Why Should We Read William Shakespeare? Four Animated Videos Make the Case

Soon­er or lat­er, we all encounter the plays of William Shake­speare: whether on the page, the stage, or—maybe most fre­quent­ly these days—the screen. Over four hun­dred years after his death, Shake­speare is still very much rel­e­vant, not only as the most rec­og­niz­able name in Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture, but also per­haps as its most famous sto­ry­teller, even if we don’t rec­og­nize his hand in mod­ern adap­ta­tions that bare­ly resem­ble their orig­i­nals.

But if we can turn Shakespeare’s plays into oth­er kinds of enter­tain­ment that don’t require us to read foot­notes or sit flum­moxed in the audi­ence while actors make archa­ic jokes, why should we read Shake­speare at all? He can be pro­found­ly dif­fi­cult to under­stand, an issue even his first audi­ences encoun­tered, since he stuffed his speech­es not only with hun­dreds of loan words, but hun­dreds of his own coinages as well.

The crit­i­cism of Shakespeare’s dif­fi­cul­ty goes back to his ear­li­est crit­ics. Sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry Eng­lish poet John Dry­den declared that the play­wright “had undoubt­ed­ly a larg­er soul of poesy than every any of our nation.” In the plays, we find “all arts and sci­ences, all moral and nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy.” And yet, even Dry­den could write, in 1664, that Shake­speare’s lan­guage was “a lit­tle obso­lete,” and that “in every page [there is] either some sole­cism of speech, or some noto­ri­ous flaw in sense.” (These issues are some­times, but not always, attrib­ut­able to scrib­al error.)

“Many of his words,” wrote Dry­den, “and more of his phras­es, are scarce intel­li­gi­ble. And of those which we under­stand, some are ungram­mat­i­cal, oth­ers coarse; and his whole style is so pestered with fig­u­ra­tive expres­sions, that it is as affect­ed as it is obscure.” Seems harsh. How could such a writer not only sur­vive but become an almost god­like fig­ure in lit­er­ary his­to­ry?

Maybe it’s all that “poesy.” Shake­speare is sure­ly one of the most musi­cal writ­ers in the lan­guage. Read his speech­es to children—they will lis­ten with rapt atten­tion with­out under­stand­ing a sin­gle word. It is bet­ter that we encounter Shake­speare ear­ly on, and learn to hear the music before we’re buf­fet­ed by exag­ger­at­ed ideas about how hard he is to under­stand.

Writ­ten in a time when Eng­lish was under­go­ing one of most rapid and rad­i­cal shifts of any lan­guage in his­to­ry, Shakespeare’s inge­nious plays pre­serve a riot of bor­rowed, invent­ed, and stolen words, of fig­ures of speech both old- and new-fash­ioned, and of schol­ar­ly and pop­u­lar ideas trav­el­ing through Eng­land on their way to and from a glob­al­iz­ing world. The tor­rents of verse that pour from his char­ac­ters’ mouths give us the lan­guage at its most flu­id, dynam­ic, and demot­ic, full of unpar­al­leled poet­ic fugues crammed next to the rough­ness Dry­den dis­liked.

This is the essence of the modern—of lat­er Shake­spearen suc­ces­sors like Samuel Beck­ett and James Joyce who freely mixed high and low and invent­ed new ways of speak­ing. Why should we read Shake­speare? I can think of no more per­sua­sive argu­ment than Shakespeare’s lan­guage itself, which daz­zles even as it con­founds, and whose strange­ness gives it such endur­ing appeal. But which plays should we read and why? The TED-Ed videos above from Iseult Gille­spie, and below from Bren­dan Pel­sue, make the case for four of Shake­speare great­est works: The Tem­pest, Ham­let, A Mid­sum­mer Night’s Dream, and Mac­beth.

