Alice B. Toklas Reads Her Famous Recipe for Hashish Fudge (1963)

toklas cookbook

Alice Babette Tok­las met Gertrude Stein in 1907, the day she arrived in Paris. They remained togeth­er for 39 years until Stein’s death in 1946. While Stein became the cen­ter of the avant-garde art world, host­ing an exclu­sive salon that wel­comed the likes of Ernest Hem­ing­way, Pablo Picas­so, James Joyce, Ezra Pound and F. Scott Fitzger­ald, Tok­las large­ly pre­ferred to stay in Stein’s shad­ow, serv­ing as her sec­re­tary, edi­tor and assis­tant.

That changed in 1933 when Stein wrote The Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Alice B. Tok­las – a retelling of the couple’s life togeth­er with Tok­las serv­ing as nar­ra­tor. The book is Stein’s most acces­si­ble and best-sell­ing work. It also turned the shy, self-effac­ing Tok­las into a lit­er­ary fig­ure.

After Stein’s death, Tok­las pub­lished The Alice B. Tok­las Cook­book in 1954, which com­bined per­son­al rec­ol­lec­tions of her time with Stein along with recipes and mus­ings about French cui­sine. Yet it wasn’t her sto­ries about tend­ing to the wound­ed dur­ing WWI or her opin­ions on mus­sels that made the book famous. Instead, it was the inclu­sion of a recipe giv­en to her by Moroc­can-based artist Brion Gysin called “Hashish Fudge.”

In this 1963 record­ing from Paci­fi­ca Radio, Tok­las reads her noto­ri­ous recipe. The snack “might pro­vide an enter­tain­ing refresh­ment for a Ladies’ Bridge Club or a chap­ter meet­ing of the DAR,” Tok­las notes in her reedy, dig­ni­fied voice. Then she gets on to the recipe itself:

Take one tea­spoon black pep­per­corns, one whole nut­meg, four aver­age sticks of cin­na­mon, one tea­spoon corian­der. These should all be pul­ver­ized in a mor­tar. About a hand­ful each of stoned dates, dried figs, shelled almonds and peanuts: chop these and mix them togeth­er. A bunch of Cannabis sati­va can be pul­ver­ized. This along with the spices should be dust­ed over the mixed fruit and nuts, knead­ed togeth­er. About a cup of sug­ar dis­solved in a big pat of but­ter. Rolled into a cake and cut into pieces or made into balls about the size of a wal­nut, it should be eat­en with care. Two pieces are quite suf­fi­cient.

Tok­las con­cedes that get­ting the key ingre­di­ent “can present cer­tain dif­fi­cul­ties” and rec­om­mends find­ing the stuff in the wild, which might have been pos­si­ble to do in the ear­ly 1960s. Nowa­days, the best course of action is to move to Wash­ing­ton, Col­orado or Uruguay.

In the record­ing, Tok­las then goes on to recall how hashish fudge came to be includ­ed into her book.

“The recipe was inno­cent­ly includ­ed with­out my real­iz­ing that the hashish was the accent­ed part of the recipe,” she says with­out a trace of face­tious­ness. “I was shocked to find that Amer­i­ca wouldn’t accept it because it was too dan­ger­ous.”

“It nev­er went into the Amer­i­can edi­tion,” she says. “The Eng­lish are braver. We’re not coura­geous about that sort of thing.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in Jan­u­ary 2014.

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gertrude Stein Gets a Snarky Rejec­tion Let­ter from Pub­lish­er (1912)

Hear Gertrude Stein Read Works Inspired by Matisse, Picas­so, and T.S. Eliot (1934)

Gertrude Stein Recites ‘If I Told Him: A Com­plet­ed Por­trait of Picas­so’

Pretty Much Pop #18 Discusses Stephen King’s Media Empire

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Is the most pop­u­lar writer of our time actu­al­ly a good writer? Or maybe he used to be good but has long since run out of inspi­ra­tion? What are the most effec­tive ways to adapt these very read­able short sto­ries and nov­els? Does show­ing us the evil in a film lessen its impact? While you’ve been think­ing about those ques­tions, King has already writ­ten anoth­er book.

Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt share their expe­ri­ences with and opin­ions about King’s oeu­vre and the films and shows that have come out of it, includ­ing It, “The Body” (aka Stand By Me), The Shin­ing, In the Tall Grass, The Dark Tow­er, The Stand, Chil­dren of the Corn, From a Buick 8, Under the Dome, The Out­sider, Mr. Mer­cedes, Cas­tle Rock, Pet Sematary, Mis­ery, The Shaw­shank Redemp­tion, and more.

Some arti­cles we read to pre­pare for this dis­cus­sion include:

If you’ve nev­er actu­al­ly read a Stephen King novel­la, go ahead and read “The Body.”

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.

 

Anne Frank’s Diary: The Graphic Novel Adaptation

The human imag­i­na­tion can be an extra­or­di­nary cop­ing device in times of trou­ble, a tiny win­dow pro­vid­ing men­tal escape from what­ev­er cell fate has con­signed us to.

Diarist and aspir­ing pro­fes­sion­al writer Anne Frank, who died in the Bergen-Belsen con­cen­tra­tion camp at the age of 15, chafed at her now-uni­ver­sal­ly-known con­fine­ment in the Secret Annex. She chafed at her mother’s author­i­ty and the seem­ing­ly effort­less saint­li­ness of her old­er sis­ter. Doc­u­ment­ing her dai­ly phys­i­cal and emo­tion­al real­i­ty offered tem­po­rary respite from it.

The lib­er­at­ing pow­er of the cre­ative mind is one of the aspects writer Ari Fol­man and illus­tra­tor David Polon­sky sought to tease out when adapt­ing Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl as a graph­ic nov­el.

The graph­ic nov­el for­mat decreed that entire pas­sages would be cut or con­densed. Polon­sky can use a sin­gle pan­el to show logis­tics it took Anne para­graphs to describe. The inter­per­son­al con­flicts she dwelt on are now con­veyed by facial expres­sions and body lan­guage.

As with Sid Jacob­son and Ernie Colón’s 2010 Anne Frank: The Anne Frank House Autho­rized Graph­ic Biog­ra­phythe diary’s small stage is expand­ed to give read­ers, par­tic­u­lar­ly those unac­quaint­ed with the orig­i­nal text, a his­tor­i­cal con­text for under­stand­ing the wider social impli­ca­tions of Anne’s tragedy.

But this graph­ic retelling is unique in that it traf­fics in mag­ic real­ist visu­als that should play well with 21st-cen­tu­ry youth, who cut their teeth on CGI, fast-paced edits, and stream­ing teen-focused enter­tain­ments where­in char­ac­ters are apt to break the fourth wall or break into song.

These are the read­ers to whom the project is most inten­tion­al­ly pitched. As Fol­man told Teen Vogue’s Emma Sar­ran Web­ster:

I tru­ly believe that in a few years, when the very last sur­vivors will have died, the angle that will be tak­en from the sto­ry will be that with every year, we are 10 years fur­ther away from the orig­i­nal. […] There is a severe threat that the things we have to learn from it will not be taught and learned if we don’t find a new lan­guage for them. So any new lan­guage in my opin­ion is blessed, as long as it stays with­in the frame­work and reach­es young audi­ences by means of their tools, which are now very visu­al.

Ergo, Kit­ty, Anne’s nick­name for her diary, has been per­son­i­fied, emerg­ing from the lit­tle plaid book’s pages like Peter Pan’s shad­ow, ear atten­tive­ly cocked toward the secrets Anne whis­pers into it.

The melo­dra­mat­ic Mrs. van Daan’s prized fur coat has an anthro­po­mor­phized rab­bit head col­lar, capa­ble of join­ing in the dia­logue.

Polon­sky pays homage to artists Edvard Munch, whose “degen­er­a­tive” work Hitler had removed from Ger­man muse­ums, and Gus­tav Klimt, who paint­ed many works that were con­fis­cat­ed from their Jew­ish own­ers by Nazi decree.

Young read­ers’ mod­ern sen­si­bil­i­ties also guid­ed Folman’s approach to the text. The spir­it of the orig­i­nal is pre­served, but cer­tain phras­ings have been giv­en a 21st cen­tu­ry update.

The snarky Secret Annex menus and diet tips he allows his hero­ine harken to the direct address of var­i­ous meta teen come­dies, as well as the blis­ter­ing par­o­dy of the Sara­je­vo Sur­vival Guide, a pur­port­ed trav­el guide writ­ten dur­ing the Siege.

