David Foster Wallace Talks About Literature (and More) in an Internet Chatroom: Read the 1996 Transcript

dfw internet chat

Reddit’s Ask Me Any­thing (AMA) series, where users get the chance to pose ques­tions to the likes of Neil deGrasse Tyson, Stephen King, and Bill Nye the Sci­ence Guy, pro­vides a sur­pris­ing­ly sim­ple way to inter­act with celebri­ties. Before Reddit’s arrival in 2005, how­ev­er, real-time exchanges between your gar­den-vari­ety Inter­net user and famous per­son­al­i­ties were occa­sion­al­ly con­duct­ed in Inter­net cha­t­rooms. One such ear­ly case appears to be a chat between the read­ers of WORD Mag­a­zine and David Fos­ter Wal­lace (read 30 of his essays free online), which seems to have tak­en place in May of 1996.

If AMAs are an order­ly, if vast, Q & A ses­sion, this chat is more like a boozy group meet­ing with your favorite Eng­lish lit pro­fes­sor in a smoky bar. (Read the tran­script here.) Wal­lace, using the han­dle “dfw,” is on a refresh­ing­ly lev­el field with the oth­er chat par­tic­i­pants, and the con­ver­sa­tion nat­u­ral­ly drifts from one top­ic to anoth­er. Things, as they often do, begin with a bit of ban­ter:

dfw: I’ve had some unpleas­ant nick­naames and monikers in my time, but nobody’s ever hung “fos­ty” on me before.

Keats: You know, I still think it should be spelled Fos­tie, or Fos­tey.
Keats: Fos­ty looks too much like “Frosty” and “sty” to me.

Keats: And makes me think of eye­balls packed in ice.

dfw: “Sty” as in an impact­ed eye­lash or a pig­pen, you mean?

Keats: Yeah. Is that what a sty as in “sty in your eye” is?

Marisa: I used to think the word “sty” was pro­nounced “stee”.

Keats: I had no idea exact­ly, just an unpleas­ant feel­ing about it.

dfw: Yes. Mas­sive­ly painful and embar­rass­ing, too. Like a car­bun­cle on the exact tip of your nose — that sort of thing.

Keats: I used to think the word “trough” was pro­nounced “troff.”

Keats: You know, I hap­pen to have a car­bun­cle on the tip of my nose right now.

Keats: Except it’s not a car­bun­cle, it’s more like a welt. It’s still embar­rass­ing.

dfw: In my very first sem­i­nar in col­lege, I pro­nounced facade “fakade.” The mem­o­ry’s still fresh and raw.

Soon, things take a turn for the seri­ous, and read­ers begin to ask Wal­lace about irony:

dfw: I don’t think irony’s meant to syn­er­gize with any­thing as heart­felt as sad­ness. I think the main func­tion of con­tem­po­rary irony is to pro­tect the speak­er from being inter­pret­ed as naive or sen­ti­men­tal.

Marisa: Why are peo­ple afraid to be seen as naive and sen­ti­men­tal?

dfw: Marisa: I think that’s a very deep, very hard ques­tion. One answer is that com­mer­cial com­e­dy’s often set up to fea­ture an iro­nist mak­ing dev­as­tat­ing sport of some­one who’s naive or sen­ti­men­tal or pre­ten­tious or pompous.

Keats: I’m start­ing to see a lot of irony in Hol­ly­wood and in adver­tis­ing, but its func­tion seems to be to let them talk out of both sides of their mouths.

dfw: Keats: adver­tis­ing that makes fun of itself is so pow­er­ful because it implic­it­ly con­grat­u­lates both itself and the view­er (for mak­ing the joke and get­ting the joke, respec­tive­ly).

Wal­lace also drops a few men­tions of some of his favorite authors:

DaleK: Mr. Wal­lace, I’m curious…who among cur­rent nov­el­ists do you find the most inter­est­ing?

dfw: Dalek — DeLil­lo, Ozick, R. Pow­ers, AM Homes, Denis John­son, David Mark­son, (old) JA Phillips and Louise Erdrich.

While we can’t con­clu­sive­ly con­firm that this was indeed the real DFW con­duct­ing the chat, it’s hard to deny that “dfw” sounds very much like the author. Cer­tain­ly, the com­plete exchange is as much fun to read for its mid-90s inter­net cha­t­room nos­tal­gia as it is for Wallace’s thoughts on irony, Infi­nite Jest, and the sound of one hand clap­ping. The whole tran­script is avail­able here.

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

The David Fos­ter Wal­lace Audio Archive: A Lit­tle Gift For the Novelist’s 50th Birth­day

Pete Seeger Tells the Story Behind “We Shall Overcome”

Pete_Seeger_NYWTS

Like near­ly all folk songs, “We Shall Over­come” has a con­vo­lut­ed, obscure his­to­ry that traces back to no sin­gle source. The Library of Con­gress locates the song’s ori­gins in “African Amer­i­can hymns from the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry” and an arti­cle on About.com dates the melody to an ante­bel­lum song called “No More Auc­tion Block for Me” and the lyrics to a turn-of-the-cen­tu­ry hymn writ­ten by the Rev­erend Charles Tind­ley of Philadel­phia. The orig­i­nal lyric was one of per­son­al salvation—“I’ll Over­come Someday”—but at least by 1945, when the song was tak­en up by strik­ing tobac­co work­ers in Charleston, S.C., it was trans­mut­ed into a state­ment of sol­i­dar­i­ty as “We Will Over­come.” Need­less to say, in its final form, “We Shall Over­come” became the unof­fi­cial anthem of the labor and Civ­il Rights move­ments and even­tu­al­ly came to be sung “in North Korea, in Beirut, Tianan­men Square and in South Africa’s Sowe­to Town­ship.

Pete Seeger—who passed away yes­ter­day at the age of 94—has long been cred­it­ed with the dis­sem­i­na­tion of “We Shall Over­come,” but he was always quick to cite his sources. Seeger heard the song in 1947 from folk­lorist Zil­phia Hor­ton, music direc­tor at Tennessee’s High­lander Folk Cen­ter who, Seeger said, “had a beau­ti­ful alto voice and sang it with no rhythm.” As he told NPR recent­ly, his touch­es were also those of oth­er singers:

I gave it kind of ump-chin­ka, ump-chin­ka, ump-chin­ka, ump-chin­ka, ump-chin­ka, ump. It was medi­um slow as I sang it, but the ban­jo kept a steady rhythm going. I remem­ber teach­ing it to a gang in Carnegie Hall that year, and the fol­low­ing year I put it in a lit­tle music mag­a­zine called Peo­ple’s Songs. Over the years, I remem­ber singing it two dif­fer­ent ways. I’m usu­al­ly cred­it­ed with chang­ing [‘Will’] to ‘Shall,’ but there was a black woman who taught at High­lander Cen­ter, a won­der­ful per­son named Sep­ti­ma Clark. And she always liked shall, too, I’m told.

