Female Samurai Warriors Immortalized in 19th Century Japanese Photos

Most of my generation’s expo­sure to Japan­ese cul­ture came heav­i­ly medi­at­ed by ani­me and samu­rai films. One cul­tur­al arti­fact that stands out for me is TV minis­eries Shogun, an adap­ta­tion of James Clavell’s pop­u­lar nov­el, which gives us a view of Japan through the eyes of a British nov­el­ist and his British hero (played by Richard Cham­ber­lain in the film). Shogun depicts a feu­dal Japan­ese war­rior cul­ture cen­tered on exag­ger­at­ed dis­plays of mas­culin­i­ty, with women oper­at­ing in the mar­gins or behind the scenes.

Even the great Aki­ra Kurosawa’s visions of feu­dal Japan, like The Sev­en Samu­rai, are “not exact­ly inun­dat­ed with the stun­ning pow­er of female war­riors bran­dish­ing katanas,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds, “it’s a bit of a  ソーセージ-fest.”

And yet, it turns out, “such women did exist.” Known as onna bugeisha, these fight­ers “find their ear­li­est pre­cur­sor in Empress Jingū, who in 200 A.D. led an inva­sion of Korea after her hus­band Emper­or Chūai, the four­teenth emper­or of Japan, per­ished in bat­tle.” Empress Jingū’s exam­ple endured. In 1881, she became the first woman on Japan­ese cur­ren­cy.

Pre­ced­ing the all-male samu­rai class depict­ed in Clavell and Kuro­sawa, the onna bugeisha “learned to use nag­i­na­ta, kaiken, and the art of tan­to Jut­so in bat­tle,” the Vin­tage News tells us. Rather than pay mer­ce­nar­ies to defend them, as the ter­ri­fied towns­folk do in Sev­en Samu­rai, these women trained in bat­tle to pro­tect “com­mu­ni­ties that lacked male fight­ers.”

The onna bugeisha’s eth­ic was as pur­port­ed­ly as uncom­pro­mis­ing as the samu­rai, and it shows in these fierce por­traits from the 1800s. Although many tales of promi­nent onna bugeisha come from the 12th-13th cen­turies, one famous fig­ure, Nakano Takeko lived in the 19th cen­tu­ry, writes Dan­ger­ous Minds, and died quite the war­rior’s death:

While she was lead­ing a charge against Impe­r­i­al Japan­ese Army troops she was shot in the chest. Know­ing her remain­ing time on earth to be short, Takeko asked her sis­ter, Yūko, to cut her head off and have it buried rather than per­mit the ene­my to seize it as a tro­phy. It was tak­en to Hōkai Tem­ple and buried under­neath a pine tree.

Anoth­er revered fight­er, Tomoe Gozen, appears in The Tale of the Heike (often called the “Japan­ese Ili­ad). She is described as “espe­cial­ly beau­ti­ful,” and also as “a remark­ably strong archer… as a swordswoman she was a war­rior worth a thou­sand, ready to con­front a demon or a god, mount­ed or on foot.”

In the pho­tos here—and many more at The Vin­tage News—we get a sense of what such a leg­endary badass may have looked like.

 

via Vin­tage News/Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hand-Col­ored 1860s Pho­tographs Reveal the Last Days of Samu­rai Japan

Leg­endary Japan­ese Author Yukio Mishi­ma Mus­es About the Samu­rai Code (Which Inspired His Hap­less 1970 Coup Attempt)

How Aki­ra Kurosawa’s Sev­en Samu­rai Per­fect­ed the Cin­e­mat­ic Action Scene: A New Video Essay

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

Meet Theda Bara, the First “Vamp” of Cinema, Who Revealed the Erotic Power of the Movies

Read­ers of a cer­tain gen­er­a­tion, asked to envi­sion a vam­pir­i­cal­ly allur­ing lady of cin­e­ma, may find their imag­i­na­tions going straight to Elvi­ra, Mis­tress of the Dark. But the tra­di­tion of the sil­ver-screen “vamp” goes much deep­er, reach­ing all the way back to the silent era. The term itself was first coined to refer to The­da Bara, not exact­ly a house­hold name now, but then in a league with Char­lie Chap­lin and Mary Pick­ford. She was one of the most pop­u­lar per­form­ers alive.