Noble goal of engag­ing the next gen­er­a­tion aside, there are no doubt some purists who will view these inno­va­tions as impo­si­tion. Rest assured that Anne Frank’s Diary: The Graph­ic Adap­ta­tion is sanc­tioned by Anne Frank Fonds, the char­i­ta­ble foun­da­tion estab­lished by Anne’s father, Otto.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Only Known Footage of Anne Frank

Read the Poignant Let­ter Sent to Anne Frank by George Whit­man, Own­er of Paris’ Famed Shake­speare & Co Book­shop (1960): “If I Sent This Let­ter to the Post Office It Would No Longer Reach You”

How Art Spiegel­man Designs Com­ic Books: A Break­down of His Mas­ter­piece, Maus

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Novem­ber 4 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates Louise Jor­dan Miln’s “Woo­ings and Wed­dings in Many Climes (1900). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Peruvian Scholar Writes & Defends the First Thesis Written in Quechua, the Main Language of the Incan Empire

We hear many trag­ic sto­ries of dis­ap­pear­ing indige­nous lan­guages, their last native speak­ers dying out, and the sym­bol­ic and social worlds embed­ded in those lan­guages going with them, unless they’re record­ed (or recov­ered) by his­to­ri­ans and archived in muse­ums. Such report­ing, sad but nec­es­sary, can some­times obscure the mil­lions of liv­ing indige­nous lan­guage speak­ers who suf­fer from sys­temic neglect around the world.

The sit­u­a­tion is begin­ning to change. The UN has called 2019 the Year of Indige­nous Lan­guages, not only to raise aware­ness of the loss of lan­guage diver­si­ty, but also to high­light the world’s con­tin­ued lin­guis­tic rich­ness. A 2015 World Bank report esti­mat­ed that 560 dif­fer­ent lan­guages are spo­ken in Latin Amer­i­ca alone.

The South Amer­i­can lan­guage Quechua—once a pri­ma­ry lan­guage of the Incan empire—claims one of the high­est num­ber of speak­ers: 8 mil­lion in the Andean region, with 4 mil­lion of those speak­ers in Peru. Yet, despite con­tin­ued wide­spread use, Quechua has been labeled endan­gered by UNESCO. “Until recent­ly,” writes Frances Jen­ner at Latin Amer­i­can Reports, “the Peru­vian gov­ern­ment had few lan­guage preser­va­tion poli­cies in place.”

“In 2016 how­ev­er, TV Perú intro­duced a Quechua-lan­guage dai­ly news pro­gram called Ñuqanchik mean­ing ‘All of us,’ and in Cus­co, the lan­guage is start­ing to be taught in some schools.” Now, Peru­vian schol­ar Rox­ana Quispe Col­lantes has made his­to­ry by defend­ing the first doc­tor­al the­sis writ­ten in Quechua, at Lima’s 468-year old San Mar­co Uni­ver­si­ty. Her project exam­ines the Quechuan poet­ry of 20th cen­tu­ry writer Alen­cas­tre Gutiér­rez.

Col­lantes began her the­sis pre­sen­ta­tion with a tra­di­tion­al thanks­giv­ing cer­e­mo­ny,” writes Naveen Razik at NITV News, “and pre­sent­ed her study titled Yawar Para (Blood Rain),” the cul­mi­na­tion of sev­en years spent “trav­el­ing to remote com­mu­ni­ties in the moun­tain­ous Canas region” to “ver­i­fy the words and phras­es used in Gutiérrez’s works.” The exam­in­ers asked her ques­tions in Quechua dur­ing the near­ly two hour exam­i­na­tion, which you can see above.

The project rep­re­sents a sig­nif­i­cant per­son­al achieve­ment for Col­lantes who “grew up speak­ing Quechua with her par­ents and grand­par­ents in the Aco­mayo dis­trict of Cus­co,” reports The Guardian. Col­lante’s work also rep­re­sents a step for­ward for the sup­port of indige­nous lan­guage and cul­ture, and the recog­ni­tion of Quechua in par­tic­u­lar. The lan­guage is foun­da­tion­al to South Amer­i­can cul­ture, giv­ing Spanish—and English—words like puma, con­dor, lla­ma, and alpaca.