Accord­ing to Seeger in the inter­view above—con­duct­ed by Josh Baron before a 2010 performance—the per­son most respon­si­ble for “mak­ing it the num­ber one song back in those days” was the Music Direc­tor of the High­lander Folk Cen­ter, Guy Carawan, who “sent mes­sages to the civ­il rights move­ment all through the South from Texas to Flori­da to Mary­land.” Carawan “intro­duced this song with a new rhythm that I had nev­er heard before.” Seeger goes on to describe the rhythm in detail, then says “it was the hit song of the week­end in Feb­ru­ary 1960…. It was not a song, it was the song all across the South. I’ve found out since then that the song start­ed off as a union song in the 19th cen­tu­ry.”

In this par­tic­u­lar inter­view, Seeger takes full cred­it for chang­ing the “will” to “shall.” Although it was “the only record [he] made which sold,” he did­n’t seek to cash in on his changes (Seeger shared the copy­right with Zil­phia Hor­ton, Carawan, and Frank Hamil­ton). As you can eas­i­ly see from the numer­ous eulo­gies and trib­utes pop­ping up all over (or a quick scan of the “Pete Seeger Appre­ci­a­tion Page”), Seeger deserves to be remem­bered for much more than his six­ties folk singing, but he per­haps did more than any­one to make “We Shall Over­come” a song sung by a nation. And as he tells it, it was song he hoped would res­onate world­wide:

I was singing for some young Luther­an church peo­ple in Sun­dance, Ida­ho, and there were some old­er peo­ple who were mis­trust­ful of my lefty pol­i­tics.  They said: ‘Who are you intend­ing to over­come?’ I said: ‘Well, in Sel­ma, Alaba­ma they’re prob­a­bly think­ing of Chief Pritch­ett.; they will over­come. And I am sure Dr. King is think­ing of the sys­tem of seg­re­ga­tion across the whole coun­try, not just the South. For me, it means the entire world. We’ll over­come our ten­den­cies to solve our prob­lems with killing and learn to work togeth­er to bring this world togeth­er.

Via Blank on Blank

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pete Seeger Dies at 94: Remem­ber the Amer­i­can Folk Leg­end with a Price­less Film from 1947

94-Year-Old Pete Seeger Sings “This Land is Your Land” at Farm Aid

Willie Nel­son, Pete Seeger, and Arlo Guthrie at Occu­py Wall Street

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

Harold Bloom Creates a Massive List of Works in The “Western Canon”: Read Many of the Books Free Online

02.-WESTERN-CANON-copy

I have lit­tle desire to rehash the pol­i­tics, but the facts are plain: by the time I arrived in col­lege as an under­grad­u­ate Eng­lish major in the mid-90s, the idea of the “West­ern Canon” as a con­tain­er of—in the words of a famous hymn—“all that’s good, and great, and true” was seri­ous­ly on the wane, to put it mild­ly. And in many quar­ters of acad­e­mia, men­tion of the name of Yale lit­er­ary crit­ic Harold Bloom pro­voked, at the very least, a raised eye­brow and point­ed silence. Bloom’s rep­u­ta­tion per­haps unfair­ly fell vic­tim to the so-called “Canon Wars,” like­ly at times because of a misiden­ti­fi­ca­tion with polit­i­cal philoso­pher Allan Bloom. That Bloom was him­self no ide­o­logue, writes Jim Sleep­er; he was a close friend of Saul Bel­low and “an eccen­tric inter­preter of Enlight­en­ment thought who led an Epi­cure­an, qui­et­ly gay life.” Nonethe­less, his fiery attack on chang­ing aca­d­e­m­ic val­ues, The Clos­ing of the Amer­i­can Mind, became a text­book of the neo­con­ser­v­a­tive right.

Though Harold Bloom wished to dis­tance him­self from cul­ture war polemics, he has unapolo­get­i­cal­ly prac­ticed what Allan Bloom preached, teach­ing the Canon­i­cal “great books” of lit­er­a­ture and reli­gion and oppos­ing all man­ner of crit­ics on the left, whom he lumps togeth­er in the phrase “the School of Resent­ment.” Bloom’s 1973 The Anx­i­ety of Influ­ence has itself exert­ed a major influ­ence on lit­er­ary stud­ies, and best-sell­ing pop­u­lar works, like 1998’s Shake­speare: The Inven­tion of the Human, have kept Harold Bloom’s name in cir­cu­la­tion even when schol­ar­ly cita­tions of his work declined. In 1994, Bloom re-affirmed his com­mit­ment to the Canon with The West­ern Canon: The Books and School of the Agesa fierce sor­tie against his so-called “School of Resent­ment” adver­saries and a work Uni­ver­si­ty of Min­neso­ta pro­fes­sor Nor­man Fru­man called a “hero­ical­ly brave, for­mi­da­bly learned and often unbear­ably sad response to the present state of the human­i­ties.” (Hear Bloom dis­cuss the book with  Eleanor Wach­tel in a 1995 CBC inter­view.)

The West­ern Canon is tight­ly focused on only 26 authors, but in a series of four appen­dices, Bloom lists the hun­dreds of oth­er names he con­sid­ers canon­i­cal. For all of Bloom’s ornery defen­sive­ness, his list is sur­pris­ing­ly inclu­sive, as well as—for Fruman—surprisingly idio­syn­crat­ic. (Bloom lat­er dis­avowed the list, claim­ing that his edi­tor insist­ed on it.) Like a clas­si­cal philol­o­gist, Bloom divides his Canon into four “ages” or peri­ods: The Theo­crat­ic Age (2000 BCE-1321 CE); The Aris­to­crat­ic Age (1321–1832); The Demo­c­ra­t­ic Age: 1832–1900); and The Chaot­ic Age (20th Cen­tu­ry). You can view the com­plete list here. Below, we’ve com­piled a very par­tial, but still siz­able, excerpt of texts from Bloom’s list that are avail­able online through the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ade­laide’s ebook library. For all of the unpop­u­lar posi­tions he has tak­en over the past few decades, Bloom’s immense eru­di­tion, expan­sive intel­lect, and sin­cere com­mit­ment to the human­i­ties have nev­er been in ques­tion. As a dis­tin­guished exem­plar of a fad­ing tra­di­tion, he is an invalu­able resource for stu­dents and lovers of lit­er­a­ture.

