226 Ansel Adams Photographs of Great American National Parks Are Now Online

Adams Yellowstone

Like many Amer­i­can sto­ries, the sto­ry of the Nation­al Parks begins with pil­lage, death, deep cul­tur­al mis­un­der­stand­ing, and ven­ture cap­i­tal­ism. Accord­ing to Ken Burns’ film series The Nation­al Parks: America’s Best Idea, we can date the idea back to 1851, with the “dis­cov­ery” of Yosemite by a maraud­ing armed bat­tal­ion who entered the land “search­ing for Indi­ans, intent on dri­ving the natives from their home­lands and onto reser­va­tions.” The Mari­posa Bat­tal­ion, led by Cap­tain James D. Sav­age, set fire to the Indi­ans’ homes and store­hous­es after they had retreat­ed to the moun­tains, “in order to starve them into sub­mis­sion.”

One mem­ber of the bat­tal­ion, a doc­tor named Lafayette Bun­nell, found him­self entranced by the scenery amidst this destruc­tion. “As I looked, a pecu­liar exalt­ed sen­sa­tion seemed to fill my whole being,” he wrote in his lat­er accounts, “and I found myself in tears with emo­tion.” He named the place “Yosemite,” think­ing it was the name of the Indi­an tribe the sol­diers sought to force out or erad­i­cate. The word, it turned out “meant some­thing entire­ly dif­fer­ent,” refer­ring to peo­ple who should be feared: “It means, ‘they are killers.’”

Zion Adams

In 1855, a failed Eng­lish gold prospec­tor turned the place into a tourist attrac­tion, and peo­ple flood­ed West to see it, prompt­ing New York wor­thies like Horace Gree­ley and Fred­er­ick Law Olm­st­ed to lob­by for its fed­er­al pro­tec­tion. In 1864, Abra­ham Lin­coln deed­ed Yosemite Val­ley and the Mari­posa Grove, with its giant sequoias, to the state of Cal­i­for­nia. Ever since then, Nation­al Parks have been threatened—if not by the occa­sion­al polit­i­cal can­di­date and his bil­lion­aire back­ers hop­ing to pri­va­tize the land, then by oil and gas drilling, and by fire, ris­ing seas, or oth­er effects of cli­mate change. Though the U.S. emp­tied many of the parks of their inhab­i­tants, it is iron­i­cal­ly only the actions of the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment that pre­vents the process begun by the Mari­posa Bat­tal­ion from reach­ing its con­clu­sion in the total despo­li­a­tion of these land­scapes. It is these land­scapes that have most come to sym­bol­ize the nation­al char­ac­ter, whether as back­ground in Fred­er­ic Rem­ing­ton’s paint­ings of the Indi­an Wars or in the pho­tographs of Ansel Adams, who began and sus­tained his career in Yosemite Val­ley. “Yosemite Nation­al Park,” writes the Nation­al Park Service’s web­site,” was Adams’ chief inspi­ra­tion.”

Grand Canyon Adams

Adams first became inter­est­ed in vis­it­ing the Nation­al Park when he read In the Heart of the Sier­ras by James Hutchings—that failed Eng­lish gold prospec­tor. There­after, Adams pho­tographed Nation­al Parks almost rit­u­al­ly, and in 1941, the Nation­al Park Ser­vice com­mis­sioned Adams to cre­ate a pho­to mur­al for the Depart­ment of the Inte­ri­or Build­ing in DC. The theme, the Nation­al Archives tells us, was to be “nature as exem­pli­fied and pro­tect­ed in the U.S. Nation­al Parks. The project was halt­ed because of World War II and nev­er resumed.” It must have felt like an espe­cial­ly sacred duty for Adams, who trav­eled the coun­try pho­tograph­ing the Grand Canyon, Grand Teton, Kings Canyon, Mesa Verde, Rocky Moun­tain, Yel­low­stone, Yosemite, Carls­bad Cav­erns, Glac­i­er, and Zion Nation­al Parks; Death Val­ley, Saguro, and Canyon de Chelly Nation­al Mon­u­ments,” and oth­er loca­tions like the Boul­der (now Hoover) Dam and desert vis­tas in New Mex­i­co.

