the love of lit­er­a­ture”). For more on that last, see also “The Dag­gers of Jorge Luis Borges,” a piece on the new book Pro­fes­sor Borges: A Course on Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture, by Michael Green­berg in the New York Review of Books.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 33 Vol­umes of Jorge Luis Borges’ Favorite Short Sto­ries (Read 7 Free Online)

Borges: Pro­file of a Writer Presents the Life and Writ­ings of Argentina’s Favorite Son, Jorge Luis Borges

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

Two Draw­ings by Jorge Luis Borges Illus­trate the Author’s Obses­sions

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

Salvador Dalí’s Melting Clocks Painted on a Latte

dali coffeeIn 1931, Sal­vador DalĂ­ paint­ed The Per­sis­tence of Mem­o­ry, a land­mark piece of sur­re­al­ist art that used melt­ing pock­et watch­es to sym­bol­ize the rel­a­tiv­i­ty of space and time in dream­scapes. (More on that below.)

If you haven’t seen the paint­ing at the MoMA in NYC, you’ve almost cer­tain­ly seen those melt­ing watch­es on posters and all sorts of kitschy prod­ucts. Those poor watch­es have been abused over the years. But some­how I don’t mind see­ing them on my favorite ephemer­al can­vas — the frothy milk sur­face of a lat­te. The lat­te above was dec­o­rat­ed by Kazu­ki Yamamo­to, a Japan­ese artist who uses noth­ing but a tooth­pick for a paint brush. You can find an online gallery of his work here, which includes some 3D cre­ations. Or fol­low pic­tures of his lat­est works on Twit­ter.

The 6‑minute intro­duc­tion to Dalí’s 1931 paint­ing (below) comes cour­tesy of Smart His­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Sal­vador Dalí’s 100 Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s The Divine Com­e­dy

Des­ti­no: The Sal­vador Dalí – Dis­ney Col­lab­o­ra­tion 57 Years in the Mak­ing

The (Beau­ti­ful) Physics of Adding Cream to Your Cof­fee

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

Browse The Magical Worlds of Harry Houdini’s Scrapbooks

houdini scrapbook2

Between the mid-nine­teenth and ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­turies, men and women alike made scrap­books as a way of pro­cess­ing the news. As Ellen Gru­ber Gar­vey shows in her book Writ­ing with Scis­sors: Amer­i­can Scrap­books from the Civ­il War to the Harlem Renais­sance, the prac­tice crossed lines of class and gen­der. Every­one from Mark Twain and Susan B. Antho­ny to Joseph W.H. Cath­cart, an African-Amer­i­can jan­i­tor liv­ing in Philadel­phia who amassed more than a hun­dred vol­umes in the sec­ond half of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry, select­ed and past­ed arti­cles and ephemera into big books, often anno­tat­ing and com­ment­ing upon the mate­r­i­al.

The Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin has recent­ly dig­i­tized ten scrap­books belong­ing to Har­ry Hou­di­ni. The books are divid­ed into three groups: vol­umes com­piled by oth­er magi­cians about their careers; scrap­books hold­ing Houdini’s clip­pings on the prac­tice of mag­ic in gen­er­al; and books that chart Houdini’s inves­ti­ga­tions of fakes, frauds, and con­jur­ers. (Lat­er in his life, Hou­di­ni became fas­ci­nat­ed with the post-WWI fad for spiritualism—mediums, séances, and psychics—and took on a role as skep­ti­cal debunker of spir­i­tu­al­ist per­form­ers.)

title_w_border_Houdini_Magicians_Scrapbook_062b_2

The scrap­books are fun to look at on a num­ber of lev­els. First, it’s cool to think of Hou­di­ni and his magi­cian col­leagues select­ing the arti­cles and images and arrang­ing them on the page. Sec­ond, the mate­r­i­al that’s cov­ered is col­or­ful and bizarre (an arti­cle in one of Hou­dini’s books: “Tri­al By Com­bat Between A Dog And His Master’s Mur­der­er”). Third, Hou­di­ni and his cohort clipped and saved from a wide array of peri­od­i­cals; while it’s some­times annoy­ing that many of the arti­cles have lost their meta­da­ta (date and place of pub­li­ca­tion), it’s still inter­est­ing to see the range of types of cov­er­age that pre­vailed at the time.

houdini scrap 6

The book put togeth­er by the per­former S.S. Bald­win, mailed to Hou­di­ni by Baldwin’s daugh­ter Shad­ow after Baldwin’s death, is par­tic­u­lar­ly inter­est­ing.  The Ran­som Center’s intro­duc­tion to the col­lec­tion notes that some items in the Bald­win scrap­book “depict graph­ic sub­ject matter”—a sure entice­ment for this researcher, at least, to make sure to check it out. The warn­ing may refer to this amaz­ing image of the Indi­an god­dess Kali draped in sev­ered heads and limbs, or an engrav­ing of an exe­cu­tion by ele­phant. Along­side many arti­cles about his per­for­mances, fliers, and oth­er ephemera, Bald­win also col­lect­ed images of peo­ple liv­ing in the places where he performed—an approach that adds yet anoth­er lev­el of inter­est to his scrap­book.

