Leo Tolstoy’s Family Recipe for Mac ‘N’ Cheese

In 1874, Stepan Andree­vich Bers pub­lished The Cook­book and gave it as a gift to his sis­ter, count­ess Sophia Andreev­na Tol­staya, the wife of the great Russ­ian nov­el­ist, Leo Tol­stoy. The book con­tained a col­lec­tion of Tol­stoy fam­i­ly recipes, the dish­es they served to their fam­i­ly and friends, those for­tu­nate souls who belonged to the aris­to­crat­ic rul­ing class of late czarist Rus­sia. Almost 150 years lat­er, this cook­book has been trans­lat­ed and repub­lished by Sergei Bel­tyukov.

Avail­able in an inex­pen­sive Kin­dle for­mat ($3.99), Leo Tol­stoy’s fam­i­ly recipe book fea­tures dozens of recipes, every­thing from Tar­tar Sauce and Spiced Mush­rooms (what’s a Russ­ian kitchen with­out mush­rooms?), to Stuffed Dumplings and Green Beans à la Maître d’Hô­tel, to Cof­fee Cake and Vien­nese Pie. The text comes with a trans­la­tion, too, of Russ­ian weights and mea­sures used dur­ing the peri­od. One recipe Mr. Bel­tyukov pro­vid­ed to us (which I did­n’t see in the book) is for the Tol­stoy’s good ole Mac ‘N’ Cheese dish. It goes some­thing like this:

Bring water to a boil, add salt, then add mac­a­roni and leave boil­ing on light fire until half ten­der; drain water through a colan­der, add but­ter and start putting mac­a­roni back into the pot in lay­ers – lay­er of mac­a­roni, some grat­ed Parme­san and some veg­etable sauce, mac­a­roni again and so on until you run out of mac­a­roni. Put the pot on the edge of the stove, cov­er with a lid and let it rest in light fire until the mac­a­roni are soft and ten­der. Shake the pot occa­sion­al­ly to pre­vent them from burn­ing.

We’ll leave you with bon appétit! — an expres­sion almost cer­tain­ly heard in the homes of those French-speak­ing Russ­ian aris­to­crats.

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!

Note: This post first appeared on OC back in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leo Tolstoy’s 17 “Rules of Life:” Wake at 5am, Help the Poor, & Only Two Broth­el Vis­its Per Month

Rare Record­ing: Leo Tol­stoy Reads From His Last Major Work in Four Lan­guages, 1909

Vin­tage Footage of Leo Tol­stoy: Video Cap­tures the Great Nov­el­ist Dur­ing His Final Days

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

MIT Teach­es You How to Speak Ital­ian & Cook Ital­ian Food All at Once (Free Online Course)

The Futur­ist Cook­book (1930) Tried to Turn Ital­ian Cui­sine into Mod­ern Art

Works by Tol­stoy can be found in our col­lec­tions, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices and 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

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Lin-Manuel Miranda Reads Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

It’s worth tak­ing note of this: In a new­ly-released audio­book, Lin-Manuel Miran­da (the cre­ator and star of Hamil­ton) nar­rates Junot Diaz’s Pulitzer Prize-win­ning nov­el, The Brief Won­drous Life of Oscar Wao. Above and below, lis­ten to excerpts of an unabridged read­ing that lasts near­ly 10 hours. And also note that Miran­da is joined at points by Tony Award-win­ning actress, Karen Oli­vo.

If you’re tempt­ed to hear the full pro­duc­tion, you can pur­chase the audio­book online. Or you can down­load it for free by sign­ing up for Audi­ble’s 30-day free tri­al. As I’ve men­tioned before, if you reg­is­ter for Audi­ble’s free tri­al pro­gram, they let you down­load two free audio­books. At the end of 30 days, you can decide whether you want to become an Audi­ble sub­scriber (as I have) or not. No mat­ter what you decide, you get to keep the two free audio­books. Miran­da’s read­ing of The Brief Won­drous Life of Oscar Wao can be one of them.

For any­one who wants free read­ings of Diaz sto­ries, see our post: 7 Short Sto­ries by Junot Díaz Free Online, In Text and Audio.

NB: Audi­ble is an Amazon.com sub­sidiary, and we’re a mem­ber of their affil­i­ate pro­gram.