Mesa Verde Adams

The pho­tographs you see here are among the 226 tak­en by Adams for the project. They are now housed at the Nation­al Archives, and you can freely view them online or order prints at their site. At the top, we see a snow-cov­ered tree from an apple orchard in Half Dome, Yosemite, where Adams had his first pho­to­graph­ic “visu­al­iza­tion” in 1927. Below it, the “Court of the Patri­archs” in Zion Nation­al Park, Utah. Fur­ther down, we have a breath­tak­ing vision of the ser­pen­tine Grand Canyon, and just above, one of the few man­made struc­tures, “Cliff Palace” at Mesa Verde Nation­al Park in Col­orado. And here can you see a pho­to­graph of the Snake Riv­er in Grand Teton Nation­al Park.

adams grand teton

The mur­al project may have been aban­doned, but Adams nev­er stopped pho­tograph­ing the parks, nor advo­cat­ing for their pro­tec­tion and, in fact, the pro­tec­tion of “the entire envi­ron­ment,” as he told a Play­boy inter­view­er in 1983. “Only two and a half per­cent of the land in this coun­try is pro­tect­ed,” said Adams then: “Not only are we being fought in try­ing to extend that two and a half per­cent to include oth­er impor­tant or frag­ile areas but we are hav­ing to fight to pro­tect that small two and a half per­cent. It is hor­ri­fy­ing that we have to fight our own Gov­ern­ment to save our envi­ron­ment.”

You can peruse the col­lec­tion of Ansel Adams’ nation­al park pho­tos here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ansel Adams Reveals His Cre­ative Process in 1958 Doc­u­men­tary

200 Ansel Adams Pho­tographs Expose the Rig­ors of Life in Japan­ese Intern­ment Camps Dur­ing WW II

How to Take Pho­tographs Like Ansel Adams: The Mas­ter Explains The Art of “Visu­al­iza­tion”

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

Inmates in New York Prison Defeat Harvard’s Debate Team: A Look Inside the Bard Prison Initiative

If you want to pre­pare for a career prac­tic­ing law, you could do much worse than join­ing Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty’s debate team. But if, far on the oth­er end of the spec­trum of the Amer­i­can expe­ri­ence, you end up deep on the wrong side of the law, going to prison rather than col­lege, you need not relin­quish your dreams of excelling at this tra­di­tion­al intel­lec­tu­al sport. We now have the prece­dent to prove it: “Months after win­ning a nation­al title,” reports the Guardian’s Lau­ren Gam­bi­no, “Harvard’s debate team has fall­en to a group of New York prison inmates.”

“The show­down,” which revolved around the ques­tion of whether pub­lic schools should be allowed to turn away undoc­u­ment­ed stu­dents, “took place at the East­ern cor­rec­tion­al facil­i­ty in New York, a max­i­mum-secu­ri­ty prison where con­victs can take cours­es taught by fac­ul­ty from near­by Bard Col­lege, and where inmates have formed a pop­u­lar debate club.” They call this pro­gram the Bard Prison Ini­tia­tive, under which inmates have the chance to earn a Bard Col­lege degree (through a non-voca­tion­al “lib­er­al arts cur­ricu­lum, includ­ing lit­er­a­ture, for­eign lan­guage, phi­los­o­phy, his­to­ry and the social sci­ences, math­e­mat­ics, sci­ence, and the arts”) at satel­lite cam­pus­es estab­lished in six New York state pris­ons. You can see this selec­tive, rig­or­ous and high­ly unusu­al edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tion in action in the Wash­ing­ton Post video above. And also in a 2011 PBS News Hour pro­file below.

The Bard Prison Ini­tia­tive’s debate vic­to­ry over Har­vard made for a notable event in the pro­gram’s his­to­ry indeed. “But it’s also worth point­ing out,” writes Peter Hol­ley, author of the Post arti­cle, “the fal­la­cy of our under­ly­ing assump­tions about such a matchup — the first (and most per­ni­cious) being that crim­i­nals aren’t smart. If a defin­i­tive link between crim­i­nal­i­ty and below-aver­age intel­li­gence exists, nobody has found it.” The Bard Prison Ini­tia­tive has oper­at­ed on that premise since 2001, and its debate team’s pre­vi­ous high-pro­file win saw it beat­ing that of West Point — all, you may hard­ly believe, through old-fash­ioned research, with­out any kind of access to the inter­net. If you’d like to leave your con­do­lences for the Har­vard Col­lege Debat­ing Union, you may do so at their Face­book page. You can also make a worth­while finan­cial con­tri­bu­tion to the Bard Prison Ini­tia­tive here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Bald­win Debates Mal­colm X (1963) and William F. Buck­ley (1965): Vin­tage Video & Audio