But it is “rarely—if ever—heard on nation­al tele­vi­sion or radio sta­tions.” Quechua speak­ers, about 13% of Peru­vians, “are dis­pro­por­tion­ate­ly rep­re­sent­ed among the country’s poor with­out access to health ser­vices.” The stig­ma attached to the lan­guage has long been “syn­ony­mous with dis­crim­i­na­tion” and “social rejec­tion” says Hugo Coya, direc­tor of Peru’s tele­vi­sion and radio insti­tute and the “dri­ving force” behind the new Quechua news pro­gram.

Col­lantes’ work may be less acces­si­ble to the aver­age Quechua speak­er than TV news, but she hopes that it will make major cul­tur­al inroads towards greater accep­tance. “I hope my exam­ple will help to reval­ue the lan­guage again and encour­age young peo­ple, espe­cial­ly young women, to fol­low my path, “she says. “My great­est wish is for Quechua to become a neces­si­ty once again. Only by speak­ing it can we revive it.” Maybe in part due to her exten­sive efforts, UNESCO can take Quechua off its list of 2,860 endan­gered lan­guages.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Opti­cal Scan­ning Tech­nol­o­gy Lets Researchers Recov­er Lost Indige­nous Lan­guages from Old Wax Cylin­der Record­ings

The Atlas of Endan­gered Alpha­bets: A Free Online Atlas That Helps Pre­serve Writ­ing Sys­tems That May Soon Dis­ap­pear

The Tree of Lan­guages Illus­trat­ed in a Big, Beau­ti­ful Info­graph­ic

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

A Flowchart of Philosophical Novels: Reading Recommendations from Haruki Murakami to Don DeLillo

Do you want to read a philo­soph­i­cal nov­el? Sure, we all do. But the ques­tion of exact­ly what kind of philo­soph­i­cal nov­el you want to read, let alone which indi­vid­ual book, isn’t quite so eas­i­ly answered. But now a pro­fes­sion­al has come to the res­cue: “Ben Roth, a philoso­pher who teach­es in the Har­vard Col­lege Writ­ing Pro­gram, has put togeth­er a kind of flow­chart rec­om­mend­ing philo­soph­i­cal nov­els and sto­ries,” reports Dai­ly Nous’ Justin Wein­berg. “With cat­e­gories like ‘about a philoso­pher,’ ‘by a Ph.D.,’ ‘hor­ror,’ ‘the com­pli­ca­tions of his­to­ry,’ and many more, the chart is pret­ty big.”

The choic­es you make in nav­i­gat­ing it could land you on the work of a writer from one of a vari­ety of coun­tries, one of sev­er­al eras, and one of a capa­cious range of def­i­n­i­tions of “philo­soph­i­cal.” If you take the word in the sense of a nov­el­’s being about or steeped in the work of a par­tic­u­lar philoso­pher, Roth rec­om­mends books like Thomas Bern­hard’s Cor­rec­tion (Wittgen­stein) and Teju Cole’s Open City (Ben­jamin and Barthes). Else­where on the map he also includes nov­els writ­ten by philo­soph­i­cal­ly cre­den­tialed aca­d­e­mics like William Gass, Iris Mur­doch, and Anuk Arud­pra­gasam.

If you pre­fer nov­els where “fic­tion writ­ers drop into straight essay­is­tic mode,” Roth offers a choice between the easy mode of Milan Kun­der­a’s The Unbear­able Light­ness of Being and the hard mode of Robert Musil’s The Man With­out Qual­i­ties. (If you just want­ed to read about a bunch of phi­los­o­phy stu­dents, well, there’s always Don­na Tart­t’s The Secret His­to­ry.)

To those who go in for more “nov­el­ly nov­els,” as Geoff Dyer (a known Bern­hard enthu­si­ast and author of some pret­ty philo­soph­i­cal fic­tion him­self) mem­o­rably put it, Roth presents more forks in the road: Would you like to read sci­ence fic­tion? Exis­ten­tial­ism? Post­mod­ernism? A book free of ‑isms entire­ly, or any­way as free as pos­si­ble?