Bara revealed to a gen­er­a­tion of movie­go­ers the sheer erot­ic pow­er of cin­e­ma, an accom­plish­ment you can glimpse in the clip above of 1915’s A Fool There Was, the pic­ture that made her an icon. The minute she arrives on screen, writes The Guardian’s Kira Cochrane, “it becomes obvi­ous why she was so pop­u­lar — why she went on to have songs writ­ten about her, chil­dren named after her, a per­fume and even a sand­wich (minced ham, may­on­naise, sliced pimen­to and sweet pick­les on toast — served warm) cre­at­ed in her hon­our.” Her face, though it may not seem so notable at first, soon “comes into its own — so much so that when you learn that her char­ac­ter’s malev­o­lence has led one man to jail, anoth­er to beg­gary, and her most recent vic­tim to a very pub­lic sui­cide, you believe it.”

Frank Pow­ell, direc­tor of A Fool There Was, “took a chance on a 29 year-old The­da (she lied and said she was 25)” by ask­ing her to star, writes Messy Nessy’s Addi­son Nugent. “It’s the sto­ry of a devot­ed fam­i­ly man who, while on a ship to Eng­land, meets a beau­ti­ful stranger referred to only as ‘The Vam­pire Woman.’ This mys­te­ri­ous crea­ture cor­rupts his soul, destroys his fam­i­ly, drains him of all of his mon­ey and dig­ni­ty, and even­tu­al­ly caus­es his demise.”

And so the for­mer Theo­dosia Good­man — with some assis­tance from Fox Stu­dios’ PR team, who “plant­ed false sto­ries in the press and invent­ed a fan­ta­sy back­sto­ry for her” — swift­ly became a new kind of femme fatale for this new artis­tic and com­mer­cial medi­um. These dan­ger­ous young women, write the New York his­to­ry pod­cast­ers the Bow­ery Boys, “were the spir­i­tu­al chil­dren of the pri­or gen­er­a­tion of new­ly empow­ered women who fought against the con­straints of Vic­to­ri­an soci­ety. A few years lat­er, as anoth­er vein of female pow­er (the tem­per­ance move­ment) helped bring about Pro­hi­bi­tion, these young women would be called flap­pers, care­free and fueled on the pow­ers of jazz and ille­gal alco­hol.”

Dur­ing her dozen-year-long screen career, Bara made some forty films in total, most of them lost in the Fox vault fire of 1937, includ­ing the 1917 epic Cleopa­tra, a few frag­ments of which you can see in the video above. Her final appear­ance, in 1926’s Madame Mys­tery, both par­o­died the vamp image she could nev­er quite shake and saw her bid farewell to the world of silent cin­e­ma. “Before pic­tures grew up and start­ed to talk, we had to trans­late all our motion into pan­tomime,” said Bara her­self in a lat­er radio inter­view. “We had to express jeal­ousy, hate, love, or devo­tion all in pan­tomime, and at the same time keep pace as the direc­tor guid­ed us just as a metronome guides a pianist.”

The vamp, as Bara played and defined the fig­ure, expressed all those emo­tions with a fear­some vivid­ness, and she “became so syn­ony­mous with the term that she is now referred to as the orig­i­nal on-screen vamp,” writes Cochrane, “the woman who made per­for­mances such as that of Louise Brooks in Pan­do­ra’s Box, Bar­bara Stan­wyck in Dou­ble Indem­ni­ty and Lin­da Fiorenti­no in The Last Seduc­tion pos­si­ble.” Or as the orig­i­nal vamp summed up her own lega­cy, “To be good is to be for­got­ten. I’m going to be so bad I’ll always be remem­bered.”