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:

Hamilton’s Lin-Manuel Miran­da Cre­ates a 19-Song Playlist to Help You Get Over Writer’s Block

A Sneak Peek at Junot Díaz’s Syl­labi for His MIT Writ­ing Class­es, and the Nov­els on His Read­ing List

Hamilton’s Lin-Manuel Miran­da Cre­ates a Playlist of Protest Music for Our Trou­bled Times

“Alexan­der Hamil­ton” Per­formed with Amer­i­can Sign Lan­guage

Hear Classic Readings of Poe’s “The Raven” by Vincent Price, James Earl Jones, Christopher Walken, Neil Gaiman, Stan Lee & More

It can seem that the writ­ing of lit­er­a­ture and the the­o­ry of lit­er­a­ture occu­py sep­a­rate great hous­es, Game of Thrones-style, or even sep­a­rate coun­tries held apart by a great sea. Per­haps they war with each oth­er, per­haps they stu­dious­ly ignore each oth­er or oblique­ly inter­act at tour­na­ments with acronymic names like MLA and AWP. Like Thomas Pynchon’s char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of the polit­i­cal right and left, schol­ars and writ­ers rep­re­sent oppos­ing poles, the hot­house and the street. That rare beast, the aca­d­e­m­ic poet, can seem like some­thing of a uni­corn, or drag­on.

…Or like the omi­nous talk­ing raven in Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous of poems.

The divide between the­o­ry and prac­tice is a recent devel­op­ment, a prod­uct of state bud­get­ing, polit­i­cal brinks­man­ship, the relent­less pub­lish­ing mills of acad­e­mia that force schol­ars to find a pigeon­hole and stay there.… In days past, poets and scholar/theorists fre­quent­ly occu­pied the same place at the same time—Wal­lace Stevens, T.S. Eliot, Samuel Tay­lor Coleridge, Per­cy Shel­ley, and, of course, Poe, whose peren­ni­al­ly pop­u­lar “The Raven” serves as a point-by-point illus­tra­tion for his the­o­ry of com­po­si­tion just as thor­ough­ly as Eliot’s great works bear out his notion of the “objec­tive cor­rel­a­tive.”

Poe’s object, the tit­u­lar crea­ture, is an “arche­typ­al sym­bol,” writes Dana Gioia, in a poem that aims for what its author calls a “uni­ty of effect.” In his 1846 essay “The Phi­los­o­phy of Com­po­si­tion,” Poe the poet/theorist tells us in great detail how “The Raven” sat­is­fies all of his oth­er cri­te­ria for lit­er­a­ture as well, such as achiev­ing its intent in a sin­gle sit­ting, using a repeat­ed refrain, and so on.

Should we have any doubt about how much Poe want­ed us to see the poem as the delib­er­ate out­come of a con­cep­tu­al scheme, we find him three years lat­er, in 1849, the year of his death, deliv­er­ing a lec­ture on the “Poet­ic Prin­ci­ple,” and con­clud­ing with a read­ing of “The Raven.”

John Mon­cure Daniel of the Rich­mond Semi-Week­ly Exam­in­er remarked after attend­ing one of these talks that “the atten­tion of many in this city is now direct­ed to this sin­gu­lar per­for­mance.” At that point, Poe, who hard­ly made a dime from “The Raven,” had to suf­fer the indig­ni­ty of hav­ing all of his work go out of print dur­ing his brief, unhap­py life­time. Mon­cure and the Exam­in­er there­by fur­nished read­ers “with the only cor­rect copy ever pub­lished,” pre­vi­ous appear­ances, it seems, hav­ing con­tained punc­tu­a­tion errors.

Nonethe­less, for all of Poe’s pedantry and penury, “The Raven“ ‘s first appear­ances made him semi-famous. His read­ings were a sen­sa­tion, and it’s a sure bet that his audi­ences came to hear him read the poem, not deliv­er a lec­ture on its prin­ci­ples. Oh, for some pro­to-Edi­son in the room with an ear­ly record­ing device. What would it be like to hear the mourn­ful, grief-strick­en, alco­holic genius—master of the macabre and inven­tor of the detec­tive story—intone the raven’s enig­mat­ic “Nev­er­more”?

While Poe’s speak­ing voice has reced­ed irre­triev­ably into his­to­ry, his poet­ic voice may live close to for­ev­er. So mes­mer­iz­ing are his meter and dic­tion that many great actors known espe­cial­ly for their voic­es have become pos­sessed by “The Raven.”