A: “The Theocratic Age”

The Ancient Greeks

Homer (ca.800BC)
Ili­ad; Odyssey.
Hes­iod (ca.700BC)
Works and Days; Theogony.
Sap­pho (ca.600BC)
Aeschy­lus (525 BC — 456 BC)
Oresteia; Sev­en Against Thebes; Prometheus Bound; Per­sians; Sup­pli­ant Women.
Sopho­cles (c. 496‑c. 405 BC)
Oedi­pus the King; Oedi­pus at Colonus; Antigone; Elec­tra; Ajax; Women of Tra­chis; Philoctetes.
Euripi­des (480 or 484–406 BC)
Cyclops; Her­a­cles; Alces­tis; Hecu­ba; Bac­chae; Orestes; Andro­mache; Medea; Ion; Hip­poly­tus; Helen; Iphi­ge­nia at Aulis.
Aristo­phanes (ca. 446 BC — 385 BC)
The Birds; The Clouds; The Frogs; Lysis­tra­ta; The Knights; The Wasps; The Assem­bly­women.
Herodotus, 485–420BCE
The His­to­ries.
Thucy­dides, ca.460 BCE
The Pelo­pon­nesian Wars.
Pla­to, c.427‑c.347 BCE
Dia­logues.
Aris­to­tle, 384–322 BCE
Poet­ics; Ethics.

Hellenistic Greeks

Menan­der, ca. 342–291 BC
The Girl from Samos.
Plutarch, 46–120
Lives; Moralia.
Aesop (620 — 560 BC)
Fables.
Petro­n­ius, c.27–66

The Romans

Ter­ence, 195/185–159 BC
The Girl from Andros; The Eunuch; The Moth­er-in-Law.
Lucretius, 98?–55 BCE
The Way Things Are.
Mar­cus Tul­lius Cicero, 106–43 BCE
On the Gods.
Horace, 65–8 BCE
Odes; Epis­tles; Satires.
Cat­ul­lus (c.84 B.C. — c.54 B.C.)
Attis and Oth­er Poems.
Vir­gil (70–19 BC)
Aeneid; Eclogues; Geor­gics.
Ovid (43 BC — 17 AD)
Meta­mor­phoses; The Art of Love; Hero­ides.
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, ca.4 BCE–65 CE
Tragedies, par­tic­u­lar­ly Medea and Her­cules Furens.
Petro­n­ius, c.27–66
Satyri­con.
Apuleius, c. 123/125‑c. 180
The Gold­en Ass.

The Middle Ages: Latin, Arabic, and the Vernacular Before Dante

Augus­tine of Hip­po, 354–430
City of God; Con­fes­sions.
Wol­fram von Eschen­bach, 1170–1220
Parzi­val.
Chré­tien de Troyes, 12th cent
Yvain: The Knight of the Lion.
Beowulf (ca.800)

B: “The Aristocratic Age”

Italy

Dante (1265 — 1321)
The Divine Com­e­dy; The New Life.
Petrar­ch, 1304–1374
Lyric Poems; Selec­tions.
Gio­van­ni Boc­cac­cio, 1313–1375
The Decameron.
Mat­teo Maria Boiar­do, 1440 or 41–1494.
Orlan­do Innamora­to.
Lodovi­co Arios­to, 1474–1533
Orlan­do Furioso.
Machi­avel­li, Nic­colò, 1469–1527
The Prince; The Man­drake, a Com­e­dy.
Ben­venu­to Celli­ni, 1500–1571
Auto­bi­og­ra­phy.
Tom­ma­so Cam­panel­la, 1568–1639
Poems; The City of the Sun.

Spain

Miguel de Cer­vantes, 1547–1616
Don Quixote; Exem­plary Sto­ries.
Pedro Calderon de la Bar­ca, 1600–1681
Life is a Dream; The May­or of Zalamea; The Mighty Magi­cian; The Doc­tor of His Own Hon­or.

England and Scotland

Chaucer, Geof­frey (ca.1343–1400)
The Can­ter­bury Tales; Troilus and Criseyde.
Thomas Mal­o­ry, 1430–1471
Le Morte D’Arthur.
Thomas More, 1478–1535
Utopia.
Philip Sid­ney, 1554–1586.
The Count­ess of Pem­broke’s Arca­dia; Astro­phel and Stel­la; An Apol­o­gy for Poet­ry.
Edmund Spenser, 1552–1599
The Faerie Queene; The Minor Poems.
Christo­pher Mar­lowe, 1564–1593
Poems and Plays.
Thomas Nashe, 1567–1601
The Unfor­tu­nate Trav­eller.
William Shake­speare, 1564–1616
Plays and Poems.
John Donne, 1572–1631
Poems; Ser­mons.
Ben Jon­son, 1573–1637
Poems, Plays, and Masques.
Fran­cis Bacon, 1561–1626
Essays.
Robert Bur­ton, 1577–1640
The Anato­my of Melan­choly.
Thomas Browne, 1605–1682
Reli­gio Medici; Hydri­o­taphia, or Urne-Buri­all; The Gar­den of Cyrus.
Thomas Hobbes, 1588–1679
Leviathan.
Her­rick, Robert, 1591–1674
Poems.
Andrew Mar­vell, 1621–1678
Poems.
John Ford, 1586-ca.1640
‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore.
John Web­ster, c.1580‑c.1634
The White Dev­il; The Duchess of Mal­fi.
Iza­ak Wal­ton, 1593–1683
The Com­pleat Angler.
John Mil­ton, 1608–1674
Par­adise Lost; Par­adise Regained; Lyci­das, Comus, and the Minor Poems; Sam­son Ago­nistes; Are­opagit­i­ca.
John Aubrey, 1626–1697
Brief Lives.
Samuel But­ler, 1612–1680
Hudi­bras.
John Dry­den, 1631–1700
Poet­ry and Plays; Crit­i­cal Essays.
Jonathan Swift, 1667–1745
A Tale of a Tub; Gul­liv­er’s Trav­els; Short­er Prose Works; Poems.
Alexan­der Pope, 1688–1744
Poems.
John Gay, 1685–1732
The Beg­gar’s Opera.
James Boswell, 1740–1795
Life of John­son; Jour­nals.
Samuel John­son, 1709–1784
Works.
Edward Gib­bon, 1737–1794
The His­to­ry of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
Edmund Burke, 1729–1797
A Philo­soph­i­cal Enquiry into the Sub­lime and Beau­ti­ful; Reflec­tions on the Rev­o­lu­tion in France
Oliv­er Gold­smith, 1728–1774
The Vic­ar of Wake­field; She Stoops to Con­quer; The Trav­eller; The Desert­ed Vil­lage.
Richard Brins­ley Sheri­dan, 1751–1816
The School of Scan­dal; The Rivals.
William Cow­per, 1731–1800
Poet­i­cal Works.
Defoe, Daniel (1661?-1731)
Moll Flan­ders; Robin­son Cru­soe; A Jour­nal of the Plague Year.
Samuel Richard­son, 1689–1761.
Claris­sa; Pamela; Sir Charles Gran­di­son.
Hen­ry Field­ing, 1707–1754
Joseph Andrews; The His­to­ry of Tom Jones, a Foundling.
Tobias Smol­lett, 1721–1771
The Expe­di­tion of Humphry Clink­er; The Adven­tures of Rod­er­ick Ran­dom.
Lau­rence Sterne, 1713–1768
The Life and Opin­ions of Tris­tram Shandy, Gen­tle­man; A Sen­ti­men­tal Jour­ney Through France and Italy.
Fan­ny Bur­ney, 1752–1840
Eveli­na.