Nor­man Mail­er & Mar­shall McLuhan Debate the Elec­tron­ic Age

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

The His­toric LSD Debate at MIT: Tim­o­thy Leary v. Pro­fes­sor Jerome Lettvin (1967)

1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

100 Overlooked Films Directed by Women: See Selections from Sight & Sound Magazine’s New List

UK film month­ly mag­a­zine Sight & Sound’s most recent issue is ded­i­cat­ed to “The Female Gaze: 100 Over­looked Films Direct­ed by Women.” The list of 100 films runs some 20 pages, and the edi­tion also col­lects mini essays from actors like Gre­ta Ger­wig, Isabelle Hup­pert, and Til­da Swin­ton; direc­tors like Jane Cam­pi­on and Claire Denis, and crit­ics like Amy Taubin and Camille Paglia, all focus­ing on female-direct­ed films that deserve a sec­ond look.

Many of the film­mak­ers are fair­ly obscure, but even bet­ter known direc­tors are rep­re­sent­ed here with less­er-known selec­tions, like Ida Lupino’s Out­rage (and not her noir clas­sic The Hitch­hik­er) and Kathryn Bigelow’s The Love­less, her first fea­ture co-direct­ed with Mon­ty Mont­gomery and fea­tur­ing a young Willem Dafoe. (Fact: Until Bigelow won for The Hurt Lock­er in 2010, no woman had earned a Best Direc­tor Oscar).

Pre­sent­ed in chrono­log­i­cal order, the list of 100 Over­looked Films Direct­ed by Women fea­tures many land­marks in film his­to­ry, like Lotte Reiniger’s 1926 The Adven­tures of Prince Achmed, the first fea­ture-length ani­mat­ed film, which we recent­ly high­light­ed here. Open Cul­ture has also pre­vi­ous­ly dis­cussed Ger­maine Dulac’s 1928 sur­re­al­ist film The Seashell and the Cler­gy­man.

Lois Weber’s 1913 Sus­pense, her short film co-direct­ed with Philippe Smal­l­ey (view it at the top of the post), is one of the first exam­ples of cross-cut­ting to cre­ate ten­sion, and it even fea­tures a three-way split frame. Cross-cut­ting is a tech­nique all thrillers have used since. (And Weber stars in the film as well.)

Sight & Sound also pro­files Stephanie Roth­man, the first female direc­tor to work for Roger Cor­man, and her 1971 film The Vel­vet Vam­pire, a West Coast take on a goth­ic genre. Jessie Maple, who made Will in 1981, was the first African-Amer­i­can woman to become a part of New York’s cam­era operator’s union.

Then there’s the careers of film­mak­ers whose lives were cut short: Sovi­et direc­tor Lar­isa Shep­itko died in a car crash at 40, leav­ing behind two mas­ter­pieces, while Elia Kazan’s wife Bar­bara Loden made her debut with Wan­da in 1970 and passed away soon after, too young.

Many of these films are dif­fi­cult or impos­si­ble to find, and Sight & Sound includes an online arti­cle of eight more films that might be lost for good, like the afore­men­tioned Lois Weber’s only col­or film White Heat, or the only film actor Lil­lian Gish direct­ed, Remod­el­ing Her Hus­band.

The Sight & Sound issue is avail­able on news­stands and as a dig­i­tal edi­tion to sub­scribers. As not­ed at the end of the article’s intro­duc­tion, “a sea­son relat­ed to this project will take place next year at BFI South­bank, Lon­don.”