A Fool There Was will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch After the Ball, the 1897 “Adult” Film by Pio­neer­ing Direc­tor Georges Méliès (Almost NSFW)

Broke­back Before Broke­back: The First Same-Sex Kiss in Cin­e­ma (1927)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Theater Dictionary: A Free Video Guide to Theatre Lingo

It’s 11 o’clock. Do you know where your show­stop­pers are? Or, more to the point, do you know why a musi­cal-com­e­dy writ­ing team seeks to ori­ent its show­stop­ping num­ber at “eleven o’clock”?

The The­ater Devel­op­ment Fund’s The­atre Dic­tio­nary is an ongo­ing attempt to define and doc­u­ment the­ater terms for both the rab­ble and any bud­ding prac­ti­tion­ers who’ve yet to mas­ter the lin­go.

Each term is accom­pa­nied by a loopy slap­dash skit. Not all of the per­form­ers exhib­it the pedi­gree Veron­i­ca J. Kuehn and Nick Kohn of Avenue Q bring to “Eleven O’Clock Num­ber,” above, but cast­ing admin­is­tra­tors and tick­et booth reps in star­ring roles lend a homey egal­i­tar­i­an­ism, such as when stu­dents from the Yale School of Drama’s Depart­ment of Dra­matur­gy and Dra­mat­ic Crit­i­cism are giv­en free license to explore the ori­gins of “vom.”

(This loosey goosey approach also allows for uncred­it­ed appear­ances by oth­er the­atri­cal tropes—the marathon rehearsals where pop­corn con­sti­tutes lunch and one actor repeat­ed­ly com­plains that his work has been insuf­fi­cient­ly acknowl­edged.)

A “What Does This Word Mean” tab for each term anchors the video silli­ness, pro­vid­ing his­tor­i­cal and anec­do­tal con­text. It’s in keep­ing with the Dictionary’s greater goal of bring­ing the­ater to the peo­ple, let­ting every­one play with the toys.

Some of the def­i­n­i­tions are prac­ti­cal short­hand…

Oth­ers are couched in long­time, pos­si­bly archa­ic the­ater lore…

I’d exer­cise cau­tion with some of this lin­go. Even though many of these terms are born of prac­ti­cal­i­ty, overus­ing them may cause oth­ers to view you as the most obnox­ious of self-declared Triple Threats, the kid in the com­e­dy-tragedy mask sweat­shirt, prone to belt­ing out the entire sound­track of CATS at the slight­est provo­ca­tion. (“Thanks, 5!!!”)

Some of these terms have unex­pect­ed crossover appeal, most recent­ly Ghost Light, above. Know­ing the mean­ing of the term will help you bet­ter appre­ci­ate the pow­er of the Ghost­light Project, a post-elec­tion com­ing togeth­er of the­ater artists and audi­ences in defense and sup­port of vul­ner­a­ble com­mu­ni­ties.

You can browse the The­ater Dic­tio­nary com­plete glos­sary here or watch the videos on TDF’s Youtube chan­nel.

The The­ater Dictionary’s FAQ con­tains infor­ma­tion on how pro­fes­sion­al the­atre com­pa­nies and orga­ni­za­tions and col­lege-lev­el the­atre pro­grams can apply to con­tribute a video.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

100,000+ Won­der­ful Pieces of The­ater Ephemera Dig­i­tized by The New York Pub­lic Library

Young Orson Welles Directs “Voodoo Mac­beth,” the First Shake­speare Pro­duc­tion With An All-Black Cast: Footage from 1936