Learn new facts about the plays, and why their tragedy and humor, and their copi­ous amounts of mur­der, still speak to us across the gulf of hun­dreds of years. But most of all, so too does Shakespeare’s glo­ri­ous­ly ornate poetry—even when we can bare­ly under­stand it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 55 Hours of Shakespeare’s Plays: The Tragedies, Come­dies & His­to­ries Per­formed by Vanes­sa Red­grave, Sir John Giel­gud, Ralph Fiennes & Many More

Hear What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like in the Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Shakespeare’s Globe The­atre in Lon­don

The 1,700+ Words Invent­ed by Shake­speare*

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

Bill Gates Recommends Books for the Holidays

For the hol­i­day sea­son, Bill Gates has select­ed five book titles that you’ll hope­ful­ly enjoy read­ing. Here they are, list­ed in his own words:

An Amer­i­can Mar­riage, by Tayari Jones. My daugh­ter Jenn rec­om­mend­ed that I read this nov­el, which tells the sto­ry of a black cou­ple in the South whose mar­riage gets torn apart by a hor­ri­ble inci­dent of injus­tice. Jones is such a good writer that she man­ages to make you empathize with both of her main char­ac­ters, even after one makes a dif­fi­cult deci­sion. The sub­ject mat­ter is heavy but thought-pro­vok­ing, and I got sucked into Roy and Celestial’s trag­ic love sto­ry.

These Truths, by Jill Lep­ore. Lep­ore has pulled off the seem­ing­ly impos­si­ble in her lat­est book: cov­er­ing the entire his­to­ry of the Unit­ed States in just 800 pages. She’s made a delib­er­ate choice to make diverse points of view cen­tral to the nar­ra­tive, and the result is the most hon­est and unflinch­ing account of the Amer­i­can sto­ry I’ve ever read. Even if you’ve read a lot about U.S. his­to­ry, I’m con­fi­dent you will learn some­thing new from These Truths.

Growth, by Vaclav Smil. When I first heard that one of my favorite authors was work­ing on a new book about growth, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it. (Two years ago, I wrote that I wait for new Smil books the way some peo­ple wait for the next Star Wars movie. I stand by that state­ment.) His lat­est doesn’t dis­ap­point. As always, I don’t agree with every­thing Smil says, but he remains one of the best thinkers out there at doc­u­ment­ing the past and see­ing the big pic­ture.

Pre­pared, by Diane Taven­ner. As any par­ent knows, prepar­ing your kids for life after high school is a long and some­times dif­fi­cult jour­ney. Tavenner—who cre­at­ed a net­work of some of the best per­form­ing schools in the nation—has put togeth­er a help­ful guide­book about how to make that process as smooth and fruit­ful as pos­si­ble. Along the way, she shares what she’s learned about teach­ing kids not just what they need to get into col­lege, but how to live a good life.

Why We Sleep, by Matthew Walk­er. I read a cou­ple of great books this year about human behav­ior, and this was one of the most inter­est­ing and pro­found. Both Jenn and John Doerr urged me to read it, and I’m glad I did. Every­one knows that a good night’s sleep is important—but what exact­ly counts as a good night’s sleep? And how do you make one hap­pen? Walk­er has per­suad­ed me to change my bed­time habits to up my chances. If your New Year’s res­o­lu­tion is to be health­i­er in 2020, his advice is a good place to start.

Pre­vi­ous books rec­om­mend­ed by Gates can be found in the relat­eds below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Bill Gates Reads Books

Bill Gates Names 5 Books You Should Read This Sum­mer

Bill Gates Rec­om­mends Five Books for Sum­mer 2017

5 Books Bill Gates Wants You to Read This Sum­mer (2016)

Bill Gates, Book Crit­ic, Names His Top 5 Books of 2015

Sum­mer 2014

Sum­mer 2013

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Malcolm Gladwell Admits His Insatiable Love for Thriller Novels and Recommends His Favorites

When Mal­colm Glad­well appeared on The Joe Rogan Expe­ri­ence last month, he admit­ted some­thing about him­self that may sur­prise many of his read­ers. “I read so many thrillers,” he says to Rogan toward the end of the con­ver­sa­tion. “How many do I read a year? Fifty, six­ty, sev­en­ty? You know when you go in the air­port, into the Hud­son News, and you see there’s a whole wall of thrillers? I have read every sin­gle one.” But it will sur­prise exact­ly none of his read­ers that he’s also come up with a cat­e­go­riza­tion sys­tem of thrillers: we all know what a “West­ern” is, but the Glad­well the­o­ry of thrillers also encom­pass­es the dis­tinct sen­si­bil­i­ties of the “East­ern,” the “North­ern,” and the “South­ern.”