Like­ly when we think of the poem, what first comes to the mind’s ear is the voice of Vin­cent Price, or James Earl Jones, Christo­pher Lee, or Christo­pher Walken, all of whom have giv­en “The Raven” its due.

And so have many oth­er nota­bles, such as the great Stan Lee, Poe suc­ces­sor Neil Gaiman, orig­i­nal Gomez Addams actor John Astin, and ven­er­a­ble Beat poet/scholar Anne Wald­man (lis­ten here). You will find those recita­tions here at this round-up of notable “Raven” read­ings, and if this some­how doesn’t sati­ate you, then check out Lou Reed’s take on the poem, the Grate­ful Dead’s musi­cal trib­ute, “Raven Space,” or a read­ing in 100 dif­fer­ent celebri­ty impres­sions.

Final­ly, we would be remiss not to men­tion The Simp­sons’ James Earl Jones-nar­rat­ed par­o­dy, a wor­thy teach­ing tool for dis­tract­ed young visu­al learn­ers. Is it a shame that we now think of “The Raven” as a Hal­loween yarn fit for the Tree­house of Hor­ror or any num­ber of enjoy­able exer­cis­es in spooky oratory—rather than the the­o­ret­i­cal thought exper­i­ment its author seemed to intend? Does Poe rotis­serie in his grave as Homer snores in a wing­back chair? Prob­a­bly. But as the author told us him­self at length, the poem works! It still nev­er fails to excite our mor­bid curios­i­ty, enchant our goth­ic sen­si­bil­i­ty, and maybe send a chill or two down the spine. Maybe we nev­er real­ly need­ed Poe to explain it to us.

You can find oth­er lit­er­ary read­ings in our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Simp­sons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teach­ers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Lit­er­a­ture

When Charles Dick­ens & Edgar Allan Poe Met, and Dick­ens’ Pet Raven Inspired Poe’s Poem “The Raven”

7 Tips from Edgar Allan Poe on How to Write Vivid Sto­ries and Poems

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe on His Birth­day

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

54 Cats Riding Out Hurricane Irma in Ernest Hemingway’s Key West Home

The Ernest Hem­ing­way Home and Muse­um pro­vides a sanc­tu­ary to 54 poly­dactyl (six-toed) cats.  Accord­ing to the muse­um, a ship cap­tain once gave Ernest a white six-toed cat, and now some of its descen­dents live in the Hem­ing­way Home and Muse­um locat­ed in Key West–precisely where Hur­ri­cane Irma is now mak­ing land­fall.

As cura­tor David Gon­za­les explains above, he and the 54 Hem­ing­way cats have no plans to evac­u­ate. They’re going to ride out the storm and pro­tect the nov­el­ist’s his­toric home. We wish them all the best. The same goes to all of our friends in Flori­da. We’ll see you when the storm pass­es.

You can see some of the Hem­ing­way poly­dactyl cats here.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

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

Hem­ing­way, Fitzger­ald, Faulkn­er: A Free Yale Course

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Three Charles Bukowski Books Illustrated by Robert Crumb: Underground Comic Art Meets Outsider Literature

Think of the artists you know who, espe­cial­ly in the 1960s and 70s, por­trayed an often sor­did real­i­ty in detail, just as they saw it, gar­ner­ing acclaim from enthu­si­asts, who per­ceived a high artistry in their seem­ing­ly rough-hewn work, and cries from count­less detrac­tors who object­ed to what they saw as the artists’ lazy cru­di­ty. In the realm of poet­ry and prose, Charles Bukows­ki should come to mind soon­er or lat­er; in that of com­ic art, who fits the bill bet­ter than Robert Crumb? It makes only good sense that the work of both men should inter­sect, and they did in the 1980s when Crumb illus­trat­ed two short books by Bukows­ki, Bring Me Your Love and There’s No Busi­ness.

“Crumb’s sig­na­ture under­ground comix aes­thet­ic and Bukowski’s com­men­tary on con­tem­po­rary cul­ture and the human con­di­tion by way of his famil­iar tropes — sex, alco­hol, the drudgery of work — coa­lesce into the kind of fit that makes you won­der why it hadn’t hap­pened soon­er,” writes Brain Pick­ings’ Maria Popo­va.