Take a “Breath” and Watch Samuel Beckett’s One-Minute Play

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

A Free Online Course on Dante’s Divine Comedy from Yale University

Over the years, we’ve fea­tured the many draw­ings that have adorned the pages of Dan­te’s Divine Com­e­dy, from medieval times to mod­ern. Illus­tra­tions by Bot­ti­cel­li, Gus­tave Doré, William Blake and Mœbius, they’ve all got­ten their due. Less has been said here, how­ev­er, about the actu­al text itself. Per­haps the most impor­tant work in Ital­ian lit­er­a­ture, Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) wrote the Divine Com­e­dy (con­sist­ing of Infer­no, Pur­ga­to­rio, and Par­adiso) between the years 1308 and 1320. And that text is large­ly the sub­ject of Dante in Trans­la­tion, a free online course taught by Yale’s Giuseppe Maz­zot­ta. The course descrip­tion reads as fol­lows:

The course is an intro­duc­tion to Dante and his cul­tur­al milieu through a crit­i­cal read­ing of the Divine Com­e­dy and select­ed minor works (Vita nuo­va, Con­viv­io, De vul­gari elo­quen­tia, Epis­tle to Can­grande). An analy­sis of Dan­te’s auto­bi­og­ra­phy, the Vita nuo­va, estab­lish­es the poet­ic and polit­i­cal cir­cum­stances of the Com­e­dy’s com­po­si­tion. Read­ings of Infer­no, Pur­ga­to­ry and Par­adise seek to sit­u­ate Dan­te’s work with­in the intel­lec­tu­al and social con­text of the late Mid­dle Ages, with spe­cial atten­tion paid to polit­i­cal, philo­soph­i­cal and the­o­log­i­cal con­cerns. Top­ics in the Divine Com­e­dy explored over the course of the semes­ter include the rela­tion­ship between ethics and aes­thet­ics; love and knowl­edge; and exile and his­to­ry.

You can watch the 24 lec­tures from the course above, or find them on YouTube and iTunes in video and audio for­mats. To get more infor­ma­tion on the course, includ­ing the syl­labus, vis­it this Yale web­site.

Pri­ma­ry texts used in this course include:

  • Dante. Divine Com­e­dy. Trans­lat­ed by John D. Sin­clair. New York: Oxford Uni­ver­si­ty Press, 1968.
  • Dante. Vita Nuo­va. Trans­lat­ed by Mark Musa. Bloom­ing­ton: Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty Press, 1973.

Dante in Trans­la­tion will be added to our list of Free Online Lit­er­a­ture cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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:

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy: A Free Course from Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty

William Blake’s Last Work: Illus­tra­tions for Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy (1827)

Botticelli’s 92 Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy

Alber­to Martini’s Haunt­ing Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy (1901–1944)

Hear Dante’s Infer­no Read Aloud by Influ­en­tial Poet & Trans­la­tor John Cia­r­di (1954)

Physics from Hell: How Dante’s Infer­no Inspired Galileo’s Physics

Watch L’Inferno (1911), Italy’s First Fea­ture Film and Per­haps the Finest Adap­ta­tion of Dante’s Clas­sic

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Why Time Seems to Speed Up as We Get Older: What the Research Says

No mat­ter what age we’ve attained, we can think back to child­hood and feel just how ago­niz­ing­ly long it then took for Christ­mas to come, for the school day to end, for a tray of cook­ies to come out of the oven. Mys­te­ri­ous as this appar­ent change in the speed of time may at first seem, it actu­al­ly makes a kind of intu­itive sense: one day rep­re­sents, at the age of fifty, a tenth of the pro­por­tion of the time we’ve expe­ri­enced so far than it does at the age of five. As our time­line length­ens, our per­cep­tion of cer­tain fixed units on that time­line — a minute, a year, a decade — short­ens.