Your answers to those ques­tions and oth­ers could have you read­ing any­thing from J.G. Bal­lard’s Crash (“body hor­ror”) to Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nau­sea (“mid-cen­tu­ry French clas­sic”) to David Fos­ter Wal­lace’s Infi­nite Jest (post­mod­ern, ency­clo­pe­dic, on addic­tion). Oth­er choic­es may lead you to selec­tions less obvi­ous­ly involved with phi­los­o­phy: J.M. Coet­zee’s Wait­ing for the Bar­bar­ians, or Vir­ginia Woolf’s To the Light­house, Haru­ki Murakami’s Hard-Boiled Won­der­land and the End of the World. Of course, you may not want to read a philo­soph­i­cal nov­el at all: you may want to read philo­soph­i­cal short sto­ries, in which case Roth rec­om­mends such form-defin­ing fig­ures as Edgar Allan Poe, writer of “dis­turb­ing sto­ries”; Lydia Davis, writer of “short sto­ries” (empha­sis his); and Jorge Luis Borges, writer of “awe-induc­ing sto­ries.”

Borges and quite a few oth­er names on Roth’s philo­soph­i­cal-nov­el flow­chart also appear in crit­ic David Auer­bach’s “Inquest on Left-Brained Lit­er­a­ture,” a reveal­ing look at the authors read by “engi­neers with a lit­er­ary bent.” Both also include Don DeLil­lo, whose work Auer­bach char­ac­ter­izes as mak­ing “heavy use of phan­tas­mago­ria, com­ple­ment­ed by very sophis­ti­cat­ed nar­ra­tive con­struc­tion,” and “sim­ple, vis­cer­al, clas­si­cal themes approached in [a] flashy, nov­el way.” Roth, for his part, describes DeLil­lo’s White Noise as his “favorite book ever.” Else­where on the flow­chart, to the philo­soph­i­cal lit­er­a­ture enthu­si­ast who’s read every­thing he offers “the most under­rat­ed philo­soph­i­cal nov­el of all time,” Dino Buz­za­ti’s The Tar­tar Steppe. No, I haven’t heard of it either, but I have to admit that it keeps good com­pa­ny.

via Dai­ly Nous

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jorge Luis Borges Selects 74 Books for Your Per­son­al Library

A Clock­work Orange Author Antho­ny Burgess Lists His Five Favorite Dystopi­an Nov­els: Orwell’s 1984, Huxley’s Island & More

R. Crumb Illus­trates Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nau­sea: Exis­ten­tial­ism Meets Under­ground Comics

44 Essen­tial Movies for the Stu­dent of Phi­los­o­phy

Emi­nent Philoso­phers Name the 43 Most Impor­tant Phi­los­o­phy Books Writ­ten Between 1950–2000: Wittgen­stein, Fou­cault, Rawls & More

135 Free Phi­los­o­phy eBooks

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.

F. Scott Fitzgerald Creates a List of 22 Essential Books (1936)


In 1936 — per­haps the dark­est year of his life — F. Scott Fitzger­ald was con­va­lesc­ing in a hotel in Asheville, North Car­oli­na, when he offered his nurse a list of 22 books he thought were essen­tial read­ing. The list, above, is writ­ten in the nurse’s hand.

Fitzger­ald had moved into Asheville’s Grove Park Inn that April after trans­fer­ring his wife Zel­da, a psy­chi­atric patient, to near­by High­land Hos­pi­tal. It was the same month that Esquire pub­lished his essay “The Crack Up”, in which he con­fessed to a grow­ing aware­ness that “my life had been a draw­ing on resources that I did not pos­sess, that I had been mort­gag­ing myself phys­i­cal­ly and spir­i­tu­al­ly up to the hilt.”

Fitzger­ald’s finan­cial and drink­ing prob­lems had reached a crit­i­cal stage. That sum­mer he frac­tured his shoul­der while div­ing into the hotel swim­ming pool, and some­time lat­er, accord­ing to Michael Cody at the Uni­ver­si­ty of South Car­oli­na’s Fitzger­ald Web site, “he fired a revolver in a sui­cide threat, after which the hotel refused to let him stay with­out a nurse. He was attend­ed there­after by Dorothy Richard­son, whose chief duties were to pro­vide him com­pa­ny and try to keep him from drink­ing too much. In typ­i­cal Fitzger­ald fash­ion, he devel­oped a friend­ship with Miss Richard­son and attempt­ed to edu­cate her by pro­vid­ing her with a read­ing list.”