Read­ers inter­est­ed in the con­tri­bu­tions of women film­mak­ers will want to explore the Women Film Pio­neers web­site host­ed by Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ground­break­ing Sil­hou­ette Ani­ma­tions of Lotte Reiniger: Cin­derel­la, Hansel and Gre­tel, and More

An Ambi­tious List of 1400 Films Made by Female Film­mak­ers

Alice Guy-Blaché: The First Female Direc­tor & the Cin­e­mat­ic Trail­blaz­er You Like­ly Nev­er Heard Of

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

The Mystery of Edgar Allan Poe’s Death: 19 Theories on What Caused the Poet’s Demise

poe cause of death

One my very first acts as a new New York­er many years ago was to make the jour­ney across three bor­oughs to Wood­lawn ceme­tery in the Bronx. My pur­pose: a pil­grim­age to Her­man Melville’s grave. I came not to wor­ship a hero, exact­ly, but—as Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty Eng­lish pro­fes­sor Angela O’Donnell writes—“to see a friend.” Pro­fes­sor O’Donnell goes on: “It might seem pre­sump­tu­ous to regard a cel­e­brat­ed 19th-cen­tu­ry nov­el­ist so famil­iar­ly, but read­ing a great writer across the decades is a means of con­duct­ing con­ver­sa­tion with him and, inevitably, leads to inti­ma­cy.” I ful­ly share the sen­ti­ment.

I promised Melville I would vis­it reg­u­lar­ly but, alas, the plea­sures and tra­vails of life in the big city kept me away, and I nev­er returned. No such pet­ty dis­trac­tion kept away a friend-across-the-ages of anoth­er 19th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can author. “For decades,” writes the Bal­ti­more Sun, “Edgar Allan Poe’s birth­day was marked by a mys­te­ri­ous vis­i­tor to his gravesite in Bal­ti­more.

Begin­ning in the 1930s, the ‘Poe Toast­er’ placed three ros­es at the grave every Jan. 19 and opened a bot­tle of cognac, only to dis­ap­pear into the night.” The tra­di­tion, which con­tin­ued until 2009, is cur­rent­ly being revived with an Amer­i­can Idol-style com­pe­ti­tion (do you have what it takes?). The iden­ti­ty of the orig­i­nal “Poe Toast­er”—who may have been suc­ceed­ed by his son—remains a tan­ta­liz­ing mys­tery.

Today, Octo­ber 7th, marks Poe’s death-day, and in hon­or of his macabre sen­si­bil­i­ty, we vis­it anoth­er mor­bid mystery—the mys­tery of how Edgar Allan Poe died.

Most of you have prob­a­bly heard some ver­sion of the sto­ry. On Octo­ber 3, 1849, a com­pos­i­tor for the Bal­ti­more Sun, Joseph Walk­er, found Poe lying in a gut­ter. The poet had depart­ed Rich­mond, VA on Sep­tem­ber 27, bound for Philadel­phia “where he was to edit a vol­ume of poet­ry for Mrs. St. Leon Loud,” the Poe Muse­um tells us. Instead, he end­ed up in Bal­ti­more, “semi­con­scious and dressed in cheap, ill-fit­ting clothes so unlike Poe’s usu­al mode of dress that many believe that Poe’s own cloth­ing had been stolen.” He nev­er became lucid enough to explain where he had been or what hap­pened to him: “The father of the detec­tive sto­ry has left us with a real-life mys­tery which Poe schol­ars, med­ical pro­fes­sion­als, and oth­ers have been try­ing to solve for over 150 years.”

Most peo­ple assume that Poe drank him­self to death. The rumor was part­ly spread by Poe’s friend, edi­tor Joseph Snod­grass, whom the poet had asked for in his semi-lucid state. Snod­grass was “a staunch tem­per­ance advo­cate” and had rea­son to recruit the writer posthu­mous­ly into his cam­paign against drink, despite the fact that Poe had been sober for six months pri­or to his death and had refused alco­hol on his deathbed. Poe’s attend­ing physi­cian, John Moran, dis­missed the binge drink­ing the­o­ry, but that did not help clear up the mys­tery. Moran’s “accounts vary so wide­ly,” writes Biography.com, “that they are not gen­er­al­ly con­sid­ered reli­able.”

