65,000 Fans Break Into a Singalong of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” at a Green Day Concert in London’s Hyde Park

Last week, Green Day played a mas­sive con­cert in Lon­don’s Hyde Park. But arguably the cli­max hap­pened before the band even took the stage. Pri­or to the show, the sta­di­um piped Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” through the speak­ers, at which point a mas­sive sin­ga­long got under­way. As one YouTu­ber put it, “Only Queen can rock a sta­di­um with­out even being there,” a tes­ta­ment to their endur­ing influ­ence. Enjoy the show.

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:

1910 Fair­ground Organ Plays Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody,” and It Works Like a Charm

Inside the Rhap­sody: A Short Doc­u­men­tary on the Mak­ing of Queen’s Clas­sic Song, ‘Bohemi­an Rhap­sody’ (2002)

Bohemi­an Grav­i­ty: String The­o­ry Explored With an A Cap­pel­la Ver­sion of Bohemi­an Rhap­sody

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New Archive Is Digitizing the Entirety of Phenomenology: Browse Works by Husserl, Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty and More

Chances are, if you can define the word phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy, you’re already a stu­dent of the 20th cen­tu­ry philo­soph­i­cal school, field, move­ment, or—as its ear­li­est expos­i­tor, Edmund Husserl wrote in a pref­ace to the Eng­lish edi­tion of his 1913 Ideas: Gen­er­al Intro­duc­tion to Pure Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy, “new science—though, indeed, the whole course of philo­soph­i­cal devel­op­ment since Descartes has been prepar­ing the way for it.”

Husserl’s mes­sian­ic claim for phe­nom­e­no­log­i­cal thinking–that which, broad­ly, deals with the con­tents of con­scious­ness and the objects of experience–presages the discipline’s enor­mi­ty, well rep­re­sent­ed by the total­iz­ing thought of Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger, the Nazi philoso­pher who intend­ed with his 1927 Being and Time to accom­plish the “destruc­tion” of phi­los­o­phy. In a way, writes Simon Critch­ley, he suc­ceed­ed. “There is no way of under­stand­ing what took place in con­ti­nen­tal phi­los­o­phy after Hei­deg­ger with­out com­ing to terms with Being and Time.”

Anoth­er promi­nent phe­nom­e­nol­o­gist, French thinker Mau­rice Mer­leau-Pon­ty, asserts a no less mind-bog­gling­ly huge man­date for the method: “phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy is the study of essences,” he writes in his 1947 Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy of Per­cep­tion. “It is the search for a phi­los­o­phy which shall be a ‘rig­or­ous sci­ence,’ but it also offers an account of space, time and the world as we ‘live’ them.” Again, if this makes sense to you, you may already be a stu­dent of phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy, and you’ve prob­a­bly read a lot of it.

Phi­los­o­phy stu­dents and pro­fes­sors must have ready access to a huge num­ber of texts by a wide range of authors, most of whom are hav­ing mul­ti­ple con­ver­sa­tions with each oth­er at once. It is, of course, ide­al to have at hand the kinds of resources one might find at the Stadt­bib­lio­thek in Berlin, one of the largest libraries in the world, or even at most large uni­ver­si­ty libraries. But if you don’t have such access, you can still gath­er a fair num­ber of full texts by Husserl, Hei­deg­ger, Mer­leau-Pon­ty and their many famous stu­dents and col­leagues on the web.

Soon, you will be able to do so all in one place, in mul­ti­ple lan­guages and for­mats, at the Open Com­mons of Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy, a “non-prof­it, inter­na­tion­al schol­ar­ly asso­ci­a­tion” aim­ing to “pro­vide free access to the full cor­pus of phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy” by 2020. A suit­ably ambi­tious task for a very ambi­tious school of thought. Cur­rent­ly, project founders Patrick Flack (whom you’ll see in the pro­mo video at the top), Rod­ney Park­erNico­las de War­ren, and the Husserl Archives have com­piled “about 12000 bib­li­o­graph­ic entries,” close to a quar­ter of which link to open access pdfs.