France

Michel de Mon­taigne, 1533–1592
Essays.
Fran­cois Rabelais, 1494?-1553?
Gar­gan­tua and Pan­ta­gru­el.
Mar­guerite de Navarre, 1492–1549
The Hep­tameron.
Jean de La Fontaine, 1621–1695
Fables.
Molière, 1622–1673
The Mis­an­thrope; Tartuffe; The School for Wives; The Learned Ladies; Don Juan; School for Hus­bands; Ridicu­lous Pre­cieuses; The Would-Be Gen­tle­man; The Miser; The Imag­i­nary Invalid.
Blaise Pas­cal, 1623–1662
Pen­sées.
Rousseau, Jean–Jacques, 1712–1778
The Con­fes­sions; Émile; La Nou­velle Héloïse.
Voltaire, 1694–1778
Zadig; Can­dide; Let­ters on Eng­land; The Lis­bon Earth­quake.

Germany

Eras­mus of Rot­ter­dam, 1466–1536
In Praise of Fol­ly.
Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe, 1749–1832
Faust, Parts One and Two; Dich­tung und Wahrheit; Egmont; Elec­tive Affini­ties; The Sor­rows of Young Werther; Poems; Wil­helm Meis­ter’s Appren­tice­ship; Wil­helm Meis­ter’s Years of Wan­der­ing; Ital­ian Jour­ney; Verse Plays; Her­mann and Dorothea; Roman Ele­gies; Venet­ian Epi­grams; West-East­ern Divan.
Friedrich Schiller, 1759–1805
The Rob­bers; Mary Stu­art; Wal­len­stein; Don Car­los; On the Naïve and Sen­ti­men­tal in Lit­er­a­ture.

C: “The Democratic Age”

Italy

Gio­van­ni Ver­ga, 1840–1922
Lit­tle Nov­els of Sici­ly; Mas­tro-Don Gesu­al­do; The House by the Med­lar Tree; The She-Wolf and Oth­er Sto­ries.

France

Vic­tor Hugo, 1802–1885
The Dis­tance, the Shad­ows: Select­ed Poems; Les Mis­érables; Notre-Dame of Paris; William Shake­speare; The Toil­ers of the Sea; The End of Satan; God.
Gau­ti­er, Théophile, 1811–1872
Made­moi­selle de Maupin; Enam­els and Cameos.
Balzac, Hon­oré de, 1799–1850
The Girl with the Gold­en Eyes; Louis Lam­bert; The Wild Ass’s Skin; Old Gori­ot; Cousin Bette; A Har­lot High and Low; Eugénie Grandet; Ursule Mirou­et.
Stend­hal, 1783–1842
On Love; The Red and the Black; The Char­ter­house of Par­ma.
Gus­tave Flaubert, 1821–1880
Madame Bovary; Sen­ti­men­tal Edu­ca­tion; Salamm­bô; A Sim­ple Soul.
George Sand, 1804–1876
The Haunt­ed Pool.
Charles Baude­laire, 1821–1867
Flow­ers of Evil; Paris Spleen.
Guy de Mau­pas­sant, 1850–1893
Select­ed Short Sto­ries.
Emile Zola, 1840–1902
Ger­mi­nal; L’As­som­moir; Nana.

Scandinavia

Hen­rik Ibsen, 1828–1906
Brand; Peer Gynt; Emper­or and Galilean; Hed­da Gabler; The Mas­ter Builder; The Lady from the Sea; When We Dead Awak­en.

Great Britain

William Blake, 1757–1827
Com­plete Poet­ry and Prose.
William Wordsworth, 1770–1850
Poems; The Pre­lude.
Wal­ter Scott, 1771–1832
Waver­ley; The Heart of Mid­loth­i­an; Redgaunt­let; Old Mor­tal­i­ty.
Jane Austen, 1775–1817
Pride and Prej­u­dice; Emma; Mans­field Park; Per­sua­sion.
Samuel Tay­lor Coleridge, 1772–1834
Poems and Prose.
Hazlitt, William, 1778–1830
Essays and Crit­i­cism.
George Byron, 1788–1824
Don Juan; P oems.
Thomas de Quincey, 1785–1859
Con­fes­sions of an Eng­lish Opi­um Eater; Select­ed Prose.
Maria Edge­worth, 1767–1849
Cas­tle Rack­rent.
Eliz­a­beth Gaskell, 1810–1865
Cran­ford; Mary Bar­ton; North and South.
Charles Robert Maturin, 1782–1824
Mel­moth the Wan­der­er.
Per­cy Bysshe Shel­ley, 1792–1822
Poems; A Defence of Poet­ry.
Mary Shel­ley, 1797–1851
Franken­stein.
John Keats, 1795–1821
Poems and Let­ters.
Robert Brown­ing, 1812–1889
Poems; The Ring and the Book.
Charles Dick­ens, 1812–1870
The Posthu­mous Papers of the Pick­wick Club; David Cop­per­field; The Adven­tures of Oliv­er Twist; A Tale of Two Cities; Bleak House; Hard Times; Nicholas Nick­le­by; Dombey and Son; Great Expec­ta­tions; Mar­tin Chuz­zle­wit; Christ­mas Sto­ries; Lit­tle Dor­rit; Our Mutu­al Friend; The Mys­tery of Edwin Drood.
Alfred Ten­nyson, 1809–1892
Poems.
Dante Gabriel Ros­set­ti, 1828–1882
Poems and Trans­la­tions.
Matthew Arnold, 1822–1888
Poems; Essays.
Christi­na Georgina Ros­set­ti, 1830–1894.
Poems.
Thomas Love Pea­cock, 1785–1866
Night­mare Abbey; Gryll Grange.
Thomas Car­lyle, 1795–1881
Select­ed Prose; Sar­tor Resar­tus.
John Ruskin, 1819–1900
Mod­ern Painters; The Stones of Venice; Unto This Last; The Queen of the Air.
John Stu­art Mill, 1806–1873
On Lib­er­ty; Auto­bi­og­ra­phy.
Antho­ny Trol­lope, 1815–1882
The Barset­shire Nov­els; The Pal­lis­er Nov­els; Orley Farm; The Way We Live Now.
Lewis Car­roll, 1832–1898
Com­plete Works.
George Giss­ing, 1857–1903
New Grub Street.
Char­lotte Bronte, 1816–1855
Jane Eyre; Vil­lette.
Emi­ly Bronte, 1818–1848
Poems; Wuther­ing Heights.
Anne Bronte, 1820–1849
William Make­peace Thack­er­ay, 1811–1863
Van­i­ty Fair; The His­to­ry of Hen­ry Esmond.
George Mered­ith, 1828–1909
Poems; The Ego­ist.
Chester­ton, G. K. (Gilbert Kei­th), 1874–1936
Col­lect­ed Poems; The Man Who Was Thurs­day.
Samuel But­ler, 1835–1902
Erewhon; The Way of All Flesh.
Wilkie Collins, 1824–1889
The Moon­stone; The Woman in White; No Name.
Thom­son, James, 1834–1882
The City of the Dread­ful Night.
Oscar Wilde, 1854–1900
Plays; The Pic­ture of Dori­an Gray; The Artist as Crit­ic; Let­ters.
George Eliot, 1819–1880
Adam Bede; Silas Marn­er; The Mill on the Floss; Mid­dle­march; Daniel Deron­da.
Robert Louis Steven­son, 1850–1894
Essays; Kid­napped; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; Trea­sure Island; The New Ara­bi­an Nights; The Mas­ter of Bal­lantrae; Weir of Her­mis­ton.
William Mor­ris, 1834–1896
Ear­ly Romances; Poems; The Earth­ly Par­adise; The Well at the World’s End; News from Nowhere.
Bram Stok­er, 1847–1912
Drac­u­la.
George Mac­Don­ald, 1824–1905
Lilith; At the Back of the North Wind.