A West­ern takes place in “a world in which there is no law and order, and a man shows up and impos­es, per­son­al­ly, law and order on the ter­ri­to­ry, the com­mu­ni­ty.” An East­ern is “a sto­ry where there is law and order, so there are insti­tu­tions of jus­tice, but they have been sub­vert­ed by peo­ple from with­in.” In a North­ern, “law and order exists, and law and order is moral­ly right­eous, the sys­tem works.” (A prime exam­ple is, of course, Law and Order.) A South­ern is “where the entire appa­ra­tus is cor­rupt, and where the reformer is not an insid­er but an out­sider.” Glad­well describes each and every John Grisham nov­el as a South­ern, then has­tens to add, “I love John Grisham.” But he seems to have an even greater love for the mod­ern-day West­ern in the form of Lee Child’s Jack Reach­er nov­els.

“The Reach­er books are West­erns,” Glad­well writes in a 2015 New York­er piece. “The tra­di­tion­al West­ern was a fan­ta­sy about law­ful­ness: it was based on a long­ing for order among those who had been liv­ing with­out it for too long.” But in today’s world, where “we have too much order,” our “con­tem­po­rary fan­ta­sy is about law­less­ness: about what would hap­pen if the insti­tu­tions of civil­i­ty melt­ed away and all we were left with was a hard-mus­cled, rangy guy who could do all the nec­es­sary cal­cu­la­tions in his head to insure that the bad guy got what he had com­ing.” Glad­well had already men­tioned the Reach­er books in the mag­a­zine once before: “Child’s B‑pluses are every­one else’s A‑pluses,” he writes in a 2010 year-in-read­ing piece in which he describes him­self as “first and fore­most, a fan of thrillers and air­port lit­er­a­ture.”

Glad­well also vouch­es for Stephen Hunter and his sniper hero Bob Lee Swag­ger (“They’re fan­tas­ti­cal­ly well writ­ten,” he says to Rogan of Hunter’s work, also not­ing that “any­thing with the word ‘sniper’ in it is gen­er­al­ly one of his books”) as well as Olen Stein­hauer and his “con­flict­ed and neu­rot­ic and hope­less­ly sen­ti­men­tal” Milo Weaver. “I have — by con­ser­v­a­tive esti­mate — sev­er­al hun­dred nov­els with the word ‘spy’ in the title,” Glad­well tells the New York Times in a 2013 inter­view. That must owe in part to his sta­tus as a long­time fan of John le Car­ré’s nov­els star­ring unas­sum­ing British intel­li­gence office George Smi­ley. “I’d like to go for a long walk on the Hamp­stead Heath with George Smi­ley,” Glad­well says. “It would be driz­zling. We would end up hav­ing a tepid cup of tea some­where, with slight­ly stale bis­cuits. I would ask him lots of ques­tions about Con­trol, and he would evade them, grace­ful­ly.”

Glad­well dis­cuss­es le Car­ré’s The Spy Who Came In from the Cold, the 1963 nov­el in which Smi­ley first appears, in an appear­ance this year on the pod­cast 3 Books. “It’s simul­ta­ne­ous­ly a spy thriller, a kind of cri­tique of post­war Eng­land, a kind of cri­tique of the world of espi­onage and the busi­ness of espi­onage, and an extra­or­di­nary and bril­liant­ly bleak pic­ture of human nature,” he says, nam­ing as one of the nov­el­’s inno­va­tions its por­tray­al of West­ern and Com­mu­nist spy oper­a­tions as “essen­tial­ly equiv­a­lent,” where­as “pre­vi­ous­ly these kinds of books had good guys and bad guys.” But what­ev­er its par­tic­u­lar strengths, “for those of us who tell sto­ries for a liv­ing, a good thriller is incred­i­bly instruc­tive.” Being “over­whelm­ing­ly about plot,” the thriller genre holds each plot to a high stan­dard, and “when some­body man­ages to pull it off suc­cess­ful­ly, that’s intel­lec­tu­al­ly of enor­mous inter­est to a sto­ry­teller.”