So what hap­pened? Doc­tors at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Mary­land Med­ical Cen­ter the­o­rize that Poe may have con­tract­ed rabies from one of his own pets—likely a cat. This diag­no­sis accounts for the delir­i­um and oth­er report­ed symp­toms, though “no one can say con­clu­sive­ly,” admits the Center’s Dr. Michael Ben­itez, “since there was no autop­sy after his death.” As with any mys­tery, the frus­trat­ing lack of evi­dence has sparked end­less spec­u­la­tion. The Poe Muse­um offers the fol­low­ing list of pos­si­ble caus­es-of-death, with dates and sources, includ­ing the rabies and alco­hol (both over­im­bib­ing and with­draw­al) the­o­ries:

  • Beat­ing (1857) The Unit­ed States Mag­a­zine Vol.II (1857): 268.
  • Epilep­sy (1875) Scrib­n­er’s Month­ly Vo1. 10 (1875): 691.
  • Dip­so­ma­nia (1921) Robert­son, John W. Edgar A. Poe A Study. Brough, 1921: 134, 379.
  • Heart (1926) Allan, Her­vey. Israfel. Dou­ble­day, 1926: Chapt. XXVII, 670.
  • Tox­ic Dis­or­der (1970) Stu­dia Philo1ogica Vol. 16 (1970): 41–42.
  • Hypo­glycemia (1979) Artes Lit­er­a­tus (1979) Vol. 5: 7–19.
  • Dia­betes (1977) Sin­clair, David. Edgar Allan Poe. Roman & Litt1efield, 1977: 151–152.
  • Alco­hol Dehy­dro­ge­nase (1984) Arno Karlen. Napo1eon’s Glands. Lit­tle Brown, 1984: 92.
  • Por­phryia (1989) JMAMA Feb. 10, 1989: 863–864.
  • Deleri­um Tremens (1992) Mey­ers, Jef­frey. Edgar A1lan Poe. Charles Scrib­n­er, 1992: 255.
  • Rabies (1996) Mary­land Med­ical Jour­nal Sept. 1996: 765–769.
  • Heart (1997) Sci­en­tif­ic Sleuthing Review Sum­mer 1997: 1–4.
  • Mur­der (1998) Walsh, John E., Mid­night Drea­ry. Rut­gers Univ. Press, 1998: 119–120.
  • Epilep­sy (1999) Archives of Neu­rol­o­gy June 1999: 646, 740.
  • Car­bon Monox­ide Poi­son­ing (1999) Albert Don­nay

The Smith­son­ian adds to this list the pos­si­ble caus­es of brain tumor, heavy met­al poi­son­ing, and the flu. They also briefly describe the most pop­u­lar the­o­ry: that Poe died as a result of a prac­tice called “coop­ing.”

A site called The Med­ical Bag expands on the coop­ing the­o­ry, a favorite of “the vast major­i­ty of Poe biogra­phies.” The term refers to “a prac­tice in the Unit­ed States dur­ing the 19th cen­tu­ry by which inno­cent peo­ple were coerced into vot­ing, often sev­er­al times, for a par­tic­u­lar can­di­date in an elec­tion.” Often­times, these peo­ple were snatched unawares off the streets, “kept in a room, called the coop” and “giv­en alco­hol or drugs in order for them to fol­low orders. If they refused to coop­er­ate, they would be beat­en or even killed.” One dark­ly com­ic detail: vic­tims were often forced to change clothes and were even “forced to wear wigs, fake beards, and mus­tach­es as dis­guis­es so vot­ing offi­cials at polling sta­tions wouldn’t rec­og­nize them.”

This the­o­ry is high­ly plau­si­ble. Poe was, after all, found “on the street on Elec­tion Day,” and “the place where he was found, Ryan’s Fourth Ward Polls, was both a bar and a place for vot­ing.” Add to this the noto­ri­ous­ly vio­lent and cor­rupt nature of Bal­ti­more elec­tions at the time, and you have a sce­nario in which the author may very well have been kid­napped, drugged, and beat­en to death in a vot­er fraud scheme. Ulti­mate­ly, how­ev­er, we will like­ly nev­er know for cer­tain what killed Edgar Allan Poe. Per­haps the “Poe Toast­er” was attempt­ing all those years to get the sto­ry from the source as he com­muned with his dead 19th cen­tu­ry friend year after year. But if that mys­te­ri­ous stranger knows the truth, he ain’t talk­ing either.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

5 Hours of Edgar Allan Poe Sto­ries Read by Vin­cent Price & Basil Rath­bone

Édouard Manet Illus­trates Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven, in a French Edi­tion Trans­lat­ed by Stephane Mal­lar­mé (1875)

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe: Macabre Sto­ries as Free eBooks & Audio Books

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

Innovative Film Visualizes the Destruction of World War II: Now Available in 7 Languages