Germany

Jakob Grimm, 1785–1863 and Grimm, Wil­helm, 1786–1859
Fairy Tales.
Hoff­mann, E. T. A. (Ernst Theodor Amadeus), 1776–1822
The Dev­il’s Elixir; Tales.
Friedrich Niet­zsche, 1844–1900
The Birth of Tragedy; Beyond Good and Evil; On the Geneal­o­gy of Morals; The Will to Pow­er.

Russia

Alek­san­dr Pushkin, 1799–1837
Com­plete Prose Tales; Com­plete Poet­ry; Eugene One­gin; Nar­ra­tive Poems; Boris Godunov.
Niko­lai Gogol, 1809–1852
The Com­plete Tales; Dead Souls; The Gov­ern­ment Inspec­tor.
Mikhail Ler­mon­tov, 1814–1841
Nar­ra­tive Poems; A Hero of Our Time.
Ivan Tur­genev, 1818–1883
A Sports­man­’s Note­book; A Month in the Coun­try; Fathers and Sons; On the Eve; First Love.
Fyo­dor Dos­toyevsky, 1821–1881
Notes from the Under­ground; Crime and Pun­ish­ment; The Idiot; The Pos­sessed (The Dev­ils); The Broth­ers Kara­ma­zov; Short Nov­els.
Leo Tol­stoy, 1828–1910
The Cos­sacks; War and Peace; Anna Karen­i­na; A Con­fes­sion; The Pow­er of Dark­ness; Short Nov­els.
Anton Chekhov, 1860–1904
The Tales; The Major Plays.

The United States

Wash­ing­ton Irv­ing, 1783–1859
The Sketch Book.
James Fen­i­more Coop­er, 1789–1851.
The Deer­slay­ers.
Ralph Wal­do Emer­son, 1803–1882
Nature; Essays; Rep­re­sen­ta­tive Men; The Con­duct of Life; Jour­nals; Poems.
Emi­ly Dick­in­son, 1830–1886
Com­plete Poems.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804–1864
The Scar­let Let­ter; Tales and Sketch­es; The Mar­ble Faun; Note­books.
Her­man Melville, 1819–1891
Moby-Dick; The Piaz­za Tales; Bil­ly Budd; Col­lect­ed Poems; Clarel.
Edgar Allan Poe, 1809–1849
Poet­ry and Tales; Essays and Reviews; The Nar­ra­tive of Arthur Gor­don Pym; Eure­ka.
Hen­ry David Thore­au, 1817–1862
Walden; Poems; Essays.
Hen­ry Wadsworth Longfel­low, 1807–1882
Select­ed Poems.
Ambrose Bierce, 1842–1913
Col­lect­ed Writ­ings.
Louisa May Alcott, 1832–1888
Lit­tle Women.
Kate Chopin, 1850–1904
The Awak­en­ing.
William Dean How­ells, 1837–1920
The Rise of Silas Lapham; A Mod­ern Instance.
Hen­ry James, 1843–1916
The Por­trait of a Lady; The Bosto­ni­ans; The Princess Casamas­si­ma; The Awk­ward Age; Short Nov­els and Tales; The Ambas­sadors; The Wings of the Dove; The Gold­en Bowl
Mark Twain, 1835–1910
Com­plete Short Sto­ries; The Adven­tures of Huck­le­ber­ry Finn; The Dev­il’s Race­track; Num­ber Forty-Four: The Mys­te­ri­ous Stranger; Pud­d’n­head Wil­son; A Con­necti­cut Yan­kee in King Arthur’s Court.
William James, 1842–1910
The Vari­eties of Reli­gious Expe­ri­ence; Prag­ma­tism.

D: “The Chaotic Age”

France

Ana­tole France, 1844–1924
Pen­guin Island; Thaïs.
Mar­cel Proust, 1871–1922
Remem­brance of Things Past (In Search of Lost Time).
Albert Camus, 1913–1960
The Stranger; The Plague; The Fall; The Rebel.

Great Britain and Ireland.