Asked recent­ly by the Guardian to name a book that changed his life, Glad­well came up with Agatha Christie’s The Mur­der of Roger Ack­royd. “I was 12 or so when I read it,” he says. “I will nev­er for­get the sheer deli­cious shock of that end­ing, and real­iz­ing – maybe for the first time – that it was pos­si­ble to tell a sto­ry in a way that made the read­er gasp. I’ve been chas­ing that same result (not near­ly as suc­cess­ful­ly) ever since.” And like any addict, he’s sure­ly been chas­ing that Christie-induced first gasp as a read­er ever since. Hence his seem­ing­ly com­pre­hen­sive knowl­edge of the work of le Car­ré, Stein­hauer, Hunter, Child, and all the oth­er thriller and mys­tery writ­ers he tends to brings up when asked, a group includ­ing names like Iain Pears and David Ignatius. To Glad­well’s mind, they all have much to teach us — even if the sto­ries we tell involve mus­cu­lar vig­i­lan­tism and inter­na­tion­al espi­onage less than they do mer­i­toc­ra­cy and spaghet­ti sauce.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mal­colm Glad­well Explains Where His Ideas Come From

The Case for Writ­ing in Cof­fee Shops: Why Mal­colm Glad­well Does It, and You Should Too

Mal­colm Glad­well on Why Genius Takes Time: A Look at the Mak­ing of Elvis Costello’s “Depor­tee” & Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah”

Mal­colm Glad­well Teach­ing His First Online Course: A Mas­ter Class on How to Turn Big Ideas into Pow­er­ful Sto­ries

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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.

Masterclass Is Running a “Buy One, Give One Free” Deal

FYI: This spe­cial deal is now over…

You can see their stan­dard 0ffer–an all-access pass to their cat­a­logue of 70+ courses–here.

David Lynch Turns Twin Peaks into a Virtual Reality Game: Watch the Official Trailer

When David Lynch and Mark Frost’s Twin Peaks pre­miered on ABC in 1990, view­ers across Amer­i­ca were treat­ed to a tele­vi­su­al expe­ri­ence like none they’d ever had before. Four years ear­li­er, some­thing sim­i­lar had hap­pened to the unsus­pect­ing movie­go­ers who went to see Lynch’s break­out fea­ture Blue Vel­vet, an expe­ri­ence described as eye-open­ing by even David Fos­ter Wal­lace. A ded­i­cat­ed med­i­ta­tor with an inter­est in plung­ing into unex­plored realms of con­scious­ness, Lynch tends to bring his audi­ence right along with him in his work, whether that work be cin­e­ma, tele­vi­sion, visu­al art, music, or com­ic strips. Only nat­ur­al, then, that Lynch would take an inter­est in the artis­tic and expe­ri­en­tial pos­si­bil­i­ties of vir­tu­al real­i­ty.

Last year we fea­tured the first glimpse of a Twin Peaks vir­tu­al real­i­ty expe­ri­ence in devel­op­ment, revealed at Lynch’s Fes­ti­val of Dis­rup­tion in Los Ange­les. “The best news is that the com­pa­ny devel­op­ing the game, Col­lid­er Games, is giv­ing cre­ative con­trol to Lynch,” wrote Ted Mills, and now, with the release of Twin Peaks VR’s offi­cial trail­er, we can get a clear­er idea of what Lynch has planned for play­ers. As Lau­ra Snoad writes at It’s Nice That, Lynch has used the oppor­tu­ni­ty to revis­it “well-known envi­ron­ments fea­tured in the series, such as the icon­ic Red Room (the stripy-floored, vel­vet cur­tain-clad par­al­lel uni­verse where Agent Coop­er meets mur­dered teen Lau­ra Palmer), the Twin Peaks’ Sheriff’s Depart­ment and the pine-filled for­est around the fic­tion­al Wash­ing­ton town.”

This will come as good news indeed to those of us Twin Peaks enthu­si­asts who’ve made the pil­grim­age to Sno­qualmie, North Bend, and Fall City, the real-life Wash­ing­ton towns where Lynch and his col­lab­o­ra­tors shot the series. But Twin Peak VR will offer a greater vari­ety of chal­lenges than snap­ping pho­tos of the series’ loca­tions and chat­ting with bemused locals: Snoad writes that each envi­ron­ment is con­struct­ed like an escape room. “Solv­ing puz­zles to help Agent Coop­er and Gor­don Cole (the FBI agent played by Lynch him­self), play­ers will also meet some of the show’s weird and ter­ri­fy­ing char­ac­ters, from the back­wards-speak­ing inhab­i­tants of the Black Lodge to the ter­ri­fy­ing Bob him­self.”

