Hear The Cinnamon Bear, the Classic Holiday Radio Series That Has Aired Between Thanksgiving and Christmas for 80 Years

Eighty years ago, just after Thanks­giv­ing, chil­dren across Amer­i­ca turned on their radios and heard a cou­ple of voic­es very much like their own: those of Judy and Jim­my Bar­ton, a sis­ter and broth­er eager­ly com­pos­ing their wish lists to send off to San­ta Claus. Judy asks for a veloci­pede, seem­ing­ly a hot item in 1937 but not even a rec­og­niz­able word to most of the chil­dren who’ve lis­tened to the broad­cast in hol­i­day sea­sons since. Despite the occa­sion­al such archaism, The Cin­na­mon Bear, the series in which Judy and Jim­my star, con­tin­ues to enchant not just gen­er­a­tion after gen­er­a­tion of kids, but also those grown-ups among us who savor the oppor­tu­ni­ties this time of year affords to more ful­ly appre­ci­ate time­less child­hood plea­sures.

The Cin­na­mon Bear fol­lows the adven­tures of Judy and Jim­my as they search for the lost sil­ver star that tops their Christ­mas tree. They first check the attic, there encoun­ter­ing the title ani­mal: Pad­dy O’Cin­na­mon, an Irish-accent­ed ted­dy bear with a ten­den­cy to great­ly over­es­ti­mate his own fear­some­ness but an inde­fati­ga­ble spir­it of ser­vice as well. He even helps the Bar­ton chil­dren “de-grow” to minia­ture size in order to take the hunt to his home of May­be­land, a hid­den fan­ta­sy realm inhab­it­ed by such eccentrics, harm­less and oth­er­wise, as the Crazy Quilt Drag­on, the Roly-Poly Police­man, the Win­ter­green Witch, Oliv­er Ostrich (pre­pared with a musi­cal num­ber about his love of scram­bled alarm clocks and bacon), a fly­ing hat, and even San­ta Claus him­self.

But Pad­dy O’Cin­na­mon and the kids don’t meet jol­ly old Saint Nick until the prop­er time: Christ­mas day, on which the orig­i­nal broad­cast of The Cin­na­mon Bear con­clud­ed. The first fif­teen-minute episode aired on Novem­ber 26, 1937, with the sto­ry con­tin­u­ing six days a week until the big hol­i­day. Pro­duced in Hol­ly­wood by radio syn­di­ca­tor Transco and writ­ten, songs and all, by the hus­band-wife team of Glanville and Eliz­a­beth Heisch, it ini­tial­ly found local spon­sor­ship across the coun­try from depart­ment stores, some of whom paid for many years of repeat broad­casts and even put up Cin­na­mon Bear-themed dis­plays and events along with their San­ta Claus­es. (The now long-defunct Lip­man’s of Port­land, Ore­gon got into it in a big way, estab­lish­ing the show as some­thing of a tra­di­tion in the city, where Cin­na­mon Bear Christ­mas riv­er cruis­es run to this day.)

With Christ­mas over, the chil­dren of 1937 had no choice but to wait almost an entire year before they could hear The Cin­na­mon Bear again. Grow­ing up myself about half a cen­tu­ry lat­er, I had the show as a box set of cas­sette tapes to which I binged-lis­tened on a few dif­fer­ent hol­i­day sea­sons. But now, with seem­ing­ly the entire gold­en age of radio freely avail­able on the inter­net, kids and any­one else besides can lis­ten how­ev­er and when­ev­er they like. You’ll find all 26 episodes of The Cin­na­mon Bear on the Inter­net Archive, as a Youtube playlist, and even as a pod­cast on iTunes. (You can stream them all above.) This year, on the 80th anniver­sary of the orig­i­nal broad­cast, why not “air” it for you and yours as those first lis­ten­ers heard it, once an evening except Sat­ur­days, until Decem­ber 25th? Though each episode may be in doubt as to whether Judy and Jim­my will ever recov­er the sil­ver star, it’s no spoil­er to say that, with the assis­tance of Pad­dy O’Cinnamon, they do find their way to a mem­o­rable Christ­mas indeed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Christ­mas Car­ol, A Vin­tage Radio Broad­cast by Orson Welles and Lionel Bar­ry­more (1939)

Hear “Twas The Night Before Christ­mas” Read by Stephen Fry & John Cleese

Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christ­mas” Read by Date­line’s Kei­th Mor­ri­son

Wal­ter Benjamin’s Radio Plays for Kids (1929–1932)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

What Happens When a Jazz Musician Accidentally Texts His Wife with Voice Recognition…While Playing the Trombone

 