It’s a curi­ous list. Shake­speare is omit­ted. So is James Joyce. But Nor­man Dou­glas and Arnold Ben­nett make the cut. Fitzger­ald appears to have restrict­ed his selec­tions to books that were avail­able at that time in Mod­ern Library edi­tions. At the top of the page, Richard­son writes “These are books that Scott thought should be required read­ing.”

via The Uni­ver­si­ty of South Car­oli­na

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ernest Hem­ing­way Cre­ates a Read­ing List for a Young Writer, 1934

Sev­en Tips From F. Scott Fitzger­ald on How to Write Fic­tion

Rare Footage of Scott and Zel­da Fitzger­ald From the 1920s

Found: A Long Lost Chapter from the World’s Oldest Novel, the 11th-Century Japanese Classic, The Tale of Genji

Hen­ry James’ dis­par­age­ment of Vic­to­ri­an nov­els has always struck me as odd. “What do such large loose bag­gy mon­sters,” as he called them, “with their queer ele­ments of the acci­den­tal and the arbi­trary, artis­ti­cal­ly mean?” The ques­tion might be asked of what has often been con­sid­ered the first mod­ern nov­el, Miguel de Cer­vantes’ Don Quixote, a trag­ic-com­ic adven­ture whose first vol­ume ranges over 52 loose, episod­ic chap­ters and whose sec­ond appeared ten years lat­er to com­ment explic­it­ly on the first’s suc­cess.

And then, six-hun­dred years ear­li­er, there appeared what many con­sid­er to be the first nov­el ever writ­ten, The Tale of Gen­ji, which “cov­ers almost three quar­ters of a cen­tu­ry,” notes trans­la­tor Edward Sei­den­stick­er in an intro­duc­tion to his 1976 edi­tion. “The first forty-one chap­ters have to do with the life and loves of the noble­man known as ‘the shin­ing Gen­ji,’” the son of an emper­or. We fol­low Gen­ji from birth to his 52nd year, then the final ten chap­ters relate the tale of Kaoru, “who pass­es in the world as Genji’s son but is real­ly the grand­son of his best friend.” (See a 12th-cen­tu­ry illus­tra­tion from the tale above.)

Writ­ten by a noble­woman and lady of the court in 11th cen­tu­ry Heian Japan, the book’s author is called Murasa­ki Shik­ibu, but her real name is unknown. Shik­ibu “des­ig­nates an office held by her father”; Murasa­ki prob­a­bly derives from the name of a main char­ac­ter in the nov­el. There is no “con­clu­sive evi­dence that the Gen­ji was either fin­ished or unfin­ished at the time, nor is there con­clu­sive evi­dence that it is fin­ished or unfin­ished today.” Some chap­ters have been thought spu­ri­ous, some deemed miss­ing. No orig­i­nal man­u­script exists, and only four of the novel’s 54 chap­ters have been authen­ti­cat­ed as tran­scrip­tions from the orig­i­nal text.

That is, until this month, when a “lost”—or pre­vi­ous­ly unknown—chapter sur­faced, and “is now the fifth con­firmed tran­scrip­tion of the his­tor­i­cal nov­el,” as Hakim Bishara writes at Hyper­al­ler­gic. “The new­ly dis­cov­ered chap­ter, titled ‘Waka­murasa­ki,’ depicts Genji’s encounter with Murasa­ki-no-ue, the young woman who lat­er becomes his wife.” It was dis­cov­ered by Moto­fuyu Okochi, The Japan Times reports, “a descen­dent of the for­mer feu­dal lord of the Mikawa-Yoshi­da Domain in Aichi Pre­fec­ture.”

The new Gen­ji mate­r­i­al appears “in one chap­ter of a five-chap­ter work called ‘Aobyoshi­bon’ (blue cov­er book), com­piled by poet Fuji­wara Tei­ka,” who is believed to have tran­scribed the old­est doc­u­ment­ed ver­sions of the nov­el dur­ing the Kamaku­ra Peri­od (1185–1333). There is as yet no crit­i­cal dis­cus­sion of how this find might change the way schol­ars read the book, but as a loose bag­gy mon­ster, it can expand and con­tract, change its shape and com­po­si­tion, with­out los­ing its essen­tial char­ac­ter.