Avail­able via Steam on Ocu­lus Rift, Vive, and Valve Index this month, with Ocu­lus Quest and PlaySta­tion VR ver­sions sched­uled, Twin Peaks VR should give a fair few vir­tu­al-real­i­ty hold­outs a com­pelling rea­son to put on the gog­gles — much as Twin Peaks the show caused the cinéastes of the 1990s to break down and watch evening TV. Enjoy­ing Lynch’s work, what­ev­er its medi­um, has always felt like plung­ing into a dream: not like watch­ing his dream, but expe­ri­enc­ing a dream he’s made for us. If vir­tu­al-real­i­ty tech­nol­o­gy has final­ly come any­where close to the vivid­ness of Lynch’s imag­i­na­tion, Twin Peaks VR will mark the next step in his artis­tic evo­lu­tion. But for now, to para­phrase no less a Lynch fan than Wal­lace, the one thing we can say with total con­fi­dence is that it will be… Lynchi­an.

via It’s Nice That

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch an Epic, 4‑Hour Video Essay on the Mak­ing & Mythol­o­gy of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

Twin Peaks Actu­al­ly Explained: A Four-Hour Video Essay Demys­ti­fies It All

David Lynch Is Cre­at­ing a Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Expe­ri­ence for Twin Peaks

Twin Peaks Tarot Cards Now Avail­able as 78-Card Deck

Watch the Twin Peaks Visu­al Sound­track Released Only in Japan: A New Way to Expe­ri­ence David Lynch’s Clas­sic Show

David Lynch Directs a Mini-Sea­son of Twin Peaks in the Form of Japan­ese Cof­fee Com­mer­cials

Play the Twin Peaks Video Game: Retro Fun for David Lynch Fans

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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.

Meditation for Artists: Learn Moebius’ Meditative Technique Called “Automatic Drawing”

Med­i­ta­tion and art have an ancient, inter­twined his­to­ry in Chi­na, where the begin­nings of Chan Bud­dhism are insep­a­ra­ble from land­scape paint­ing. In Japan, Zen art has con­sti­tut­ed “a prac­tice in appre­ci­at­ing sim­plic­i­ty,” of dis­ap­pear­ing into the cre­ative act, cul­ti­vat­ing degrees of ego­less­ness that allow an artist’s move­ments to become spon­ta­neous and unham­pered by sec­ond guess­es. The “first Japan­ese artists to work in [ink],” notes the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, “were Zen monks who paint­ed in a quick and evoca­tive man­ner.” They passed their tech­niques, and their wis­dom, on to their stu­dents.

Per­haps the clos­est ana­logue to this tra­di­tion in the west is com­ic art. Artist Ted Gula has worked with comics leg­ends Frank Frazetta and Moe­bius and drawn for Dis­ney, Mar­vel, and DC. As a child, he watched Jack Kir­by work. “He wouldn’t speak,” says Gula. “He’d be in a trance…. The pen­cil would hit the paper and it wouldn’t stop until the page was com­plete, like it poured out.” How is that pos­si­ble? Gula asked him­self, aston­ished. Kir­by had dis­ap­peared into the work. There were no pre­lim­i­nary sketch­es or rough indi­ca­tors. He would draw an entire book like that, Gula says in the video above from Proko.

Say what you will about the con­tent of Kirby’s work—superhero comics aren’t to everyone’s lik­ing. But no dis­taste for the nature of his sto­ry­telling dimin­ish­es Kirby’s attain­ment of a pure­ly extem­po­ra­ne­ous method he seems nev­er to have explained to Gula in words. Lat­er, how­ev­er, while work­ing with Moe­bius, Gula says, he learned the tech­nique of “auto­mat­ic draw­ing.” Demon­strat­ing it for us above, Gula describes a way of draw­ing that shares much in com­mon with oth­er med­i­ta­tive visu­al art tra­di­tions.

“It’s all doing very organ­ic shapes,” he says, show­ing us how to “draw your mind’s eye. This takes your mind, and your mind’s eye, to a place that nor­mal­ly is unex­plored, and it can’t help but enhance your whole view of your abil­i­ty.” The ego must step aside, exec­u­tive func­tion­ing isn’t need­ed here. “I have no idea,” Gula says, “it’s all just hap­pen­ing on its own.” Moe­bius explained it as “just let­ting my mind relax” and Gula has observed sim­i­lar prac­tices among all the artists he’s worked with.