The project still needs to iron out a num­ber kinks, and bro­ken links, but it plans in the com­ing years to col­lect not only pre­vi­ous­ly online essays and books, but also new­ly dig­i­tized texts and trans­la­tions, “enhanced with a num­ber of pow­er­ful tools, such as inter­ac­tive time­lines and genealo­gies of phe­nom­e­nol­o­gists and psy­chol­o­gists, .xml ver­sions of texts,” and much more. Read more about the project at Dai­ly Nous, at the now-closed Indiegogo page from its fund­ing cam­paign last year, and at the Open Com­mons site itself, where you’ll also find reviews, calls for papers, lists of events, and more. The dense out­line on the site’s About page promis­es great things for this new “dig­i­tal infra­struc­ture” of phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy research. Enter the Open Com­mons of Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy here.

via Dai­ly Nous

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take First-Class Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es Any­where with Free Oxford Pod­casts

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es 

135 Free Phi­los­o­phy eBooks 

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

Behold Lewis Carroll’s Original Handwritten & Illustrated Manuscript for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1864)

Almost exact­ly 155 years ago, Lewis Car­roll told three young sis­ters a sto­ry. He’d come up with it to enliv­en a long boat trip up the Riv­er Thames, and one of the chil­dren aboard, a cer­tain Alice Lid­dell, enjoyed it so much that she insist­ed that Car­roll com­mit it to paper. Thus, so the leg­end has it, was Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land born, although Lewis Car­roll, then best known as Oxford math­e­mat­ics tutor Charles Lutwidge Dodg­son, had­n’t tak­en up his famous pen name yet, and when he did write down Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land, it took its first form as Alice’s Adven­tures Under Ground. You can read that hand­writ­ten man­u­script, com­plete with illus­tra­tions, at the British Library.

Car­roll pre­sent­ed the fic­tion­al Alice’s name­sake with the man­u­script, accord­ing to the British Library, as an ear­ly Christ­mas present in 1864. When his friends encour­aged him to pub­lish it, he per­formed a few revi­sions, “remov­ing some of the fam­i­ly ref­er­ences includ­ed for the amuse­ment of the Lid­dell chil­dren,” adding a cou­ple of chap­ters (the beloved Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter’s tea par­ty being among their new mate­r­i­al), and enlist­ing John Ten­niel, a Punch mag­a­zine car­toon­ist known for his illus­tra­tions of Aesop’s Fables, to cre­ate pro­fes­sion­al art to accom­pa­ny it. The result, reti­tled Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land, came out in 1865 and has nev­er gone out of print.

Though Ten­niel’s vivid ren­der­ings of Alice and the eccen­tric char­ac­ters she encoun­ters have remained defin­i­tive, plen­ty of oth­er artists, includ­ing Sal­vador Dalí and Ralph Stead­man, have attempt­ed the sure­ly almost irre­sistible chal­lenge of illus­trat­ing Car­rol­l’s high­ly imag­i­na­tive sto­ry. But today, says Skid­more Col­lege pro­fes­sor Cather­ine J. Gold­en at The Vic­to­ri­an Web, “crit­ics have reeval­u­at­ed Carroll’s car­i­ca­ture-style illus­tra­tion. Car­roll expert­ly inter­twines his hand­writ­ten text with his pic­tures to advance the growth motif. His con­cep­tion of the mouse’s ‘tale’ shaped like an actu­al mouse’s ‘tail’ is an excel­lent exam­ple of emblem­at­ic verse.”

Ten­niel, Gold­en argues, “essen­tial­ly refash­ioned with real­ism and improved upon many of Carroll’s sketchy or anatom­i­cal­ly incor­rect illus­tra­tions, adding domes­tic inte­ri­ors and land­scapes that appealed to mid­dle-class con­sumers of the 1860s.” Even “late twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry graph­ic nov­el adap­ta­tions of Alice in Won­der­land recall many of Carroll’s inven­tive designs as well as those of Ten­niel,” which gives Car­rol­l’s orig­i­nal man­u­script more claim to hav­ing pro­vid­ed the visu­al basis, not just the tex­tu­al one, for the fol­low­ing cen­tu­ry and a half of sequels offi­cial and unof­fi­cial, as well as adap­ta­tions, reen­vi­sion­ings, and reimag­in­ings of this “Christ­mas gift to a dear child in mem­o­ry of a sum­mer day.”