But there are oth­er fac­tors in play as well. “Indi­vid­ual per­cep­tions of time are strong­ly influ­enced by our lev­el of focus, phys­i­cal state and mood,” write The Inde­pen­dent’s Muire­ann Irish and Claire O’Callaghan. “Just as ‘a watched pot nev­er boils,’ when we are con­cen­trat­ing on an event, time occa­sion­al­ly appears to pass more slow­ly than usu­al. This is also the case when we’re bored; time can seem to drag end­less­ly.” This might well con­tribute to the child­hood per­cep­tion of slow time, since kids have to spend so many of their days in the class­room, an envi­ron­ment that strikes most of them as express­ly designed to induce bore­dom.

In addi­tion, accord­ing to Sci­en­tif­ic Amer­i­can, “our brain encodes new expe­ri­ences, but not famil­iar ones, into mem­o­ry, and our ret­ro­spec­tive judg­ment of time is based on how many new mem­o­ries we cre­ate over a cer­tain peri­od. In oth­er words, the more new mem­o­ries we build on a week­end get­away, the longer that trip will seem in hind­sight.” The rel­a­tive­ly high fre­quen­cy of dis­tinc­tive mem­o­ries cre­at­ed ear­li­er in life and low fre­quen­cy of dis­tinc­tive mem­o­ries cre­at­ed lat­er in life means that “our ear­ly years tend to be rel­a­tive­ly over­rep­re­sent­ed in our auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal mem­o­ry and, on reflec­tion, seem to have last­ed longer.”

You can see some of the ideas and the­o­ries behind this almost uni­ver­sal­ly agreed-on sense that time speeds up as we grow old­er in the video from the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Chan­nel show Brain Games above. It also intro­duces a few new ones into the mix, con­nect­ing them all with how much ener­gy the brain uses to record which kinds of expe­ri­ences, sug­gest­ing that even a sense as fun­da­men­tal as the one we use to mark time has a great deal more com­plex­i­ty to it than we under­stand. Ulti­mate­ly, though, it all comes back to the words of no less a thinker on rel­a­tiv­i­ty than Albert Ein­stein: “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pret­ty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Clocks Changed Human­i­ty For­ev­er, Mak­ing Us Mas­ters and Slaves of Time

The Neu­ro­science & Psy­chol­o­gy of Pro­cras­ti­na­tion, and How to Over­come It

The Secret Pow­ers of Time

Free Online Psy­chol­o­gy & Neu­ro­science Cours­es

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Read Prince’s First Interview, Printed in His High School Newspaper (1976)

Two years before Prince released his first album For You and before he began his ascent into the funk-rock-pop pan­theon, he was a very tal­ent­ed, very ambi­tious, and occa­sion­al­ly frus­trat­ed high school senior at Cen­tral High in Min­neapo­lis. That’s where the school news­pa­per got him to sit for an inter­view, more of a char­ac­ter sketch, to talk about his hopes for a musi­cal career. You can read it below.

If Prince was charis­mat­ic enough to be picked up on the high school paper’s radar, he doesn’t let it show in the arti­cle.

Most­ly, he rues the loca­tion of his home town.

“I think it is very hard for a band to make it in this state, even if they’re good. Main­ly because there aren’t any big record com­pa­nies or stu­dios in this state. I real­ly feel that if we would have lived in Los Ange­les or New York or some oth­er big city, we would have got­ten over by now.”

By the ‘80s, of course, he had made Min­neapo­lis the cen­ter of his own musi­cal empire, and Pais­ley Park became his home, com­pound, and music stu­dio, the place where he would even­tu­al­ly pass away.

But he did like high school, accord­ing to him, because the music teach­ers let him do his own thing. Already a mul­ti-instru­men­tal­ist, the arti­cle finds Prince just start­ing to explore singing. This might be the most sur­pris­ing part of the piece. Prince’s range and the amount of char­ac­ter (and lit­er­al­ly char­ac­ters, male, female, or a mix) in his songs would lead you to believe that his voice came first.