Gula describes auto­mat­ic draw­ing as a nat­ur­al process for the artist’s mind and hands. The inter­view­er, artist and teacher Sam Prokopenko, also men­tions Kore­an artist Kim Jung Gi in their inter­view, who does “amaz­ing­ly accu­rate draw­ings from his mem­o­ry with­out any con­struc­tion lines,” as Prokopenko says above, in a video from his “12 Days of Proko” series, which inter­views well-known artists about their tech­niques. What’s Kim Jung Gi’s secret? Is he pos­sessed of a super­hu­man, pho­to­graph­ic mem­o­ry? No, he tells Prokopenko.

The secret to becom­ing ful­ly immersed in the work—one that sure­ly goes for so many pur­suits, both cre­ative and athletic—is just to do it: over and over and over and over and over again. (To many people’s dis­ap­point­ment, this also seems to be the secret of med­i­ta­tion.) In Kim Jung Gi’s case, “of course, some part of it is a tal­ent he was born with, but we can’t over­look how much that tal­ent was devel­oped.” We need no expert tal­ent, either innate or devel­oped, to get start­ed. Auto­mat­ic draw­ing seems to require a beginner’s mind.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Moe­bius Gives 18 Wis­dom-Filled Tips to Aspir­ing Artists

Watch Moe­bius and Miyaza­ki, Two of the Most Imag­i­na­tive Artists, in Con­ver­sa­tion (2004)

In Search of Mœbius: A Doc­u­men­tary Intro­duc­tion to the Inscrutable Imag­i­na­tion of the Late Com­ic Artist Mœbius

Moe­bius’ Sto­ry­boards & Con­cept Art for Jodorowsky’s Dune

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

Author Imagines in 1893 the Fashions That Would Appear Over the Next 100 Years

The world of tomor­row, today, has been the promise of so much futur­ism of the mod­ern indus­tri­al age, in times that now seem quaint to us from our dig­i­tal perch­es. Today’s self-appoint­ed vision­ar­ies can’t seem to imag­ine life on Earth a hun­dred years from now. They pour their resources into inter­plan­e­tary ven­tures. But even if some con­tin­gent of human­i­ty goes on to col­o­nize the solar sys­tem and beyond, there will always be a role for fash­ion, even in the aus­tere envi­rons of deep space.

Still, if pre­dict­ing the future of human­i­ty is a risky propo­si­tion, giv­en the num­ber of unpre­dictable vari­ables at play, pre­dict­ing future fash­ions may be even more fraught with per­il. Trends don’t come out of nowhere—they draw, self-con­scious­ly or oth­er­wise, from the past. But which pasts end up in the lat­est season’s col­lec­tions might be anyone’s guess. Unlike tech­nol­o­gy, in oth­er words, fash­ion doesn’t appear to fol­low any sort of lin­ear tra­jec­to­ry from inven­tion to inven­tion.

“Fash­ion,” writes W. Cade-Gall in an 1893 arti­cle in the Strand Mag­a­zine, “is thought a whim, a sort of shut­tle­cock for the weak-mind­ed of both sex­es to make rise and fall, bound and rebound with the bat­tle­dore called—social influ­ence.” All of this will be reme­died almost fifty years in the future, the author assures their read­ers. “It will inter­est a great many peo­ple to learn that Fash­ion assumed the dig­ni­ty of a sci­ence in 1940.” Cade-Gall’s sci-fi satire is not, per­haps, the most seri­ous attempt at pre­dict­ing future fash­ions, but it may rank as one of the most amus­ing­ly lit­er­ary.

The arti­cle, “Future Dic­tates Fash­ion” (read online here and at the Inter­net Archive) pur­ports to describe the con­tents of a book, dis­cov­ered by “an elder­ly gen­tle­man of our acquain­tance,” from one hun­dred years in the future, or 1993, a time, as you can see in the draw­ing at the top, in which the 18th cen­tu­ry has come roar­ing back, with what appears to be a tri­corner hat perched on what appears to be the head of a man smok­ing a pipe and wear­ing an ankle-length skirt. Cade-Gall describes the sci­en­tif­ic sys­tem of fash­ion in detail, with each his­tor­i­cal peri­od acquir­ing both a “Type” and a “Ten­den­cy.”

The peri­od between 1915 and 1940, for exam­ple, the last one list­ed in the future fash­ion his­to­ry book’s table, is said to be of the type “Hys­ter­i­cal” and the ten­den­cy “Angus­to­r­i­al.” Cade-Gall not only invent­ed the word “angus­to­r­i­al” and this clever sto­ry with­in a sto­ry (which turns out to be a dream) but also illus­trat­ed the fash­ions of the imag­ined 20th cen­tu­ry, with the con­ceit that these are print­ed plates from the future. Read­ers famil­iar with the cos­tume designs of the Bauhaus school might see the 1929 illus­tra­tions as some­what uncan­ny.