“In 1998, a final posthu­mous col­lab­o­ra­tion was released under the title The Cap­tain Is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Tak­en Over the Ship — an illus­trat­ed selec­tion from Buk’s pre­vi­ous­ly unpub­lished diaries, cap­tur­ing a year in his life short­ly before his death in 1994.” As one stu­dent of the graph­ic nov­el sum­ma­rizes Bring Me Your Love, “the main char­ac­ter is a man whose per­son­al­i­ty resem­bles the main char­ac­ter of most Bukows­ki sto­ries. He goes through life rather aim­less­ly, killing time by drink­ing and hav­ing sex. His wife is in a men­tal hos­pi­tal.”

“Crumb’s illus­tra­tions give the already grit­ty sto­ry­lines a visu­al con­text — such as a man who looks much like Buk wrestling on the floor with his ‘wife’ after a dis­pute involv­ing answer­ing the phone or var­i­ous bar­room skir­mish­es depict­ing a Bukows­ki-look­ing char­ac­ter run­ning amok,” says Dan­ger­ous Minds. “He was a very dif­fi­cult guy to hang out with in per­son, but on paper he was great,” Crumb once said of Bukows­ki, and his illus­tra­tions also reveal that he under­stands Bukowski’s own aware­ness of the dif­fer­ence between his page self and his real one. “Old writer puts on sweater, sits down, leers into com­put­er screen, and writes about life,” Bukows­ki writes, in their third and final col­lab­o­ra­tion, above a Crumb illus­tra­tion of just such a scene. “How holy can we get?”

See more Crumb illus­tra­tions of Bukows­ki at Brain Pick­ings.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Four Charles Bukows­ki Poems Ani­mat­ed

Watch “Beer,” a Mind-Warp­ing Ani­ma­tion of Charles Bukowski’s 1971 Poem Hon­or­ing His Favorite Drink

R. Crumb Shows Us How He Illus­trat­ed Gen­e­sis: A Faith­ful, Idio­syn­crat­ic Illus­tra­tion of All 50 Chap­ters

Robert Crumb Illus­trates Philip K. Dick’s Infa­mous, Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Meet­ing with God (1974)

Car­toon­ist R. Crumb Assess­es 21 Cul­tur­al Fig­ures, from Dylan & Hitch­cock, to Kaf­ka & The Bea­t­les

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.

Discover the Paintings, Drawings & Collages of Sylvia Plath: Now on Display at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery

Sylvia Plath was a study in con­trasts. Her pop­u­lar­iza­tion as a con­fes­sion­al poet, fem­i­nist lit­er­ary icon, and trag­ic casu­al­ty of major depres­sion; her mid­dle-class Boston back­ground and tor­tured mar­riage to poet Ted Hugh­es—these are the high­lights of her biog­ra­phy, and, in many cas­es, all many peo­ple get to know about her. But “she was much more than that,” Dorothy Moss tells Men­tal Floss. As Vanes­sa Willough­by puts it in a stun­ning essay about her own encoun­ters with Plath’s work, “this woman was not the sum of a gas oven and two sleep­ing chil­dren nes­tled in their beds.”

Moss, a cura­tor at the Smith­son­ian Nation­al Por­trait Gallery has orga­nized an exhib­it fea­tur­ing many more sides of the poet­’s divid­ed, yet pur­pose­ful self, includ­ing her work as a visu­al artist. Read­ers of Plath’s poet­ry may not be sur­prised to learn she first intend­ed to become an artist. Her visu­al sense is so keen that ful­ly-formed images seem to leap out of poems like “Black­ber­ry­ing,” and into the reader’s hands; like the “high green mead­ows” she describes, her lines are “lit from with­in” by a deep appre­ci­a­tion for col­or, tex­ture, and per­spec­tive.

Black­ber­ries / Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes / Ebon in the hedges, fat / With blue-red juices. These they squan­der on my fin­gers.

The black­ber­ries come alive not only in their per­son­i­fi­ca­tion but through the kind of vivid lan­guage that could only come from some­one with a painter­ly way of look­ing at things. Plath “drew and paint­ed and sketched con­stant­ly as a child,” says Moss, and first enrolled at Smith Col­lege as an art major.