H/T Not Even Past

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Online Emi­ly Dick­in­son Archive Makes Thou­sands of the Poet’s Man­u­scripts Freely Avail­able

The Pulp Fic­tion Archive: The Cheap, Thrilling Sto­ries That Enter­tained A Gen­er­a­tion of Read­ers (1896–1946)

 New Archive Makes Avail­able 800,000 Pages Doc­u­ment­ing the His­to­ry of Film, Tele­vi­sion, and Radio

Rebec­ca Onion is a writer and aca­d­e­m­ic liv­ing in Philadel­phia. She runs Slate.com’s his­to­ry blog, The Vault. Fol­low her on Twit­ter: @rebeccaonion.

New “Hemingway” App Promises to Make Your Writing “Strong and Clear”

hemingway writing app

I con­fess, I pre­fer Faulkn­er to Hem­ing­way and see noth­ing wrong with long, com­plex sen­tences when they are well-con­struct­ed. But in most non-Faulkn­er writ­ing, they are not. Stream of con­scious­ness is a delib­er­ate effect of care­ful­ly edit­ed prose, not the unre­vised slop of a first draft. In my days as a writ­ing teacher, I’ve read my share of the lat­ter. The Eng­lish teacher’s guide for par­ing down unruly writ­ing resem­bles a new online app called “Hem­ing­way,” which exam­ines writ­ing and grades it on a col­or-cod­ed dif­fi­cul­ty scale. “Hem­ing­way” sug­gests using sim­pler dic­tion, edit­ing out adverbs in favor of stronger verbs, and elim­i­nat­ing pas­sive voice. It promis­es to make your writ­ing like that of the famous Amer­i­can min­i­mal­ist, “strong and clear.”

Of course I couldn’t resist run­ning the above para­graph through Hem­ing­way. It received a score of 11—merely “O.K.” It sug­gest­ed that I change the pas­sive in sen­tence one and remove “care­ful­ly” from the fourth sen­tence (I declined), and it iden­ti­fied “unruly” as an adverb (it is not). Like all forms of advice, it pays to use your own judg­ment before apply­ing whole­sale. Nev­er­the­less, the sug­ges­tion to stream­line and sim­pli­fy for clarity’s sake is a gen­er­al rule worth heed­ing more often than not. Broth­ers Adam and Ben Long, cre­ators of the app, real­ized that their “sen­tences often grow long to the point that they became dif­fi­cult to read.” It hap­pens to every­one, ama­teur and pro­fes­sion­al alike. The app sug­gests writ­ing that scores a Grade 10 or below is “bold and clear.” Writ­ing above this mea­sure is “hard” or “very hard” to read. Which prompts the inevitable ques­tion: How does Hem­ing­way him­self score in the Hem­ing­way app?

In a blog post yes­ter­day for The New York­er, Ian Crouch ran a few of the master’s pas­sages through the online edit­ing tool (a con­cept akin to John Malkovich enter­ing John Malkovich’s head). The open­ing para­graph of “A Clean, Well-Light­ed Place” received a score of 15. Hemingway’s descrip­tion of Romero the bull­fight­er from The Sun Also Ris­es also “breaks sev­er­al of the Hem­ing­way rules” with its use of pas­sive voice and extra­ne­ous adverbs. Does this mean even Hem­ing­way falls short of the ide­al? Or only that writ­ing rules exist to be bro­ken? Both, per­haps, and nei­ther. Style is as elu­sive as gram­mar is con­strict­ing, and both are mas­tered only through end­less prac­tice. Will “Hem­ing­way” turn you into Hem­ing­way? No. Will it make you a bet­ter writer? Maybe. But only, I’d sug­gest, inas­much as you learn when to accept and when to ignore its advice.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

Jack Ker­ouac Lists 9 Essen­tials for Writ­ing Spon­ta­neous Prose

Crime Writer Elmore Leonard Pro­vides 13 Writ­ing Tips for Aspir­ing Writ­ers

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

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast
Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.