Yeats, W. B. (William But­ler), 1865–1939
The Col­lect­ed Poems; Col­lect­ed Plays; A Vision; Mytholo­gies.
George Bernard Shaw, 1856–1950
Major Crit­i­cal Essays; Heart­break House; Pyg­malion; Saint Joan; Major Bar­bara; Back to Methuse­lah.
John Milling­ton Syn­ge, 1871–1909
Col­lect­ed Plays.
George Dou­glas Brown, 1869–1902
The House with the Green Shut­ters.
Thomas Hardy, 1840–1928
The Well-Beloved; The Wood­lan­ders; The Return of the Native; The May­or of Cast­er­bridge; Far From the Madding Crowd; Tess of the D’Urbervilles; Jude the Obscure; Col­lect­ed Poems.
Rud­yard Kipling, 1865–1936
Kim; Col­lect­ed Sto­ries; Puck of Pook’s Hill; Com­plete Verse.
Hous­man, A. E., 1859–1936
Col­lect­ed Poems.
Joseph Con­rad, 1857–1924
Lord Jim; The Secret Agent; Nos­tro­mo; Under West­ern Eyes; Vic­to­ry.
Ronald Fir­bank, 1886–1926
Five Nov­els.
Ford Madox Ford, 1873–1939
Parade’s End; The Good Sol­dier.
Saki, 1870–1916
The Short Sto­ries.
Wells, H. G., 1866–1946
The Sci­ence Fic­tion Nov­els.
David Lind­say, 1876–1945
A Voy­age to Arc­turus.
Arnold Ben­nett, 1867–1931.
The Old Wives’ Tale.
John Galswor­thy, 1867–1933
The Forsyth Saga.
Lawrence, D. H., 1885–1930
Com­plete Poems; Stud­ies in Clas­sic Amer­i­can Lit­er­a­ture; Com­plete Short Sto­ries; Sons and Lovers; The Rain­bow; Women in Love.
Vir­ginia Woolf, 1882–1941
Mrs. Dal­loway; To the Light­house; Orlan­do: A Biog­ra­phy; The Waves; Between the Acts.
James Joyce, 1882–1941
Dublin­ers; Por­trait of the Artist as a Young Man; Ulysses; Finnegans Wake.
George Orwell, 1903–1950
Col­lect­ed Essays; 1984.

Germany.

Franz Kaf­ka, 1883–1924
Ameri­ka; The Com­plete Sto­ries; The Blue Octa­vo Note­book; The Tri­al; Diaries; The Cas­tle; Para­bles, Frag­ments, Apho­risms.

Russia.

Mak­sim Gorky, 1868–1936
Rem­i­nis­cences of Tol­stoy, Chekhov, and Andreev; Auto­bi­og­ra­phy.

Scandinavia.

Knut Ham­sun, 1859–1952
Hunger; Pan.

Czech.

Karel Čapek, 1890–1938
War with the Newts; R.U.R.

Australia and New Zealand.

Miles Franklin, 1879–1954
My Bril­liant Career.
Kather­ine Mans­field, 1888–1923
The Short Sto­ries.

The United States.

Edith Whar­ton, 1862–1937
Col­lect­ed Short Sto­ries; The Age of Inno­cence; Ethan Frome; The House of Mirth; The Cus­tom of the Coun­try.
Willa Cather, 1873–1947
My Anto­nia; The Pro­fes­sor’s House; A Lost Lady.
Gertrude Stein, 1874–1946
Three Lives; The Geo­graph­i­cal His­to­ry of Amer­i­ca; The Mak­ing of Amer­i­cans; Ten­der But­tons.
Theodore Dreis­er, 1871–1945
Sis­ter Car­rie; An Amer­i­can Tragedy.
Sin­clair Lewis, 1885–1951
Bab­bitt; It Can’t Hap­pen Here.
Eugene O’Neill, 1888–1953
Lazarus Laughed; The Ice­man Cometh; Long Day’s Jour­ney into Night.
Fitzger­ald, F. Scott, 1896–1940
Baby­lon Revis­it­ed and Oth­er Sto­ries; The Great Gats­by; Ten­der is the Night.
Nathanael West, 1903–1940
Miss Lone­ly­hearts; A Cool Mil­lion; The Day of the Locust.

Of this last Appendix–which ends with Tony Kush­n­er’s Angels in Amer­i­ca and includes a great degree of diversity–Bloom writes: “I am not as con­fi­dent about this list as the first three. Cul­tur­al prophe­cy is always a mug’s game. Not all of the works here can prove to be canon­i­cal . . . lit­er­ary over­pop­u­la­tion is a haz­ard to many among them. But I have nei­ther exclud­ed nor includ­ed on the basis of cul­tur­al pol­i­tics of any kind.” Again, the selec­tions above are very lim­it­ed. Before you ask, “what about x, y, or z!” see Bloom’s full list here. And if you still do not find authors you believe deserve inclu­sion in any ver­sion of the West­ern Canon, pick up a copy of Bloom’s book to learn more about his crit­i­cal cri­te­ria.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Harold Bloom Recites ‘Tea at the Palaz of Hoon’ by Wal­lace Stevens

Harold Bloom on the Ghast­ly Decline of the Human­i­ties (and on Obama’s Poet­ry)

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

David Lynch’s Perfume Ads Based on the Works of Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald & D.H. Lawrence

As we wrote last week, David Lynch is not only one of the great cin­e­mat­ic spe­lunk­ers of the uncon­scious, cre­at­ing images and sto­ry­lines that have dis­turbed movie­go­ers for almost four decades, but he’s also had a suc­cess­ful run as a com­mer­cial direc­tor, mak­ing ads for among oth­er com­pa­nies Alka-Seltzer, Bar­il­la Pas­ta and Geor­gia Cof­fee.

In 1988, fresh off his suc­cess with Blue Vel­vet and just before he start­ed pro­duc­tion on his land­mark TV series Twin Peaks, he made his first com­mer­cials — a quar­tet of adver­tise­ments for Calvin Klein’s per­fume Obses­sion fea­tur­ing pas­sages from such lit­er­ary titans as F. Scott Fitzger­ald, D.H. Lawrence and Ernest Hem­ing­way. (Lynch’s ad fea­tur­ing Gus­tave Flaubert is mys­te­ri­ous­ly unavail­able on Youtube.)

The com­mer­cials have all the pre­ten­sion, the lus­cious black and white pho­tog­ra­phy and the vacant-eyed beau­ti­ful peo­ple that you might expect from a Calvin Klein ad. Yet they also show glim­mers of Lynch’s aes­thet­ic – a noirish, dream-like tone, an odd­ly framed close up, a fond­ness for flash­ing lights. Lynch dialed down the weird to serve the text. The result is far more roman­tic and beau­ti­ful than you might expect from the direc­tor. If you’re hop­ing to see a David Lynch com­mer­cial that will give night­mares, check this one out instead.

The ad for F. Scott Fitzger­ald, which you can see above, uses one of the more famous pas­sages from The Great Gats­by.

He knew that when he kissed this girl, and for­ev­er wed his unut­ter­able visions to her per­ish­able breath, his mind would nev­er romp again like the mind of God. So he wait­ed, lis­ten­ing for a moment longer to the tun­ing-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blos­somed for him like a flower and the incar­na­tion was com­plete.

Sharp-eyed view­ers might have caught that the ad stars future Oscar-win­ning actor Beni­cio Del Toro and Heather Gra­ham, who would lat­er appear in Twin Peaks. The com­mer­cial dis­solves back and forth between Del Toro and Gra­ham until the inevitable kiss when the ad cuts, with sur­pris­ing­ly lit­er­al­ness, to a bloom­ing flower.