Back in June we high­light­ed Neil Hal­lo­ran’s 15 minute film, The Fall­en of World War II, which used “inno­v­a­tive data visu­al­iza­tion tech­niques to put the human cost of WW II into per­spec­tive, show­ing how some 70 mil­lion lives were lost with­in civil­ian and mil­i­tary pop­u­la­tions across Europe and Asia, from 1939 to 1945.” It’s a pret­ty stag­ger­ing illus­tra­tion of the dead­liest war. As the film went viral, Hal­lo­ran raised mon­ey that would enable him to devel­op new films explor­ing “oth­er trends of war and peace — from drones and ter­ror­ism to democ­ra­cy and peace­keep­ing.” He has also trans­lat­ed the film into six dif­fer­ent lan­guages. They all went online in the last few weeks. Here they are: Russ­ian, Japan­ese, Pol­ish, FrenchGer­man, and Ser­bian.

Above, you can watch the orig­i­nal in Eng­lish (cer­tain­ly worth doing if you were vaca­tion­ing in June), and you might also explore the accom­pa­ny­ing inter­ac­tive web site here.

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:

Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es

Watch World War II Rage Across Europe in a 7 Minute Time-Lapse Film: Every Day From 1939 to 1945

31 Rolls of Film Tak­en by a World War II Sol­dier Get Dis­cov­ered & Devel­oped Before Your Eyes

Dra­mat­ic Col­or Footage Shows a Bombed-Out Berlin a Month After Germany’s WWII Defeat (1945)

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The Great Leonard Nimoy Reads H.G. Wells’ Seminal Sci-Fi Novel The War of the Worlds

As you know if you saw our pre­vi­ous posts fea­tur­ing Leonard Nimoy’s read­ings of sto­ries by Ray Brad­bury and Isaac Asi­mov, the late Star Trek icon could — unsur­pris­ing­ly, per­haps — tell a sci­ence-fic­tion tale with the best of them. It turns out that he could also give mas­ter­ful read­ings of sci­ence fic­tion from oth­er eras too, as far back as the ear­li­est works to define the genre, which we’ve dis­cov­ered after hear­ing his per­for­mance of H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds, an out-of-print edi­tion recent­ly dig­i­tized from cas­sette tape and post­ed to Youtube in two parts.

With this sto­ry of Earth invad­ed from “across the gulf of space” by aliens with “minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that per­ish, intel­lects vast and cool and unsym­pa­thet­ic,” Wells did much to help give sci­ence fic­tion the form we rec­og­nize today. The War of the Worlds came out in book form in 1898, pre­ced­ed by such sim­i­lar­ly spec­u­la­tive and inno­v­a­tive works as The Time Machine and The Invis­i­ble Man, and then fol­lowed by the likes of The First Men in the Moon and The Shape of Things to Come. (Find most of these works neat­ly pack­aged in the HG Wells Clas­sic Col­lec­tion.) This Leonard Nimoy record­ing orig­i­nal­ly came out in 1976, pub­lished by the record label Caed­mon, known for doing plen­ty of inno­va­tion of their own in the then-yet-unnamed field of audio­books.

Caed­mon put out not just this album and the one with Nimoy read­ing Brad­bury, but oth­ers fea­tur­ing Kurt Von­negut, Vin­cent Price, Ten­nessee Williams, T.S. Eliot, Ernest Hem­ing­way, and Sylvia Plath. As much as sci­ence-fic­tion die-hards will enjoy hear­ing this pair­ing of Nimoy and Wells here, some will cer­tain­ly want to track down the actu­al LP — not just for the col­lec­tors’ val­ue, but because it fea­tures lin­er notes by none oth­er than that oth­er vast­ly influ­en­tial cre­ator of sci-fi as we know it, Isaac Asi­mov. It looks like there’s one used copy on Ama­zon. The read­ing, we should note, is an abridged ver­sion of the orig­i­nal text.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leonard Nimoy Reads Ray Brad­bury Sto­ries From The Mar­t­ian Chron­i­cles & The Illus­trat­ed Man (1975–76)

Isaac Asimov’s Favorite Sto­ry “The Last Ques­tion” Read by Isaac Asi­mov— and by Leonard Nimoy

Leonard Nimoy Nar­rates Short Film About NASA’s Dawn: A Voy­age to the Ori­gins of the Solar Sys­tem