You can view Carroll’s orig­i­nal man­u­script, com­plete with illus­tra­tions, here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land Read by Sir John Giel­gud: A Great Way to Cel­e­brate the Novel’s 150th Anniver­sary

Lewis Carroll’s Pho­tographs of Alice Lid­dell, the Inspi­ra­tion for Alice in Won­der­land

Pho­to of the Real Alice in Won­der­land Cir­ca 1862

See Ralph Steadman’s Twist­ed Illus­tra­tions of Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land on the Story’s 150th Anniver­sary

The First Film Adap­ta­tion of Alice in Won­der­land (1903)

Lewis Carroll’s Clas­sic Sto­ry, Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land, Told in Sand Ani­ma­tion

When Aldous Hux­ley Wrote a Script for Disney’s Alice in Won­der­land

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, 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.

Does Quentin Tarantino’s First Film, Reservoir Dogs, Hold Up 25 Years Later?: A Video Essay

When’s the last time you watched Reser­voir Dogs? For myself, it real­ly has been a while, but cer­tain icon­ic scenes stick in my mind: the slo-mo walk (par­o­died end­less­ly since), the open­ing din­er dis­cus­sion, the “Mex­i­can stand­off” of guns. But there’s a lot I’ve for­got­ten (and since hav­ing been under­whelmed by Taran­ti­no’s last film, the relent­less cru­el and much too long The Hate­ful Eight), I won­dered, much like Evan “The Nerd­writer” Puschak, does in his video essay above, “Has Reser­voir Dogs Aged Well?”

Puschak’s quick answer is yes, and in his usu­al jam-packed but salient style he goes through the rea­sons.

Though this is Tarantino’s first fea­ture (or rather the first ful­ly sur­viv­ing one), it con­tains the seeds of a style, but one held back by bud­get. A clip of Siskel & Ebert sug­gests that favor­able crit­ics knew this too. Siskel calls the film “an exer­cise in style” and wish­es it went fur­ther. Pulp Fic­tion would grant Siskel’s wish.

Puschak points out the adren­a­line of its in media res open­ing, with Mr. Orange (Tim Roth) bleed­ing out in the back of Mr. White’s car. We already know a heist has gone wrong, but not how, and we’re not hope­ful about Mr. Orange’s chances of sur­viv­ing. Taran­ti­no would go on to pull a sim­i­lar trick in Pulp Fic­tion, but as he’s matured, he’s left this kind of jolt­ing open­ing behind.

The film pro­pels ahead not like a nov­el, as Taran­ti­no once remarked, but, as Puschak says, more like a clas­sic album, a per­fect­ly sequenced selec­tion of con­trast­ing moods and pac­ing.

Where the film hasn’t aged as well, he con­tin­ues, is in its use of dat­ed ref­er­ences that don’t land like they once did 25 years ago. Yet, Puschak notes, this sort of pop-cul­ture laden dia­log still exists. In fact, it’s every­where, from Mar­vel block­busters to Net­flix series.

If the film is one of the weak­est in Taran­ti­no’s filmography–I would dis­pute that, actu­al­ly, but feel free to hash that out in the comments–it does con­tain a thread that ris­es above its pulpy, ref­er­en­tial style, and that’s the “com­mode” sto­ry, which we see Mr. Orange learn, rehearse, per­form, and per­fect through the film. Its exam­i­na­tion of per­for­mance, of play­ing a role, would lat­er get a full work­out in Pulp Fic­tion and in many oth­er Taran­ti­no films, and here’s where that fas­ci­na­tion begins. Last­ly, why does the film still hold up? Sim­ply: because of videos like this, and web arti­cles also like this. We can’t help revis­it­ing those Reser­voir Dogs.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Quentin Taran­ti­no Cre­ates Sus­pense in His Favorite Scene, the Ten­sion-Filled Open­ing Moments of Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds

The Music in Quentin Tarantino’s Films: Hear a 5‑Hour, 100-Song Playlist

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

The Splendid Book Design of the 1946 Edition of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

decline of roman empire

In 1929, the book pub­lish­er George Macy found­ed The Lim­it­ed Edi­tions Club (LEC), an imprint tasked with pub­lish­ing fine­ly illus­trat­ed lim­it­ed edi­tions of clas­sic books. In the years to come, Macy worked with artists like Matisse and Picas­so, and pho­tog­ra­phers like Edward West­on, to pro­duce books with artis­tic illus­tra­tions on their inner pages. And some­times The Lim­it­ed Edi­tions Club even turned its design focus to oth­er parts of the book. Take for exam­ple this 1946 edi­tion of Edward Gib­bon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire and its pret­ty amaz­ing spine design.