As Sei­den­stick­er writes, “Murasa­ki Shik­ibu was no Aris­totelian, plan­ning her begin­ning, mid­dle, and end before she set brush to paper. The Gen­ji is full of hes­i­ta­tions and wrong turns and retreats.” Full, in oth­er words, of the mean­der­ings of the mind. (You can read Seidensticker’s trans­la­tion of the Gen­ji online here.) Anoth­er West­ern admir­er of the nov­el, Jorge Luis Borges, writ­ing of an ear­li­er trans­la­tion, put it anoth­er way: “What inter­ests us is not the exoticism—the hor­ri­ble word—but rather the human pas­sions… Murasaki’s work is what one would quite pre­cise­ly call a psy­cho­log­i­cal nov­el.”

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Splen­did Hand-Scroll Illus­tra­tions of The Tale of the Gen­jii, The First Nov­el Ever Writ­ten (Cir­ca 1120)

The Old­est Book Print­ed with Mov­able Type is Not The Guten­berg Bible: Jikji, a Col­lec­tion of Kore­an Bud­dhist Teach­ings, Pre­dat­ed It By 78 Years and It’s Now Dig­i­tized Online

Hand-Col­ored Pho­tographs of 19th Cen­tu­ry Japan

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

Why Should We Read Dante’s Divine Comedy? An Animated Video Makes the Case

Dante Alighieri’s 14th-cen­tu­ry Divine Com­e­dy is revered for the force of its imagery, its inno­v­a­tive terza rima and bold use of the ver­nac­u­lar, its cre­ative inter­pre­ta­tion of medieval Catholic doc­trine, its fero­cious polit­i­cal satire…

And the poignant auto­bi­og­ra­phy the poet weaves through­out the sto­ry. The epic is ani­mat­ed by Dan­te’s own roman­tic long­ing and his bit­ter dis­il­lu­sion­ment with life. He paints him­self in the first stan­za as over­come by mid­dle-aged bewil­der­ment. Robert Durling’s trans­la­tion ren­ders the first lines thus:

In the mid­dle of the jour­ney of our life, I came to
myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.

He is already adrift when Vir­gil turns up to guide him to the famous­ly inscribed gates of hell—“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”

The grim descent “sets into motion what is per­haps the great­est love sto­ry ever told,” says the TED-Ed video above, script­ed by Sheila Marie Orfano and ani­mat­ed by Tomás Pichar­do-Espail­lat. Dante takes this epic jour­ney with two mus­es, Vir­gil, then Beat­rice, who guides him through Par­adise, a fig­ure drawn from an unre­quit­ed obses­sion the poet har­bored for a woman named Beat­rice Porti­nari.

Dante turned his crush into a muse, and trans­formed desire into chaste reli­gious alle­go­ry. He turned his hatred of church and state cor­rup­tion, how­ev­er, into glee­ful revenge fan­ta­sy, tor­tur­ing a num­ber of peo­ple still very much alive at the time of his writ­ing. A mem­ber of the White Guelphs, a Flo­ren­tine fac­tion that pushed back against Roman influ­ence, Dante fought fierce­ly opposed the Black Guelphs, a group loy­al to the Pope. He was even­tu­al­ly exiled from Flo­rence, but not silenced.

“Dis­hon­ored and with lit­tle hope of return,” he “freely aired his griev­ances” in the Divine Com­e­dy, writ­ing in Ital­ian, rather than Latin, to ensure “the widest pos­si­ble audi­ence.” His read­ers at the time would have picked up on the ref­er­ences. Now, we need hun­dreds of notes to explain the full con­text. We should also know some salient facts about the poet: a life of polit­i­cal bat­tle and reli­gious devo­tion, an imag­i­na­tive lit­er­ary love affair with a woman he sup­pos­ed­ly met twice; a thwart­ed desire for jus­tice and vengeance and an obses­sion with integri­ty.

We do not need exten­sive notes and crit­i­cal essays to feel the force of Dante’s lan­guage, just as we do not need to believe in the Divine Com­e­dys reli­gion. Like all great epic poet­ry, its meta­phys­i­cal themes ampli­fy pro­found­ly human emo­tion­al jour­neys.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Visu­al­iz­ing Dante’s Hell: See Maps & Draw­ings of Dante’s Infer­no from the Renais­sance Through Today

An Illus­trat­ed and Inter­ac­tive Dante’s Infer­no: Explore a New Dig­i­tal Com­pan­ion to the Great 14th-Cen­tu­ry Epic Poem

Gus­tave Doré’s Haunt­ing Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy

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

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