Oth­er fash­ions look like the kind of thing David Bowie might have worn onstage in the ear­ly 70s, and some are clear­ly port­man­teaus of dif­fer­ent eras and their qualities—from the “bizarre,” “ebul­lient,” and “hys­ter­i­cal” to the “severe,” “opaque,” and “lato­r­i­al,” a word, like “angus­to­r­i­al,” that Cade-Gall made up for this occa­sion. The descrip­tions of these fash­ions are as detailed and ridicu­lous as the illus­tra­tions. “Taught by the Dar­win­ian the­o­ry” in 1930 we learn, “soci­ety dis­cov­ered whence its ten­den­cy to bald­ness orig­i­nat­ed. They had recourse by degrees to flex­i­ble tiles of extra­or­di­nary cut.”

 

The hair­piece inno­va­tion fol­lowed some inde­ci­sion over mens’ pants ten years ear­li­er, which led to a peri­od of knee-breech­es. “Trousers, which had been waver­ing between nau­ti­cal but­tons and gal­looned knees—or, in the ver­nac­u­lar of the peri­od, a sail three sheets in the wind—and a flag at half-mast—were the items sac­ri­ficed.” It’s all in good fun—more a send-up of the over­ly-seri­ous mean­ing attached to cloth­ing than an attempt to look into fashion’s future. But imag­in­ing a 20th cen­tu­ry dressed the way Cade-Gall imag­ines it might make us pine for a more osten­ta­tious­ly (if imprac­ti­cal­ly) dressed past—or a more ebul­lient and lato­r­i­al future, whether on Earth or gal­looned amongst the stars.

via JF Ptak Sci­ence Books/Pub­lic Domain Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kandin­sky, Klee & Oth­er Bauhaus Artists Designed Inge­nious Cos­tumes Like You’ve Nev­er Seen Before

In 1911, Thomas Edi­son Pre­dicts What the World Will Look Like in 2011: Smart Phones, No Pover­ty, Libraries That Fit in One Book

9 Sci­ence-Fic­tion Authors Pre­dict the Future: How Jules Verne, Isaac Asi­mov, William Gib­son, Philip K. Dick & More Imag­ined the World Ahead

In 1964, Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts What the World Will Look Like Today: Self-Dri­ving Cars, Video Calls, Fake Meats & More

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

Pretty Much Pop #22 Untangles Time-Travel Scenarios in the Terminator Franchise and Other Media

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is PMP-Untangling-Time-Travel-400-x-800.jpg

Time-trav­el rules in The Ter­mi­na­tor fran­chise are noto­ri­ous­ly incon­sis­tent. Is it pos­si­ble for some­one from the future to trav­el back­wards to change events, giv­en the para­dox that with a changed future, the trav­el­er would­n’t then have had the prob­lem to try to come back and fix? Nei­ther the closed-loop series of events in the first Ter­mi­na­tor film nor the changed (post­poned) future in the sec­ond make sense, and mat­ters just get worse through the sub­se­quent films.

Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt are joined by Bri­an’s broth­er and co-author Ken Ger­ber to talk through the var­i­ous time trav­el rule­sets and plot sce­nar­ios (a good starter list is at tvtropes.org), cov­er­ing Dr. Who, Back to the Future, Loop­er, Dark (the Ger­man TV show), time loop films a la Ground­hog Day (Edge of Tomor­row, Hap­py Death Day), time-trav­el come­dies (Future Man), his­tor­i­cal tourism (Mr. Peabody and Sher­man), Time­cop’s “The same mat­ter can­not occu­py the same space,” using time-trav­el to sen­ti­men­tal­ize (About Time) or clone your­self (see that Brak Show episode about avoid­ing home­work), and freez­ing time (like in the old Twi­light Zone).

Some arti­cles we looked at includ­ed:

You can find the Bri­an and Ken short sto­ries we talk about at gerberbrothers.net. Lis­ten to them pod­cast togeth­er and read the sci­ence fic­tion sto­ries they pub­lish at constellary.com. The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast episode Mark host­ed where the dan­gers of AI are dis­cussed is #108 with Nick Bostrom.

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts or start with the first episode.

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