Maybe some of the humil­i­ty came from his sta­tus in the high school band. The name Grand Cen­tral was inspired by Prince’s obses­sion with Gra­ham Cen­tral Sta­tion, whose bass play­er Lar­ry Gra­ham would lat­er join Prince’s ‘90s band and also con­vert him to become a Jehovah’s Wit­ness. Com­pet­ing for atten­tion was Mor­ris Day and André Cymone, who Prince would write for and pro­duce after he got his record con­tract. It was friend­ly but seri­ous com­pe­ti­tion.

To round out the arti­cle, Prince—who plays by ear—gets asked if he has any advice for fel­low stu­dents: “I advise any­one who wants to learn gui­tar to get a teacher unless they are very musi­cal­ly inclined. One should learn all their scales too. That is very impor­tant.”

You can read the full arti­cle below:

Nel­son Finds It “Hard To Become Known”

“I play with Grand Cen­tral Cor­po­ra­tion. I’ve been play­ing with them for two years,” Prince Nel­son, senior at Cen­tral, said. Prince start­ed play­ing piano at age sev­en and gui­tar when he got out of eighth grade.

Prince was born in Min­neapo­lis. When asked, he said, “I was born here, unfor­tu­nate­ly.” Why? “I think it is very hard for a band to make it in this state, even if they’re good. Main­ly because there aren’t any big record com­pa­nies or stu­dios in this state. I real­ly feel that if we would have lived in Los Ange­les or New York or some oth­er big city, we would have got­ten over by now.”

He likes Cen­tral a great deal, because his music teach­ers let him work on his own. He now is work­ing with Mr. Bick­ham, a music teacher at Cen­tral, but has been work­ing with Mrs. Doep­kes.

He plays sev­er­al instru­ments, such as gui­tar, bass, all key­boards, and drums. He also sings some­times, which he picked up recent­ly. He played sax­o­phone in sev­enth grade but gave it up. He regrets he did. He quit play­ing sax when school end­ed one sum­mer. He nev­er had time to prac­tice sax any­more when he went back to school. He does not play in the school band. Why? “I real­ly don’t have time to make the con­certs.”

Prince has a broth­er that goes to Cen­tral whose name is Duane Nel­son, who is more ath­let­i­cal­ly enthu­si­as­tic. He plays on the bas­ket­ball team and played on the foot­ball team. Duane is also a senior.

Prince plays by ear. “I’ve had about two lessons, but they didn’t help much. I think you’ll always be able to do what your ear tells you, so just think how great you’d be with lessons also,” he said.

“I advise any­one who wants to learn gui­tar to get a teacher unless they are very musi­cal­ly inclined. One should learn all their scales too. That is very impor­tant,” he con­tin­ued.

Prince would also like to say that his band is in the process of record­ing an album con­tain­ing songs they have com­posed. It should be released dur­ing the ear­ly part of the sum­mer.

“Even­tu­al­ly I would like to go to col­lege and start lessons again when I’m much old­er.”

via That Eric Alper

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Prince and Miles Davis’ Rarely-Heard Musi­cal Col­lab­o­ra­tions

Prince Plays Mind-Blow­ing Gui­tar Solos On “While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps” and “Amer­i­can Woman”

Prince (RIP) Per­forms Ear­ly Hits in a 1982 Con­cert: “Con­tro­ver­sy,” “I Wan­na Be Your Lover” & More

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.

George Orwell Explains How “Newspeak” Works, the Official Language of His Totalitarian Dystopia in 1984

As we not­ed yes­ter­day, and you like­ly noticed else­where, George Orwell’s clas­sic dystopi­an nov­el 1984 shot to the top of the charts—or the Ama­zon best­seller list—in the wake of “alter­na­tive facts,” the lat­est Orwellian coinage for bald-faced lying. The ridicu­lous phrase imme­di­ate­ly pro­duced a bar­rage of par­o­dies, hash­tags, and memes; healthy ways of vent­ing rage and dis­be­lief. But maybe there is a dan­ger there too, let­ting such words sink into the dis­course, lest they become what Orwell called “Newspeak.”