The D.H. Lawrence ad uses a quo­ta­tion from Women in Love:

Her fin­gers went over the mould of his face, over his fea­tures. How per­fect and for­eign he was—ah how dan­ger­ous! Her soul thrilled with com­plete knowl­edge. This was the glis­ten­ing, for­bid­den apple … She kissed him, putting her fin­gers over his face, his eyes, his nos­trils, over his brows and his ears, to his neck, to know him, to gath­er him in by touch.

Lynch shows a blonde in a bro­cade dress loom­ing over her improb­a­bly beau­ti­ful para­mour who is lying on a divan. She paws at his chis­eled fea­tures before lean­ing in for a kiss.

And final­ly, the Ernest Hem­ing­way ad – the spook­i­est and most Lynchi­an of the bunch — fea­tures a pas­sage from The Sun Also Ris­es:

I lay awake think­ing and my mind jump­ing around. Then I could­n’t keep away from it, and I start­ed to think about Brett. I was think­ing about Brett and my mind start­ed to go in sort of smooth waves. Then all of a sud­den I start­ed to cry. After a while it was bet­ter and I lay in bed and lis­tened to the heavy trams go by.. and then I went to sleep.

This ad opens with a half-naked man lying awake in a dark­ened room filled with grotesque shad­ows. He’s haunt­ed by the specter of an androg­y­nous woman in a tank top. There’s a flash of light­en­ing and then the woman kiss­es his cheek. Lynch clos­es up on his eye, which is welling up with a sin­gle tear.

As a side note: the half-naked guy in the ad is James Mar­shall who went on to star in Twin Peaks, as did Lara Fly­nn Boyle who appears in the miss­ing Flaubert com­meri­cial. Lynch has a rep­u­ta­tion of being very loy­al to his actors.

The Obses­sion ads proved to be such a suc­cess that he start­ed get­ting requests to do com­mer­cials for oth­er lux­u­ry per­fume com­pa­nies like Gior­gio Armani’s Gio and Yves Saint Laurent’s Opi­um.

As Lynch told Chris Rod­ley in Lynch on Lynch, he thinks of com­mer­cials as “lit­tle bit­ty films, and I always learn some­thing by doing them.”

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.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch’s Unlike­ly Com­mer­cial for a Home Preg­nan­cy Test (1997)

David Lynch Teach­es You to Cook His Quinoa Recipe in a Weird, Sur­re­al­ist Video

What David Lynch Can Do With a 100-Year-Old Cam­era and 52 Sec­onds of Film

Pete Seeger Dies at 94: Remember the American Folk Legend with a Priceless Film from 1947

We’ve got some sad news to report. Last night Pete Seeger, one of Amer­i­ca’s nation­al trea­sures, died at the age of 94. For near­ly 70 years, Seeger embod­ied folk music and its ideals (“com­mu­ni­ca­tion, enter­tain­ment, social com­ment, his­tor­i­cal con­ti­nu­ity, inclu­sive­ness”) and became a tire­less advo­cate for social jus­tice and pro­tect­ing the envi­ron­ment. In recent years, Seeger made his voice heard at Occu­py Wall Street and even paid a vis­it to the 2013 edi­tion of Farm Aid, where he sang “This Land is Your Land”. Above you can watch a film that brings you back to Seeger’s ear­ly days. Released in 1946, To Hear Your Ban­jo Play is an engag­ing 16-minute intro­duc­tion to Amer­i­can folk music, writ­ten and nar­rat­ed by Alan Lomax and fea­tur­ing rare per­for­mances by Woody Guthrie, Bald­win Hawes, Son­ny Ter­ry, Brownee McGhee, Texas Glad­den and Mar­got May­o’s Amer­i­can Square Dance Group. In the film, Seeger is only 27 years old. We’ll miss you dear­ly Pete.

To Hear Your Ban­jo Play resides in our col­lec­tion of 625 Free Online Movies.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leg­endary Folk­lorist Alan Lomax’s ‘The Land Where the Blues Began’

94-Year-Old Pete Seeger Sings “This Land is Your Land” at Farm Aid

Willie Nel­son, Pete Seeger, and Arlo Guthrie at Occu­py Wall Street

Pete Seeger on “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

Pete Seeger, 91, Per­forms BP Protest Song

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Watch Bill Gates Lose a Chess Match in 79 Seconds to the New World Chess Champion Magnus Carlsen

Last Novem­ber Mag­nus Carlsen, then only 22 years old, became the Chess World Cham­pi­on when he sound­ly defeat­ed Viswanathan Anand in a best-of-12 series match held in Chen­nai, India. Carlsen won three games, tied ten, and lost none. Only the sec­ond chess cham­pi­on from the West since World War II (and the first since the “eccen­tric genius” Bob­by Fis­ch­er), Carlsen sud­den­ly found him­self a celebri­ty of sorts, get­ting air­time on TV shows. Appear­ing on the Scan­di­na­vian talk show, Skavlan, a few days ago, Carlsen delight­ed view­ers when he played a game of speed chess against Bill Gates, the wun­derkind of a pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tion, who co-found­ed Microsoft when he was only 20 years old. So how did Gates hold up? Well, let’s just say that, true to its name, it was a game of speed chess. Gates lost speed­i­ly — in 79 sec­onds and just nine moves.

Not that he needs it, Bill got a lit­tle con­so­la­tion yes­ter­day when it was announced that he and Melin­da will be the com­mence­ment speak­ers at Stan­ford’s grad­u­a­tion this com­ing June.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Famous Chess Match from 1910 Reen­act­ed with Clay­ma­tion

Chess Rivals Bob­by Fis­ch­er and Boris Spassky Meet in the ‘Match of the Cen­tu­ry’

Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi Square Off in a Mon­strous Game of Chess (1934)

Watch the Complete, Crowdsourced Concert Film of Neil Young’s Great Carnegie Hall Show (1/7/14)

On Jan­u­ary 7th, Neil Young played an acoustic solo con­cert at Carnegie Hall and treat­ed the audi­ence to what Rolling Stone calls, “an absolute­ly jaw-drop­ping two hour and 20-minute show that focused large­ly on his gold­en peri­od of 1966 to 1978.” “It was, with­out a doubt, one of the great­est Neil Young shows of the past decade, at least when he was­n’t play­ing with Crazy Horse.” Above, we have a crowd­sourced con­cert film of that entire glo­ri­ous show. It was stitched togeth­er and uploaded to Youtube by Reel­ife Doc­u­men­tary Pro­duc­tions. Find the 23-song setlist here.

via @SteveSilberman

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See Neil Young Per­form Clas­sic Songs in 1971 BBC Con­cert: “Old Man,” “Heart of Gold” & More

Great Sto­ry: How Neil Young Intro­duced His Clas­sic 1972 Album Har­vest to Gra­ham Nash

‘The Nee­dle and the Dam­age Done’: Neil Young Plays Two Songs on The John­ny Cash Show, 1971