A cou­ple of days ago, Paul Now­ell (aka Paul the Trom­bon­ist) sent out this sim­ple tweet, show­ing what hap­pened when his iPhone’s voice recog­ni­tion sys­tem hap­pened to cap­ture his trom­bone ses­sion and turned it into words. The tweet went viral. And now, 65,000 “Retweets” and 198,000 “Likes” lat­er, you can see how the orig­i­nal record­ing ses­sion went down. Enjoy the demo below:

 

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Miles Davis Dish­es Dirt on His Fel­low Jazz Musi­cians: “The Trom­bone Play­er Should be Shot”; That Ornette is “F‑ing Up the Trum­pet”

Farmer Ser­e­nades Cows by Play­ing Lorde’s “Roy­als” on the Trom­bone

Direc­tor Michel Gondry Makes a Charm­ing Film on His iPhone, Prov­ing That We Could Be Mak­ing Movies, Not Tak­ing Self­ies

Watch At the Museum, MoMA’s 8‑Part Documentary on What it Takes to Run a World-Class Museum

If you’ve ever vis­it­ed the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art — and prob­a­bly even if you haven’t — you’ll have a sense that the place does­n’t exact­ly run itself. As much or even more so than oth­er muse­ums, MoMA keeps the behind-the-scenes oper­a­tions behind the scenes, pre­sent­ing vis­i­tors with coher­ent art expe­ri­ences that seem to have mate­ri­al­ized whole. But that very puri­ty of pre­sen­ta­tion itself stokes our curios­i­ty: No, real­ly, how do they do it? Now, MoMA has offered us a chance to see for our­selves through a new series of short doc­u­men­taries called At the Muse­um, a look at and a lis­ten to the nuts and bolts of one of Amer­i­ca’s most­ly high­ly regard­ed art insti­tu­tions.

The series, which will run to eight episodes total, has released four thus far. In “Ship­ping & Receiv­ing,” some of the muse­um’s staff pre­pare 200 works of art in its col­lec­tion to ship to Paris for a spe­cial exhi­bi­tion at the Louis Vuit­ton Foun­da­tion while oth­ers get new shows installed at MoMA itself.

In “The Mak­ing of Max Ernst,” a cou­ple of cura­tors design a show of work by that sur­re­al­ist painter-sculp­tor-poet. In “Press­ing Mat­ters,” the open­ing of both the Ernst exhi­bi­tion, “Beyond Paint­ing,” and “Louise Bour­geois: An Unfold­ing Por­trait” fast approach, but sev­er­al impor­tant deci­sions remain to be made as well as works to be installed. In “Art Speaks,” MoMA staff and vis­i­tors take a step back and con­tem­plate the pur­pose of mod­ern art itself.

At the Muse­um could have assumed a high­ly tra­di­tion­al form, stop­ping method­i­cal­ly to wit­ness the dai­ly labors of every­one from MoMA’s direc­tors to cura­tors to installers to secu­ri­ty guards as nar­ra­tion earnest­ly explains to us their place in the art ecosys­tem. From the very first episode, how­ev­er, the series takes a dif­fer­ent and much more com­pelling tack, pro­vid­ing an uncom­ment­ed-upon series of fly-on-the-wall views of MoMA peo­ple at work, eaves­drop­ping on their con­ver­sa­tions, and occa­sion­al­ly weav­ing in their reflec­tions spo­ken direct­ly to the film­mak­ers. But just as the expe­ri­ence of MoMA changes with each new exhi­bi­tion, so does the form of At the Muse­um with each new episode, one of which will con­tin­ue appear­ing every Fri­day until Decem­ber 15th. Watch them all (here), and you’ll nev­er look at MoMA, or indeed any oth­er muse­um, in quite the same way.

At the Muse­um will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Browse Every Art Exhi­bi­tion Held at MoMA Since 1929 with the New “MoMA Exhi­bi­tion Spe­lunk­er”

The Muse­um of Mod­ern Art (MoMA) Puts Online 75,000 Works of Mod­ern Art

The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Puts 400,000 High-Res Images Online & Makes Them Free to Use

Kids Record Audio Tours of NY’s Muse­um of Mod­ern Art (with Some Sil­ly Results)

Muse­um of Mod­ern Art (MoMA) Launch­es Free Course on Look­ing at Pho­tographs as Art

Free: The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art and the Guggen­heim Offer 474 Free Art Books Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch the Illustrated Version of “Alice’s Restaurant,” Arlo Guthrie’s Thanksgiving Counterculture Classic