Cre­at­ed by Clarence P. Hor­nung, the design cap­tures the essence of Gib­bon’s clas­sic, show­ing Roman pil­lars pro­gres­sive­ly crum­bling as your eyes move from Vol­ume 1 to Vol­ume 7. George Macy lat­er called the col­lec­tion, which also fea­tures illus­tra­tions by the great 18th-cen­tu­ry print­mak­er Gio­van­ni Bat­tista Pirane­si, “the most her­culean labor of our career.”

Find more infor­ma­tion about this 1946 edi­tion here. Or, if you have deep pock­ets, pur­chase a copy here.

Note: an ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in June 2015.

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:

700 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

630 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

The His­to­ry of Rome in 179 Pod­casts

Free Cours­es in Ancient His­to­ry, Lit­er­a­ture & Phi­los­o­phy

Rome Reborn: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour Through Ancient Rome, 320 C.E.

Women of Jazz: Stream a Playlist of 91 Recordings by Great Female Jazz Musicians

Browse through an archive of jazz writ­ing from the last, oh, hun­dred years, and you’ll get the dis­tinct impres­sion that jazz, like the NFL, has been a man’s‑man’s‑man’s‑man’s world. “Of course,” writes Mar­garet Howze at NPR, “we have Bil­lie, Ella, and Sarah,” and many oth­er pow­er­house female vocal­ists every­one knows and loves. These unfor­get­table voic­es seem to stand out as excep­tions, and what’s more, “when we think of women in jazz, we auto­mat­i­cal­ly think of singers,” not instru­men­tal­ists.

Part of the mar­gin­al­iza­tion of women in jazz has to do with the same kinds of cul­tur­al blind spots we find in dis­cus­sions on every sub­ject. We’ve been as guilty here as any­one of neglect­ing many great women in jazz, sad­ly. But women in jazz have also his­tor­i­cal­ly faced sim­i­lar social bar­ri­ers and stig­mas as oth­er women in all the arts. There are more than enough female vocal­ists, pianists, gui­tarists, trum­peters, drum­mers, sax­o­phon­ists, band­lead­ers, teach­ers, pro­duc­ers to form a “wor­thy pan­theon,” yet until fair­ly recent­ly, a great many women jazz musi­cians have worked in the shad­ows of more famous men.

Howze’s two-part sketch of women in jazz offers a suc­cinct chrono­log­i­cal intro­duc­tion, not­ing that “the piano, one of the ear­li­est instru­ments that women played in jazz, allowed female artists” in the 20s and 30s “a degree of social accep­tance.” In those years, “female instru­men­tal­ists usu­al­ly formed all-women jazz bands or played in fam­i­ly-based groups.” One ear­ly stand­out musi­cian, Dol­ly Hutchin­son, née Jones, played the trum­pet and cor­net in bands all over the coun­try. Hutchin­son doesn’t appear in the Women of Jazz playlist below, but you can see her at the top in a clip from Oscar Michaux’s 1938 film Swing!

The Spo­ti­fy playlist Women of Jazz does, how­ev­er, offer sam­ples from many oth­er female jazz greats in its 91 tracks, from the very well-known—Nina Simone, Norah Jones, Diana Krall, “Bil­lie, Ella, and Sarah”—to the very much over­looked. In that lat­ter cat­e­go­ry falls a woman whose last name is famil­iar to us all. Lil Hardin Arm­strong nev­er achieved close to the degree of fame as her hus­band Louis, but the pianist, writes Howze, “helped shape Satchmo’s ear­ly career,” play­ing in “King Oliver’s Cre­ole Jazz Band, a group Arm­strong joined in 1922. He and Hardin began a romance and even­tu­al­ly mar­ried and it was Hardin who encour­aged Arm­strong to embark on a solo career.”