It’s easy to hear “Newspeak,” the “offi­cial lan­guage of Ocea­nia,” as “news speak.” This is per­fect­ly rea­son­able, but it gives us the impres­sion that it relates strict­ly to its appear­ance in mass media. Orwell obvi­ous­ly intend­ed the ambiguity—it is the lan­guage of offi­cial pro­pa­gan­da after all—but the port­man­teau actu­al­ly comes from the words “new speak”—and it has been cre­at­ed to super­sede “Old­speak,” Orwell writes, “or Stan­dard Eng­lish, as we should call it.”

In oth­er words, Newspeak isn’t just a set of buzz­words, but the delib­er­ate replace­ment of one set of words in the lan­guage for anoth­er. The tran­si­tion is still in progress in the fic­tion­al 1984, but is expect­ed to be com­plet­ed “by about the year 2050.” Stu­dents of his­to­ry and lin­guis­tics will rec­og­nize that this is a ludi­crous­ly accel­er­at­ed pace for the com­plete replace­ment of one vocab­u­lary and syn­tax by anoth­er. (We might call Orwell’s Eng­lish Social­ists “accel­er­a­tionsts.”) Newspeak appears not through his­to­ry or social change but through the will of the Par­ty.

The pur­pose of Newspeak was not only to pro­vide a medi­um of expres­sion for the world-view and men­tal habits prop­er to the devo­tees of Ing­soc, but to make all oth­er modes of thought impos­si­ble.

It’s entire­ly plau­si­ble that “alter­na­tive facts,” or “alt­facts,” would fit right into the “Ninth and Tenth Edi­tions of the Newspeak Dic­tio­nary,” though it might eas­i­ly fall out of favor and “be sup­pressed lat­er.” No telling if it would make the cut for “the final, per­fect­ed ver­sion” of Newspeak, “as embod­ied in the Eleventh Edi­tion of the Dic­tio­nary.”

These quo­ta­tions come not from the main text of 1984 but from an appen­dix called “The Prin­ci­ples of Newspeak,” which you can hear read at the top of the post. Here, Orwell dis­pas­sion­ate­ly dis­cuss­es the “per­fect­ed” form of Newspeak, includ­ing its gram­mat­i­cal “pecu­liar­i­ties,” such as “an almost com­plete inter­change­abil­i­ty between dif­fer­ent parts of speech” (an issue cur­rent trans­la­tors have encoun­tered). He then intro­duces its vocab­u­lary, divid­ed into “three dis­tinct class­es,” A, B, and C.

The A class con­tains “every­day life” words that have been mutat­ed with cum­ber­some pre­fix­es and inten­si­fiers: “uncold” for warm, “plus­cold and dou­ble­plus­cold” for “very cold” and “superla­tive­ly cold.” The B class con­tains the com­pound words: sin­is­ter dou­ble­think coinages like “joy­camp (forced-labor camp)” and “Mini­pax (Min­istry of Peace, i.e. Min­istry of War).” These, Orwell explains, are sim­i­lar to “the char­ac­ter­is­tic fea­tures of polit­i­cal lan­guage… in total­i­tar­i­an coun­tries” of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry.

The cit­i­zen of Ocea­nia, Orwell tells us, must have “an out­look sim­i­lar to that of the ancient Hebrew who knew, with­out know­ing much else, that all nations oth­er than his own wor­shipped ‘false gods’.… His sex­u­al life, for exam­ple, was entire­ly reg­u­lat­ed by the two Newspeak words sex­crime (sex­u­al immoral­i­ty) and good­sex (chasti­ty).” The lat­ter includ­ed only “inter­course between man and wife, for the sole pur­pose of beget­ting chil­dren, and with­out phys­i­cal plea­sure on the part of he woman: all else was sex­crime.