Alice’s Restau­rant. It’s now a Thanks­giv­ing clas­sic, and some­thing of a tra­di­tion around here. Record­ed in 1967, the 18+ minute coun­ter­cul­ture song recounts Arlo Guthrie’s real encounter with the law, start­ing on Thanks­giv­ing Day 1965. As the long song unfolds, we hear all about how a hip­pie-bat­ing police offi­cer, by the name of William “Obie” Oban­hein, arrest­ed Arlo for lit­ter­ing. (Cul­tur­al foot­note: Obie pre­vi­ous­ly posed for sev­er­al Nor­man Rock­well paint­ings, includ­ing the well-known paint­ing, “The Run­away,” that graced a 1958 cov­er of The Sat­ur­day Evening Post.) In fair­ly short order, Arlo pleads guilty to a mis­de­meanor charge, pays a $25 fine, and cleans up the thrash. But the sto­ry isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Lat­er, when Arlo (son of Woody Guthrie) gets called up for the draft, the pet­ty crime iron­i­cal­ly becomes a basis for dis­qual­i­fy­ing him from mil­i­tary ser­vice in the Viet­nam War. Guthrie recounts this with some bit­ter­ness as the song builds into a satir­i­cal protest against the war: “I’m sit­tin’ here on the Group W bench ’cause you want to know if I’m moral enough to join the Army, burn women, kids, hous­es and vil­lages after bein’ a lit­ter­bug.” And then we’re back to the cheery cho­rus again: “You can get any­thing you want, at Alice’s Restau­rant.”

We have fea­tured Guthrie’s clas­sic dur­ing past years. But, for this Thanks­giv­ing, we give you the illus­trat­ed ver­sion. Hap­py Thanks­giv­ing to every­one who plans to cel­e­brate the hol­i­day today.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Dylan’s Thanks­giv­ing Radio Show: A Playlist of 18 Delec­table Songs

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His Sar­cas­tic “Thanks­giv­ing Prayer” in a 1988 Film By Gus Van Sant

Mar­i­lyn Monroe’s Hand­writ­ten Turkey-and-Stuff­ing Recipe

William Shat­ner Raps About How to Not Kill Your­self Deep Fry­ing a Turkey

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 13 Tips for What to Do with Your Left­over Thanks­giv­ing Turkey

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Watch Classical Music Get Perfectly Visualized as an Emotional Roller Coaster Ride

When the Zurich Cham­ber Orches­tra aka the Zürcher Kam­merorch­ester want­ed to pro­mote its new sea­son in 2012 it com­mis­sioned stu­dio Vir­tu­al Repub­lic to think about lis­ten­ing to a sym­pho­ny as a ride, or more exact­ly an emo­tion­al roller­coast­er. And it returned with this brief inter­pre­ta­tion of the first vio­lin score for the fourth move­ment of Fer­di­nand Ries’ Sec­ond Sym­pho­ny.

It might not be as easy to fol­low as the Music Ani­ma­tion Machine we post­ed about last week, but the build­ing crescen­do of the violin’s line makes for a love­ly ascent, but once over the peak, the furi­ous drop is all ver­tig­i­nous runs until its sud­den stop.

Or as Vir­tu­al Repub­lic described their own work:

The notes and bars were exact­ly syn­chro­nized with the pro­gres­sion in the ani­ma­tion so that the typ­i­cal move­ments of a roller­coast­er ride match the dra­mat­ic com­po­si­tion of the music.

The pro­duc­tion company’s Vimeo page shows a lot of domes­tic prod­uct com­mer­cial CGI work, from dish­wash­ers to paint, so the chance to jump on some­thing a bit more artis­tic must have been a relief.

Watch a Mak­ing-of video below…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Clas­si­cal Music Come to Life in Art­ful­ly Ani­mat­ed Scores: Stravin­sky, Debussy, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart & More

Watch “Geom­e­try of Cir­cles,” the Abstract Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion Scored by Philip Glass (1979)

Philo­graph­ics Presents a Visu­al Dic­tio­nary of Phi­los­o­phy: 95 Philo­soph­i­cal Con­cepts as Graph­ic Designs

Net Neutrality Explained and Defended in a Doodle-Filled Video by Vi Hart: The Time to Save the Open Web is Now

By the end of Decem­ber, net neu­tral­i­ty may be a thing of the past. We’ll pay the price. You’ll pay the price. Com­cast, Ver­i­zon and AT&T will make out like ban­dits.