Hardin’s “Clip Joint,” fea­tured in the playlist, show­cas­es her sweet, clear con­tral­to, dis­tin­guished by a ten­den­cy to wrap sur­pris­ing hooks around the end of each line, pulling us for­ward to the next or keep­ing us hang­ing on for more. (Equal­ly charm­ing and effort­less­ly swing­ing, see her on the piano, above, accom­pa­nied by drum­mer Mae Barnes.) Anoth­er huge­ly influ­en­tial woman in jazz, whose lega­cy “has also been some­what occlud­ed,” writes Alexa Peters at Paste, “by the lega­cy of her hus­band,” harpist and pianist Alice Coltrane deserves far more acclaim than she receives (at least in this writer’s hum­ble opin­ion).

“An incred­i­bly gift­ed avant-garde musi­cian, com­pos­er, and arranger,” Coltrane’s solo com­po­si­tions and her col­lab­o­ra­tions with sax­o­phon­ist Pharoah Sanders, “are as sub­lime as they are indeli­bly impor­tant” to the devel­op­ment of spir­i­tu­al jazz. Her incor­po­ra­tion of Hin­dus­tani instru­men­ta­tion “like drones, ragas, Tabla drum, and sitar,” togeth­er with long hyp­not­ic free jazz pas­sages and the unusu­al choice of harp, con­tributed a new son­ic vocab­u­lary to the form.

Though hard­ly com­pre­hen­sive, the Women of Jazz playlist does an excel­lent job of out­lin­ing a list of great female singers and instru­men­tal­ists through­out the his­to­ry of jazz. As some­one might point out, the com­pi­la­tion has its own blind spots. Though firm­ly root­ed in the tra­di­tions of the Amer­i­can South, jazz has, since its gold­en age, been an inter­na­tion­al phe­nom­e­non. Yet the major­i­ty of the artists here are from the U.S. For a con­tem­po­rary cor­rec­tive, check out The Guardian’s list, “Five of the Best Young Female Jazz Musi­cians” from the U.K. and Scan­di­navia, or Afripop’s “Five South African Female Jazz Instru­men­tal­ists You Should Know,” or NPR’s list of four great “Lati­na Jazz Vocal­ists”.…

And we should not neglect to men­tion great French women in jazz. In the short film above on French jazz and trum­pet duo Nel­son Veras and Airelle Besson, the two musi­cians dis­cuss their col­lab­o­ra­tive process. Any men­tion of gen­der would prob­a­bly seem awk­ward­ly irrel­e­vant to the con­ver­sa­tion. Per­haps all jazz talk should be like that. But it seems that first most jazz fans and writ­ers need to spend some time get­ting caught up. We’ve got a wealth of resources above to get them start­ed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Spir­i­tu­al Jazz: Hear a Tran­scen­dent 12-Hour Mix Fea­tur­ing John Coltrane, Sun Ra, Her­bie Han­cock & More

Hear 2,000 Record­ings of the Most Essen­tial Jazz Songs: A Huge Playlist for Your Jazz Edu­ca­tion

1,000 Hours of Ear­ly Jazz Record­ings Now Online: Archive Fea­tures Louis Arm­strong, Duke Elling­ton & Much More

Her­bie Han­cock to Teach His First Online Course on Jazz

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

A Digital Archive of Soviet Children’s Books Goes Online: Browse the Artistic, Ideological Collection (1917–1953)

At both a geo­graph­i­cal and his­tor­i­cal dis­tance, the Sovi­et Union does­n’t look like much of a place for kids. If you grew up dur­ing the Cold War in, say, the Unit­ed States, you might well have the impres­sion (of which The Simp­sons’ “Work­er and Par­a­site” remains the defin­ing crys­tal­liza­tion) of a gray, harsh­ly util­i­tar­i­an land behind the Iron Cur­tain con­cerned with noth­ing more whim­si­cal than bread lines and pro­duc­tion quo­tas. But if you grew up in the Sovi­et Union, at least at one of the right times and in one of the right places, you might feel a now much-dis­cussed nos­tal­gia, not for the eco­nom­ic dif­fi­cul­ties of your Sovi­et child­hood, but for the sen­si­bil­i­ties of the van­ished soci­ety you grew up in. An online inter­ac­tive data­base called Play­ing Sovi­et: The Visu­al Lan­guages of Ear­ly Sovi­et Children’s Books, 1917–1953 pro­vides a kid’s-eye view into the ear­ly decades of that soci­ety.