Neil Young Busk­ing in Glas­gow, 1976: The Sto­ry Behind the Footage

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Lewis Carroll’s 8 Still-Relevant Rules For Letter-Writing

lewis carroll letter writing

My grad­u­ate school super­vi­sor taught me all I know about pro­fes­sion­al email eti­quette. Vague lan­guage? Poor form. Typos? Noth­ing worse. Run-on para­graphs? A big no-no. Spelling your recipient’s name wrong? No com­ing back from that one. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, hasti­ly com­posed emails and ambigu­ous phras­ing are all too com­mon, par­tic­u­lar­ly with the high vol­ume of emails many peo­ple send dai­ly. Skimp­ing on the cour­tesy and the proof­read­ing, how­ev­er, is like­ly to cost you points with your recip­i­ent. Thank­ful­ly, we’ve pro­vid­ed a list of cor­re­spon­dence best prac­tices, com­piled by an author­i­ty on let­ters: Lewis Car­roll (who, inci­den­tal­ly, would have cel­e­brat­ed his 182nd birth­day today). In 1890, Car­roll began to sell a Won­der­land Stamp Case, which helped its users to orga­nize their var­i­ous postage stamps. Paired with the case was a short essay, enti­tled “Eight Or Nine Wise Words About Let­ter-Writ­ing.”

The ini­tial guide, of course, refers to pen and paper cor­re­spon­dence. In fact, Carroll’s fore­most pre­cept, which instructs one to write leg­i­bly, is no longer a con­cern in the dig­i­tal age. Nev­er­the­less, the remain­ing eight rules pro­vide a clear and sim­ple crib sheet for let­ter-writ­ing that has stood the test of time remark­ably well:

1) Start by address­ing any ques­tions the receiv­er pre­vi­ous­ly had - “Don’t fill more than a page and a half with apolo­gies for not hav­ing writ­ten soon­er!

The best sub­ject, to begin with, is your friend’s last let­ter. Write with the let­ter open before you. Answer his ques­tions, and make any remarks his let­ter sug­gests. Then go on to what you want to say your­self. This arrange­ment is more cour­te­ous, and pleas­an­ter for the read­er, than to fill the let­ter with your own invalu­able remarks, and then hasti­ly answer your friend’s ques­tions in a post­script. Your friend is much more like­ly to enjoy your wit, after his own anx­i­ety for infor­ma­tion has been sat­is­fied.”

2) Don’t repeat your­self - “When once you have said your say, ful­ly and clear­ly, on a cer­tain point, and have failed to con­vince your friend, drop that sub­ject: to repeat your argu­ments, all over again, will sim­ply lead to his doing the same…”

3) Write with a lev­el head — “When you have writ­ten a let­ter that you feel may pos­si­bly irri­tate your friend, how­ev­er nec­es­sary you may have felt it to so express your­self, put it aside till the next day. Then read it over again, and fan­cy it addressed to your­self. This will often lead to your writ­ing it all over again, tak­ing out a lot of the vine­gar and pep­per, and putting in hon­ey instead, and thus mak­ing a much more palat­able dish of it!”

4) When in doubt, err on the side of cour­tesy - “If your friend makes a severe remark, either leave it unno­ticed, or make your reply dis­tinct­ly less severe: and if he makes a friend­ly remark, tend­ing towards ‘mak­ing up’ the lit­tle dif­fer­ence that has arisen between you, let your reply be dis­tinct­ly more friend­ly. If, in pick­ing a quar­rel, each par­ty declined to go more than three-eighths of the way, and if, in mak­ing friends, each was ready to go five-eighths of the way—why, there would be more rec­on­cil­i­a­tions than quar­rels! Which is like the Irishman’s remon­strance to his gad-about daughter—‘Shure, you’re always goin’ out! You go out three times, for wanst that you come in!’ ”

5) Don’t try to have the last word — “How many a con­tro­ver­sy would be nipped in the bud, if each was anx­ious to let the oth­er have the last word! Nev­er mind how telling a rejoin­der you leave unut­tered: nev­er mind your friend’s sup­pos­ing that you are silent from lack of any­thing to say: let the thing drop, as soon as it is pos­si­ble with­out dis­cour­tesy: remem­ber ‘speech is sil­vern, but silence is gold­en’! (N.B.—If you are a gen­tle­man, and your friend a lady, this Rule is super­flu­ous: you won’t get the last word!)”

6) Humor is hard to trans­late to writ­ing. Be obvi­ous. - “If it should ever occur to you to write, jest­ing­ly, in dis­praise of your friend, be sure you exag­ger­ate enough to make the jest­ing obvi­ous: a word spo­ken in jest, but tak­en as earnest, may lead to very seri­ous con­se­quences. I have known it to lead to the break­ing-off of a friend­ship. Sup­pose, for instance, you wish to remind your friend of a sov­er­eign you have lent him, which he has for­got­ten to repay—you might quite mean the words “I men­tion it, as you seem to have a con­ve­nient­ly bad mem­o­ry for debts”, in jest: yet there would be noth­ing to won­der at if he took offence at that way of putting it. But, sup­pose you wrote “Long obser­va­tion of your career, as a pick­pock­et and a bur­glar, has con­vinced me that my one lin­ger­ing hope, for recov­er­ing that sov­er­eign I lent you, is to say ‘Pay up, or I’ll sum­mons yer!’” he would indeed be a mat­ter-of-fact friend if he took that as seri­ous­ly meant!”

7) Don’t for­get that attach­ment! — “When you say, in your let­ter, “I enclose cheque for £5”, or “I enclose John’s let­ter for you to see”, leave off writ­ing for a moment—go and get the doc­u­ment referred to—and put it into the enve­lope. Oth­er­wise, you are pret­ty cer­tain to find it lying about, after the Post has gone!”

8) Using a post­script? Make it short — “A Post­script is a very use­ful inven­tion: but it is not meant (as so many ladies sup­pose) to con­tain the real gist of the let­ter: it serves rather to throw into the shade any lit­tle mat­ter we do not wish to make a fuss about.”

Casu­al Vic­to­ri­an-era “sil­ly women!” sex­ism aside, Car­rol­l’s tips are sur­pris­ing­ly fresh and applic­a­ble. If you’re plan­ning on engag­ing in some seri­ous snail-mail cor­re­spon­dence, we sug­gest you check out Car­rol­l’s com­plete essay over at Project Guten­berg.

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See Sal­vador Dali’s Illus­tra­tions for the 1969 Edi­tion of Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land

See The Orig­i­nal Alice In Won­der­land Man­u­script, Hand­writ­ten & Illus­trat­ed By Lewis Car­roll (1864)

The Real Alice in Won­der­land Cir­ca 1862

 

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