If you need a quick reminder of what net neu­tral­i­ty is, what ben­e­fits it brings and what you stand to lose, watch Vi Hart’s 11-minute explain­er above. It lays things out quite well. Then, once you have a han­dle on things, write or call Con­gress now and make a last stand for the open web.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

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The 1991 Tokyo Museum Exhibition That Was Only Accessible by Telephone, Fax & Modem: Features Works by Laurie Anderson, John Cage, William S. Burroughs, J.G. Ballard & Merce Cunningham

The deep­er we get into the 21st cen­tu­ry, the more ener­gy and resources muse­ums put into dig­i­tiz­ing their offer­ings and mak­ing them avail­able, free and world­wide, as vir­tu­al expe­ri­ences on the inter­net. But what form would a vir­tu­al muse­um have tak­en before the inter­net as we know it today? Japan­ese telecom­mu­ni­ca­tions giant NTT (best known today in the form of the cell­phone ser­vice provider NTT DoCo­Mo) devel­oped one answer to that ques­tion in 1991: The Muse­um Inside the Tele­phone Net­work, an elab­o­rate art exhib­it acces­si­ble nowhere in the phys­i­cal world but every­where in Japan by tele­phone, fax, and even — in a high­ly lim­it­ed, pre-World-Wide-Web fash­ion — com­put­er modem.

“The works and mes­sages from almost 100 artists, writ­ers, and cul­tur­al fig­ures were avail­able through five chan­nels,” says Mono­skop, where you can down­load The Muse­um Inside the Tele­phone Net­work’s cat­a­log (also avail­able in high res­o­lu­tion). “The works in ‘Voice & sound chan­nel’ such as talks and read­ings on the theme of com­mu­ni­ca­tion could be lis­tened to by tele­phone. The ‘Inter­ac­tive chan­nel’ offered par­tic­i­pants to cre­ate musi­cal tunes by push­ing but­tons on a tele­phone. Works of art, nov­els, comics and essays could be received at home through ‘Fax chan­nel.’ The ‘Live chan­nel’ offered artists’ live per­for­mances and tele­phone dia­logues between invit­ed intel­lec­tu­als to be heard by tele­phone. Addi­tion­al­ly, com­put­er graph­ics works could be accessed by modem and down­loaded to one’s per­son­al com­put­er screen for view­ing.”

“We need to rec­og­nize hon­est­ly that there were numer­ous prob­lems with The Muse­um Inside the Tele­phone Net­work,” writes cura­tor and crit­ic Asa­da Aki­ra in the cat­a­log’s intro­duc­tion. “Nei­ther the prepa­ra­tion time nor the means for car­ry­ing it out was suf­fi­cient. Thus there were not a few cre­ative artists whose par­tic­i­pa­tion would have been a great asset to the project, but whom we were forced to do with­out.” Yet its list of con­trib­u­tors, which still reads like a Who’s-Who of the avant-garde and oth­er­wise adven­tur­ous cre­ators of the day, includes archi­tects like Isoza­ki Ara­ta and Ren­zo Piano, musi­cians like Lau­rie Ander­son and Sakamo­to Ryuichi, direc­tors like Kuro­sawa Kiyoshi and Derek Jar­man, writ­ers like William S. Bur­roughs and J.G. Bal­lard, com­posers like John Cage and Philip Glass, chore­o­g­ra­phers like William Forsythe, Mer­ce Cun­ning­ham, and visu­al artists like Yokoo Tadanori and Jeff Koons.

The Muse­um Inside the Tele­phone Net­work launched as the first ven­ture of NTT’s Inter­Com­mu­ni­ca­tion Cen­ter (ICC), a “21st-cen­tu­ry muse­um that will pro­vide inter­face between sci­ence and tech­nol­o­gy and art and cul­ture in the com­ing elec­tron­ic age,” as Asa­da described it in 1991. Hav­ing recent­ly cel­e­brat­ed its 20th year open in Toky­o’s Opera City Tow­er, the ICC con­tin­ues to put on a vari­ety of non-vir­tu­al exhi­bi­tions very much in the spir­it of the orig­i­nal, and involv­ing some of the very same artists as well (as of this writ­ing, they’re ready­ing a music instal­la­tion co-cre­at­ed by Sakamo­to). But offline or on, any union of art and tech­nol­o­gy is only as inter­est­ing as the spir­it moti­vat­ing it, and the cre­ators of such projects would do well to keep in mind the words of The Muse­um Inside the Tele­phone Net­work con­trib­u­tor Kon­dou Kou­ji: “I hope that peo­ple will think of this as the expe­ri­ence of acci­den­tal­ly drift­ing into a tele­phone net­work, where­in awaits a vast world of plea­sure and fun.”

via @monoskop

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of the 1913 Exhi­bi­tion That Intro­duced Avant-Garde Art to Amer­i­ca

Take a Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Tour of the World’s Stolen Art