A project of the Cot­sen Col­lec­tion at Princeton’s Fire­stone Library, the archive con­tains a vari­ety of ful­ly dig­i­tized chil­dren’s books that show one venue in which, amid these years of “Russia’s accel­er­at­ed vio­lent polit­i­cal, social and cul­tur­al evo­lu­tion,” in the words of the data­base’s front page, cer­tain kinds of graph­ic art could flour­ish. “The illus­tra­tion and look of Sovi­et children’s books was of tan­ta­mount impor­tance as a vehi­cle for prac­ti­cal and con­crete infor­ma­tion in the new Sovi­et regime.”

This ambi­tious effort, dri­ven by “direc­tives for a new kind of children’s lit­er­a­ture” to be “found­ed on the assump­tion that the ‘lan­guage of images’ was imme­di­ate­ly com­pre­hen­si­ble to the mass read­er, far more so than the typed word,” brought in a great many artists and design­ers such as Alexan­der Deine­ka, El Lis­sitzky, and Vladimir Lebe­dev, task­ing them all with cre­at­ing “imag­i­na­tive mod­els for Sovi­et youth in the new lan­guages of Sovi­et mod­ernism.”

Men­tal Floss’ Shau­na­cy Fer­ro notes how many of the books “were designed to indoc­tri­nate chil­dren into the world of the ‘right’ way to think about Sovi­et cul­ture and his­to­ry,” point­ing to a vol­ume called How the Rev­o­lu­tion Was Vic­to­ri­ous, which meant “to ensure the cor­rect inter­pre­ta­tion of the anti-gov­ern­men­tal coup among the young gen­er­a­tion of new Sovi­et read­er­ship.” Some of the oth­er read­ing mate­r­i­al that result­ed, like 1930’s indus­tri­al­ly focused What Are We Build­ing? or the slight­ly ear­li­er How Sen­ka Ezhik Made a Knife, wears its instruc­tion­al val­ue on its sleeve (or rather, its cov­er). Oth­ers, like 1925’s The Lit­tle Octo­brist Ras­cal or that same year’s Chi­na-set A Cup of Tea, offer high­er dos­es of play­ful­ness mixed in with the ide­ol­o­gy.

Play­ing Sovi­et also includes the work of Vladimir Mayakovsky, whose Whom Should I Be?, a rep­re­sen­ta­tive book from the “gold­en age” of Sovi­et Chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture, we fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture ear­li­er this year. Rus­sia Beyond the Head­lines’ Alexan­dra Gueza high­lights Mayakovsky’s  What is Good and What is Bad? (“in which he explains that walk­ing in the rain and thun­der­storms is bad, clean­ing your teeth is good, fight­ing with the boys is bad, while study­ing is good”) and Octo­ber 1917–1918: Heroes and Vic­tims of the Rev­o­lu­tion, whose “good guys” include “a work­er, a Red Army sol­dier, a sailor, a seam­stress” and whose “bad guys” include “a fac­to­ry own­er, a landown­er, a rich farmer, a priest, a mer­chant.” Good­night Moon it cer­tain­ly isn’t, but then, how many Amer­i­can chil­dren’s books had to attempt a fun­da­men­tal rein­ven­tion of soci­ety?

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Vladimir Mayakovsky’s Children’s Book Whom Should I Be?: A Clas­sic from the “Gold­en Age” in Sovi­et Children’s Lit­er­a­ture

Sovi­et-Era Illus­tra­tions Of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hob­bit (1976)

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

Hayao Miyaza­ki Picks His 50 Favorite Children’s Books

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

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, 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.

An Animated Introduction to Economist John Maynard Keynes

If you know any­thing about mod­ern eco­nom­ic the­o­ry, you’ve learned the names Mil­ton Fried­man and John May­nard Keynes—gen­er­al­ly pit­ted against each oth­er as rep­re­sent­ing the divide down the cen­ter in West­ern polit­i­cal econ­o­my. While more rad­i­cal thinkers like F.A. Hayek and, of course, Marx and Engels, hold sway over a sig­nif­i­cant part of the pop­u­la­tion, when it comes to the entrenched two-par­ty sys­tem in the U.S. and so-called mod­er­ate Demo­c­ra­t­ic and Repub­li­can politi­cians, we can hand­i­ly refer to Fried­man and Keynes, respec­tive­ly, as advo­cat­ing on the one hand very lit­tle gov­ern­ment inter­ven­tion into free mar­ket affairs and, on the oth­er, a sig­nif­i­cant, very vis­i­ble, guid­ing hand.