The exhi­bi­tion, the Nation­al Por­trait Gallery writes, “reveals how Plath shaped her iden­ti­ty visu­al­ly as she came of age as a writer in the 1950s.” Unsur­pris­ing­ly, her most fre­quent sub­ject is her­self. Her visu­al art, like her poet­ry, notes Men­tal Floss, “is often pre­oc­cu­pied with themes of self-iden­ti­ty.” But as in her elo­quent­ly-writ­ten let­ters and jour­nals, as well as her pub­lished lit­er­ary work, she is nev­er one self, but many—and not all of them vari­a­tions on the sly, yet brood­ing intel­lec­tu­al we see star­ing out at us from the well-known pho­tographs.

We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured some of Plath’s draw­ings and self-por­traits here, but the Smith­son­ian exhib­it offers a con­sid­er­ably rich­er selec­tion than has been avail­able online. The ink and gouache por­trait at the top, for exam­ple, seems to draw from Marc Cha­gall in its mate­ri­als and swirling lines and col­ors. It also recalls lan­guage in a diary entry from 1953:

Look at that ugly dead mask here and do not for­get it. It is a chalk mask with dead dry poi­son behind it, like the death angel. It is what I was this fall, and what I nev­er want to be again.

The hands thrown up in defense or sur­ren­der, the black life­less eyes… Plath emerges from the ring of dead trees behind her like a suf­fer­ing saint. Anoth­er por­trait, fur­ther up also resem­bles a mask, call­ing to mind the ancient ori­gins of the word per­sona. But the style has total­ly changed, the tumult of brush­strokes smoothed out into clean geo­met­ric lines and uni­form patch­es of col­or. Three masks com­bine into one face, a trin­i­ty of Plaths. The poet always had a sense of her­self as divid­ed, refer­ring to two dis­tinct per­son­al­i­ties as her “brown-haired” and “plat­inum” selves. The brown-haired young girl made sev­er­al charm­ing sketch­es of her fam­i­ly, with humor­ous com­men­tary. (Her trou­bling father is telling­ly, per­haps, absent.)

Hers was an epit­o­me of stan­dard-issue 50s white, mid­dle class Amer­i­can child­hood, the kind of sup­pos­ed­ly idyl­lic upbring­ing which no small num­ber of peo­ple still remem­ber today in a glow­ing, nos­tal­gic haze. In Plath’s exca­va­tions of the iden­ti­ties that she cul­ti­vat­ed her­self and those she had pushed upon her, she gazed with rad­i­cal inten­si­ty at America’s patri­ar­chal social fic­tions, and the vio­lence and enti­tle­ment that lay beneath them. The col­lage above from 1960 presents us with the kind of lay­ered, cut-up, hybrid text that William Bur­roughs had begun exper­i­ment­ing with not long before. You can see more high­lights from the Plath exhib­it, “One Life: Sylvia Plath,” at the Nation­al Por­trait Gallery. Also fea­tured are Plath’s fam­i­ly pho­tos, books, let­ters, her typewriter—and, in gen­er­al, sev­er­al more dimen­sions of her life than most of us know.

“One Life: Sylvia Plath” runs from June 30, 2017 through May 20, 2018.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Sylvia Plath: Revis­it Her Sketch­es, Self-Por­traits, Draw­ings & Illus­trat­ed Let­ters

Hear Sylvia Plath Read 15 Poems From Her Final Col­lec­tion, Ariel, in 1962 Record­ing

Sylvia Plath’s 10 Back to School Com­mand­ments (1953)

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

Ralph Steadman’s Surrealist Illustrations of George Orwell’s Animal Farm (1995)

As a nov­el­ist, George Orwell did not traf­fic in sub­tleties, but then nei­ther did the authors of Medieval moral­i­ty plays. The alle­gor­i­cal Ani­mal Farm per­forms a sim­i­lar, if sec­u­lar, func­tion, giv­ing us unam­bigu­ous vil­lainy and clear didac­tic intent. Orwell not­ed in his essay “Why I Write” that he meant the book to “fuse polit­i­cal pur­pose and artis­tic pur­pose into one whole.“ Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished with the sub­ti­tle A Fairy Sto­ry, the nov­el car­i­ca­tures Stal­in­ism and the Russ­ian Rev­o­lu­tion, and Orwell left no mys­tery as to his intent when he com­ment­ed in the pref­ace to a 1947 Ukrain­ian edi­tion that he meant the book to “end on a loud note of dis­cord” meant to sig­ni­fy what he saw as the insta­bil­i­ty of the Tehran Con­fer­ence.