The C class of words may be the most insid­i­ous of all. While it “con­sist­ed entire­ly of sci­en­tif­ic and tech­ni­cal terms” that “resem­bled the sci­en­tif­ic terms in use today,” the Par­ty took care “to define them rigid­ly and strip them of unde­sir­able mean­ings.” For exam­ple,

There was no vocab­u­lary express­ing the func­tion of Sci­ence as a habit of mind, or a method of thought irre­spec­tive of its par­tic­u­lar branch­es. There was, indeed, no word for ‘Sci­ence,’ any mean­ing that it could pos­si­bly bear being already suf­fi­cient­ly cov­ered by the word Ing­soc.

Orwell then goes on to dis­cuss the dif­fi­cul­ty of trans­lat­ing the work of the past into Newspeak. He uses as an exam­ple the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence: “All mans are equal was a pos­si­ble Newspeak sen­tence,” but only in that “it expressed a pal­pa­ble untruth—i.e. that all men are of equal size, weight, or strength.” As for the rest of Thomas Jefferson’s rous­ing pre­am­ble, “it would have been quite impos­si­ble to ren­der this into Newspeak,” writes Orwell. “The near­est one could come to doing so would be to swal­low the whole pas­sage up in the sin­gle word crime­think.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

George Orwell’s 1984 Is Now the #1 Best­selling Book on Ama­zon

Han­nah Arendt Explains How Pro­pa­gan­da Uses Lies to Erode All Truth & Moral­i­ty: Insights from The Ori­gins of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism

Hux­ley to Orwell: My Hell­ish Vision of the Future is Bet­ter Than Yours (1949)

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

81-Year-Old Man Walks into a Guitar Shop & Starts Playing a Sublime Solo: Ignore the Talents of the Elderly at Your Own Peril

Last spring, I caught a Who con­cert in Oak­land, Cal­i­for­nia, on what hap­pened to be songwriter/guitarist Pete Town­shend’s 71st birth­day. Five songs into their set, the band played “My Generation”–yes, the song best known for the line “I hope I die before I get old”–and I could­n’t help but think: Town­shend’s play­ing with more inspi­ra­tion now than when I first saw The Who play in 1982. Bio­log­i­cal­ly, he’s sup­posed to be over the hill. Musi­cal­ly, he’s still play­ing a very fine rock gui­tar.

The same thought crossed my mind at Desert Trip, the Octo­ber mega con­cert held in Indio, Cal­i­for­nia. Fea­tur­ing The Rolling Stones, The Who (again), Paul McCart­ney, Neil Young and Roger Waters–in short, musi­cians all over the age of 70–Desert Trip became more col­lo­qui­al­ly known as “Old­chel­la.”

Even, Mick Jag­ger called it “the come and see us before we die tour.” And yet. And yet. Despite the jokes, they’re all still play­ing with verve, putting on tight, rous­ing shows. (I’ll admit that Bob Dylan is the notable excep­tion.)

So what’s the take­away? We can’t stop the clock. Even­tu­al­ly, we get old. Noth­ing we can do about that. But if you’ve got your health, if you’ve got the desire, if you’ve spent decades refin­ing your craft, then there’s no rea­son you can’t still do great work. That applies to musi­cians. (Wit­ness 81-year-old Bob Wood above). It also applies to oth­er parts of life, includ­ing our pro­fes­sion­al lives. Our cul­ture hasti­ly writes off the tal­ents and accu­mu­lat­ed expe­ri­ence of an entire gen­er­a­tion of peo­ple. But stop for a sec­ond. Watch the video above and extrap­o­late it to oth­er parts of life. Then think about all that gets need­less­ly lost.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Age Grace­ful­ly: No Mat­ter What Your Age, You Can Get Life Advice from Your Elders

This Is Your Brain on Exer­cise: Why Phys­i­cal Exer­cise (Not Men­tal Games) Might Be the Best Way to Keep Your Mind Sharp

Demen­tia Patients Find Some Eter­nal Youth in the Sounds of AC/DC

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