Keynes “believed that gov­ern­ments have it in their pow­er,” says Alain de Bot­ton in his School of Life ani­mat­ed intro­duc­tion above, “to solve some of the great­est ills of cap­i­tal­ism.” Reject­ing both com­mu­nism and “the utter wis­dom of the unfet­tered free mar­ket,” Keynes sought to chart a mid­dle way, the­o­riz­ing cap­i­tal­ist economies planned through “judi­cious injec­tions” of mon­ey and “wise reg­u­la­tions” to “smooth out the peaks and troughs to which all economies seem fate­ful­ly prone.” Keynes him­self was not prone to many finan­cial ups and downs. Born in 1883 in Cam­bridge to a “well-to-do aca­d­e­m­ic fam­i­ly,” writes the BBC, his “father was an econ­o­mist and a philoso­pher” and his moth­er “became the town’s first female may­or.” He “amassed a con­sid­er­able per­son­al for­tune from the finan­cial mar­kets” between the wars and became a “board mem­ber of a num­ber of com­pa­nies.”

At the height of the eco­nom­ic cri­sis in 1930, Keynes pub­lished an essay titled “Eco­nom­ic Pos­si­bil­i­ties for Our Grand­chil­dren,” in which he “out­lined his belief that most eco­nom­ic prob­lems could be over­come, and give way to an age where the chief chal­lenge for human beings would be how to occu­py their leisure time in con­di­tions of mass pros­per­i­ty.” His utopi­an out­look may have been part­ly con­di­tioned by his posi­tion as “part of the British estab­lish­ment.” But Keynes was a nuanced, cre­ative thinker, a mem­ber of the Blooms­bury group—Vir­ginia Woolf was one of his clos­est friends—who “rec­og­nized that good eco­nom­ics was as fun­da­men­tal to well-being as good paint­ing or lit­er­a­ture, and in a deep sense not fun­da­men­tal­ly dif­fer­ent in its search for the well­springs of ful­fill­ment, and its atten­tion to human error and blind­ness.”

Like Woolf, Keynes tend­ed to view human well-being through a nar­row class prism, with some of the ugly prej­u­dices such a view entails. Yet his the­o­ry began by con­sid­er­ing the needs of huge num­bers of unem­ployed in Britain and the U.S. who should not have to live in pre­car­i­ty and pover­ty, he rea­soned, until the mar­ket got around to cor­rect­ing itself, if it hap­pened to do so in their life­times. The inter­ven­tion­ist the­o­ries Keynes elab­o­rat­ed in his Gen­er­al The­o­ry of Employ­ment, Inter­est and Mon­ey, his great work of 1936, led to his cre­ation in 1944 of the IMF and the World Bank, two of the most con­tro­ver­sial glob­al insti­tu­tions of the past half-cen­tu­ry for what many see as their dis­as­trous, coer­cive med­dling in the eco­nom­ic affairs of poor­er nations.

While deficit spend­ing may be a de fac­to prac­tice of every gov­ern­ment admin­is­tra­tion, it is the the­o­ry of John May­nard Keynes that most attach­es it philo­soph­i­cal­ly to the cen­ter-left. And while it may be that more Key­ne­sian stim­u­lus spend­ing, with gov­ern­ment as the “pri­ma­ry shop­per in the land,” as Peter Coy argued in 2014, is just what a sag­ging, stag­nant world econ­o­my needs, the per­pet­u­al chal­lenge, as de Bot­ton points out, is the ques­tion of just “who should pay for the loans” gov­ern­ments issue, or the ser­vices it funds to buoy the cit­i­zen­ry. Few peo­ple, no mat­ter how wealthy, seem to want to shoul­der the bur­den, how­ev­er light it may be for some, even if Keynes’ “mul­ti­pli­er effect” can be shown to raise all boats once it takes hold.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Every­day Eco­nom­ics: A New Course by Mar­gin­al Rev­o­lu­tion Uni­ver­si­ty Where Stu­dents Cre­ate the Syl­labus

A Short Course in Behav­ioral Eco­nom­ics

Free Online Eco­nom­ics Cours­es 

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

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