Lead­en state­ments like these aside, Orwell swore he “did not wish to com­ment on the work,” writ­ing, “if it does not speak for itself, it is a fail­ure.” The book does indeed speak, in two par­tic­u­lar ways: its vivid­ly grotesque char­ac­ter­i­za­tions of the humans and ani­mals on the farm and its indeli­ble col­lec­tion of pro­pa­gan­dis­tic slo­gans.

These are the fea­tures best cap­tured by gonzo illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man, famous for his col­lab­o­ra­tions with Hunter S. Thomp­son. Pub­lished in 1995—with the Fairy Sto­ry sub­ti­tle restored—the Stead­man-illus­trat­ed 50th anniver­sary edi­tion real­izes anoth­er pre­vi­ous vari­a­tion on the book’s title: Ani­mal Farm: A Con­tem­po­rary Satire.

These images draw out the exag­ger­at­ed absur­di­ties of the nov­el as only an artist with Steadman’s twist­ed, sur­re­al­ist sense of visu­al humor could. They are pro­found­ly effec­tive, though there’s no telling what Orwell would have thought of them. Steadman’s car­i­ca­tures uni­ver­sal­ize the book’s dra­ma, pro­vid­ing the kind of stock char­ac­ters we find in folk­lore, “fairy sto­ries,” and reli­gious alle­go­ry. But Orwell wrote that he wished us not to mis­take his express polit­i­cal intent: “It was of the utmost impor­tance to me that peo­ple in West­ern Europe should see the Sovi­et regime for what it real­ly was…. I have been con­vinced that the destruc­tion of the Sovi­et myth was essen­tial if we want­ed a revival of the Social­ist move­ment.”

Stead­man, to his great cred­it, felt no need to lit­er­al­ize Orwell’s stat­ed inten­tions in his illus­tra­tions, but rather took the book’s bizarre world on its own terms. You can read more quotes from Orwell’s earnest, intend­ed pref­ace for the book, restored in the Stead­man edi­tion, at Brain Pick­ings, where you’ll also find a good num­ber of the illus­tra­tions as well. Copies of the out-of-print book can be pur­chased on Ama­zon and Abe’s books.

Stead­man not only applied his skill as a car­i­ca­tur­ist to Orwell’s fic­tion­al farm denizens, we should note, but also to the author him­self. He made sev­er­al sketch­es of Orwell, such as that below of the writer with a cage of rats around his neck. You can see sev­er­al more of Steadman’s draw­ings of Orwell at The Guardian.

via Brain Pick­ings

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Break­ing Bad Illus­trat­ed by Gonzo Artist Ralph Stead­man

Pink Floyd Adapts George Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm into Their 1977 Con­cept Album, Ani­mals (a Cri­tique of Late Cap­i­tal­ism, Not Stal­in)

Gun Nut William S. Bur­roughs & Gonzo Illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man Make Polaroid Por­traits Togeth­er

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

New BBC Dramatization of Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children Now Streaming Free for a Limited Time

FYI: The BBC is now stream­ing a drama­ti­za­tion of Salman Rushdie’s Book­er Prize-win­ning nov­el Mid­night’s Chil­dren. This free stream will only last for a lim­it­ed time (the next 29 days). So dive in.

Here’s how the BBC briefly describes the pro­duc­tion:

To mark the 70th anniver­sary of the Par­ti­tion of India, an ambi­tious new drama­ti­za­tion of Salman Rushdie’s daz­zling nov­el of love, his­to­ry and mag­ic. Saleem Sinai is born on the stroke of mid­night on 15th August 1947, at the exact moment that India and Pak­istan become sep­a­rate, inde­pen­dent nations. From that moment on, his fate is mys­te­ri­ous­ly hand­cuffed to the his­to­ry of his coun­try. The sto­ry starts with Saleem’s grand­fa­ther, Aadam, in Kash­mir in 1915. Drama­tised by Ayee­sha Menon. Star­ring Nikesh Patel, Abhin Galeya and Meera Syal.

You can find the sev­en indi­vid­ual episodes here. Each is about an hour long. Find more free lit­er­ary delights in our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

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.

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