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

1902 French Trading Cards Imagine “Women of the Future”

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The lag time between our imag­in­ing of social equal­i­ty and its arrival can be sig­nif­i­cant­ly long indeed, or it least it can seem so, giv­en the lim­i­ta­tions of human mor­tal­i­ty. 113 years may not be an espe­cial­ly long time for a tree, say, or even a very healthy Gala­pa­gos tor­toise, but if you or I had been alive in 1902, chances are we’d nev­er know that in 2015 the pres­i­dent of Europe’s most pow­er­ful nation is a woman, as are two major pres­i­den­tial can­di­dates in the Unit­ed States. Giv­en the amount of inequal­i­ty we still see world­wide, this may not always feel like a tri­umph. In 1902, it might have seemed like “noth­ing but fan­ta­sy.”

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And yet even then, it was cer­tain­ly pos­si­ble to fore­see women occu­py­ing all the roles that men did, through the lens­es, writes Lau­ra Hud­son at Boing Boing, of “fan­ta­sy and sci­ence fic­tion,” which “can often help us open our minds behind the lim­i­ta­tions of the world we live in and imag­ine a bet­ter one instead.” In 1902, artist Albert Berg­eret was com­mis­sioned to cre­ate the trad­ing cards you see here—just a small selec­tion of twen­ty total pho­tographs called “Les Femmes de l’Avenir”—Women of the Future. Only one theme among many in a series of dif­fer­ent sets of cards, this “retro­fu­tur­is­tic attempt to expand the role of women in soci­ety” showed us a “small and fash­ion­able world” where “women were giv­en a more equal role in soci­ety, not to men­tion spec­tac­u­lar hats.”

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That may be so, but just as we can nev­er accu­rate­ly see the future, we can also nev­er reach con­sen­sus on the mean­ing of the past. The Dai­ly Mail’s Maysa Rawi agrees with Hud­son about the “pin-up qual­i­ty to many of the images,” which show “an awful lot of arm.”  And yet Rawi dis­par­ages the entire set as “meant to cap­ture men’s fan­tasies rather than be part of any fem­i­nist move­ment.” I’ll admit, I don’t see the cards this way at all, nor do I think the cat­e­gories are mutu­al­ly exclu­sive. Pin-up girls have also rep­re­sent­ed social pow­er, albeit main­ly sex­u­al pow­er. Scant­i­ly-clad female super­heroes like Won­der Woman, though craft­ed to appeal to the fan­tasies of teenage boys, are also pow­er­ful because… well, they have super­pow­ers.

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Per­haps that’s one way to look at Bergeret’s cards. He is not mock­ing his sub­jects, nor hyper-sex­u­al­iz­ing them, but pre­sent­ing, as each card indi­cates, advanced futur­is­tic beings who didn’t yet exist in his time. The Dai­ly Mail cap­tions sev­er­al of the pho­tos with fac­toids about women’s advances in French his­to­ry. In some cas­es, Berg­eret did not have to extrap­o­late far. Women could prac­tice law in 1900; women served in the army dur­ing the French Rev­o­lu­tion, but did not fight. Col­leges had been open to women since 1879. A few women worked as doc­tors and jour­nal­ists in Bergeret’s time. Marie Curie, you’ll recall, had dis­cov­ered polo­ni­um, coined the term “radioac­tiv­i­ty,”  and would win the Nobel Prize in 1903. Queen Vic­to­ria had ruled over half the world.

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But French women would have to wait sev­er­al more decades to enter most of the pro­fes­sions rep­re­sent­ed. No mat­ter how sexy—and in some cas­es ridiculous—some of the cos­tumes in these pho­tos, Berg­eret shot the mod­els with poise, style, and dig­ni­ty. Per­haps he and many in his audi­ence could eas­i­ly imag­ine female gen­er­als, may­ors, fire­women, sol­diers, etc. Yet one par­tic­u­lar card stands out. It por­trays a self-sat­is­fied, Bohemi­an mod­el labeled “rapin”—which a read­er below informs us is “an argot word for (bad) painter.”