Japan­ese Com­put­er Artist Makes “Dig­i­tal Mon­dri­ans” in 1964: When Giant Main­frame Com­put­ers Were First Used to Cre­ate Art

Good Morn­ing, Mr. Orwell: Nam June Paik’s Avant-Garde New Year’s Cel­e­bra­tion with Lau­rie Ander­son, John Cage, Peter Gabriel & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A Digital Archive of 1,800+ Children’s Books from UCLA

In the ear­ly 18th cen­tu­ry, the nov­el was seen as a friv­o­lous and triv­ial form at best, a moral­ly cor­rupt­ing one at worst. Giv­en that the pri­ma­ry read­ers of nov­els were women, the belief smacks of patri­ar­chal con­de­scen­sion and a kind of thought con­trol. Fic­tion is a place where read­ers can imag­i­na­tive­ly live out fan­tasies and tragedies through the eyes of an imag­ined oth­er. Respectable mid­dle-class women were expect­ed instead to read con­duct man­u­als and devo­tion­als.

Eng­lish nov­el­ist Samuel Richard­son sought to bring respectabil­i­ty to his art in the form of Pamela in 1740, a nov­el which began as a con­duct man­u­al and whose sub­ti­tle rather blunt­ly states the moral of the sto­ry: “Virtue Reward­ed.”

This mor­al­iz­ing expressed itself in anoth­er lit­er­ary form as well. Children’s books, such as there were, also tend­ed toward the moral­is­tic and didac­tic, in attempts to steer their read­ers away from the dan­gers of what was then called “enthu­si­asm.”

“Pri­or to the mid-eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry,” notes the UCLA Children’s Book Col­lec­tion—a dig­i­tal repos­i­to­ry of over 1800 children’s books dat­ing from 1728 to 1999—“books were rarely cre­at­ed specif­i­cal­ly for chil­dren, and children’s read­ing was gen­er­al­ly con­fined to lit­er­a­ture intend­ed for their edu­ca­tion and moral edi­fi­ca­tion rather than for their amuse­ment. Reli­gious works, gram­mar books, and ‘cour­tesy books’ (which offered instruc­tion on prop­er behav­ior) were vir­tu­al­ly the only ear­ly books direct­ed at chil­dren.” But a change was in the mak­ing in the mid­dle of the cen­tu­ry.

Pamela attract­ed a rib­ald, even porno­graph­ic, response—most notably in Hen­ry Fielding’s satire An Apol­o­gy for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews and the Mar­quis de Sade’s Jus­tine Mean­while, the world of children’s lit­er­a­ture also under­went a rad­i­cal shift. “The notion of plea­sure in learn­ing was becom­ing more wide­ly accept­ed.” Illus­tra­tions, pre­vi­ous­ly “con­sist­ing of small wood­cut vignettes,” slow­ly began to move to the fore, and “inno­va­tions in typog­ra­phy and print­ing allowed greater free­dom in repro­duc­ing art.”

That’s not to say that the didac­tic atti­tude was dispelled—we see codes of con­duct and overt reli­gious themes embed­ded in children’s lit­er­a­ture through­out the 19th cen­tu­ry. But as we point­ed out in a post on anoth­er children’s book archive from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Flori­da, the more staid and tra­di­tion­al books increas­ing­ly com­pet­ed with adven­ture sto­ries, works of fan­ta­sy, and what we call today Young Adult lit­er­a­ture like that of Mark Twain and Louisa May Alcott. You can see this ten­sion in the UCLA col­lec­tion, between plea­sure and duty, leisure and work, and edu­ca­tion as moral and social train­ing and as a means of achiev­ing per­son­al free­dom.

Of the adult lit­er­ary imag­i­na­tion of the time, Leo Bersani writes in A Future for Astyanax that “the con­fronta­tion in nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry works between a struc­tured, social­ly viable and ver­bal­ly ana­lyz­able self and the wish to shat­ter psy­chic and social struc­tures pro­duces con­sid­er­able stress and con­flict.” I think we can see a sim­i­lar con­flict, expressed much more play­ful­ly, in books for chil­dren of the past two hun­dred years or so. Enter the UCLA col­lec­tion, which includes not only his­toric chil­dren’s books but present-day exhib­it cat­a­logs and more, here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Enter an Archive of 6,000 His­tor­i­cal Children’s Books, All Dig­i­tized and Free to Read Online

The First Children’s Pic­ture Book, 1658’s Orbis Sen­su­al­i­um Pic­tus

The Anti-Slav­ery Alpha­bet: 1846 Book Teach­es Kids the ABCs of Slavery’s Evils

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

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