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via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

How French Artists in 1899 Envi­sioned Life in the Year 2000: Draw­ing the Future

Mark Twain Pre­dicts the Inter­net in 1898: Read His Sci-Fi Crime Sto­ry, “From The ‘Lon­don Times’ in 1904”

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

Watch Noam Chomsky & Lawrence Krauss Talk About Education, Political Activism, Technology & More Before a Sold-Out Crowd

Found­ed and direct­ed by physi­cist Lawrence Krauss, Ari­zona State’s Ori­gins Project has for sev­er­al years brought togeth­er some of the biggest minds in the sci­ences and human­i­ties for friend­ly debates and con­ver­sa­tions about “the 21st Century’s great­est chal­lenges.” Pre­vi­ous all-star pan­els have includ­ed Krauss, Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Bill Nye, Bri­an Greene, and Richard Dawkins. Stephen Hawk­ing has graced the ASU Ori­gins Project stage, as has actor and sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tor Alan Alda. And this past March, in a sold-out, high­ly-antic­i­pat­ed Ori­gins Project event, Krauss wel­comed Noam Chom­sky to the stage for a lengthy inter­view, which you can watch above.

Although Krauss says he’s wary of hero wor­ship in his lauda­to­ry intro­duc­tion, he nonethe­less finds him­self ask­ing “What Would Noam Chom­sky Do” when faced with a dilem­ma. He also points out that Chom­sky has been “mar­gin­al­ized in U.S. media” for his anti-war, anar­chist polit­i­cal views. Those views, of course, come wide­ly into play dur­ing the con­ver­sa­tion, which ranges from the the­o­ry and pur­pose of education—a sub­ject Chom­sky has expound­ed on a great deal in books and inter­views—to the fate of polit­i­cal dis­si­dents through­out his­to­ry.

Chom­sky also gives us his views on sci­ence and tech­nol­o­gy, par­tic­u­lar­ly in the Q&A por­tion of the talk above, in which he answers ques­tions about arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence—anoth­er sub­ject he’s touched on in the past—and ani­mal exper­i­men­ta­tion, among a great many oth­er top­ics. Krauss most­ly hangs back dur­ing the ini­tial dis­cus­sion but takes a more active role in the ses­sion above, offer­ing views on med­ical and sci­en­tif­ic ethics that will be famil­iar to those who fol­low his athe­ist activism and cham­pi­oning of ratio­nal­i­ty over reli­gious dog­ma.

What you won’t see in the video above is a con­ver­sa­tion Chom­sky and Krauss had with Moth­er­board’s Daniel Ober­haus, who caught up with both thinkers dur­ing the ASU event to get their take on what he calls “anoth­er great space race.” As Ober­haus makes clear, the cur­rent com­pe­ti­tion is not nec­es­sar­i­ly between glob­al super­pow­ers, but—as with so much mod­ern research and development—between pub­lic and pri­vate enti­ties, such as NASA and Space X. As we briefly dis­cussed in a post yes­ter­day on the huge amount of pub­lic domain space pho­tog­ra­phy freely avail­able for use, pri­vate space explo­ration makes research pro­pri­etary, mit­i­gat­ing the poten­tial pub­lic ben­e­fits of gov­ern­ment pro­grams.

As Chom­sky puts it, “the envi­ron­ment, the com­mons… they’re a com­mon pos­ses­sion, but space is even more so. For indi­vid­u­als to allow insti­tu­tions like cor­po­ra­tions to have any con­trol over it is dev­as­tat­ing in its con­se­quences. It will also almost cer­tain­ly under­mine seri­ous research.” He refers to the exam­ple of most mod­ern computing—developed under pub­licly-fund­ed gov­ern­ment pro­grams, then mar­ket­ed and sold back to us by cor­po­ra­tions. Krauss makes a case for unmanned space explo­ration as the cost-effec­tive option, and both thinkers dis­cuss the prob­lem of mil­i­ta­riz­ing space, the ulti­mate goal of Cold War space pro­grams before the fall of the Sovi­et Union. The con­ver­sa­tion is rich and reveal­ing and makes an excel­lent sup­ple­ment to the already rich dis­cus­sion Krauss and Chom­sky have in the videos above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ori­gins Project Brings Togeth­er Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Richard Dawkins, Lawrence Krauss, Bill Nye, Ira Fla­tow, and More on One Stage

Noam Chom­sky Spells Out the Pur­pose of Edu­ca­tion

Noam Chom­sky Explains Where Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Went Wrong

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

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