Four Interactive Maps Immortalize the Road Trips That Inspired Jack Kerouac’s On the Road

Jack Ker­ouac’s On the Road has, in the almost 60 years since its pub­li­ca­tion, inspired its read­ers to do many things: some try their hands at writ­ing their own care­ful­ly com­posed yet care­less­ness-exud­ing prose, but oth­ers find them­selves moved to repli­cate the Amer­i­can road trip whose sto­ry Ker­ouac uses that near-inim­itable style to tell. They might do so by fol­low­ing the author’s own hand-drawn map, or the more recent­ly com­posed set of Google dri­ving direc­tions we fea­tured a cou­ple years ago. But now they have anoth­er detailed research tool in the form of Den­nis Mansker’s inter­ac­tive maps.

Mansker, him­self the author of a book called A Bad Atti­tude: A Nov­el from the Viet­nam War, has put togeth­er not one but four On the Road maps, each one detail­ing one of the road trips Ker­ouac used to cre­ate his Beat nar­ra­tive of Amer­i­ca: Map One fol­lows his sum­mer 1947 trip from New York to San Fran­cis­co by way of Den­ver and back again; Map Two, his win­ter 1949 trip from Rocky Mount, North Car­oli­na to San Fran­cis­co by way of New Orleans; Map Three, his spring 1949 trip from Den­ver to New York by way of San Fran­cis­co; Map Four, his spring 1950 trip from New York to Mex­i­co City by way of Den­ver.

“Click on one of the place­mark­ers on the map to see a quo­ta­tion from the book,” Mansker explains. “Zoom in it to see the loca­tion on the map. In many cas­es where the nar­ra­tive was­n’t clear on a giv­en place, I’ve had to approx­i­mate — apply a ‘best guess’ solu­tion to a giv­en loca­tion.” He also pro­vides infor­ma­tion on the three cars, a 1949 Hud­son, a 1947 Cadil­lac Lim­ou­sine, and a 1937 Ford Sedan (as well as a Grey­hound Bus (pro­tag­o­nist Sal Par­adis­e’s trans­porta­tion mode of choice “when he could­n’t boost a ride” with the irre­press­ible Dean Mori­ar­ty) which “them­selves became sort of minor char­ac­ters dur­ing the course of the adven­tures.”

“He came right out to Pater­son, New Jer­sey, where I was liv­ing with my aunt,” writes Ker­ouac of Dean’s return to Sal’s life in the small city that fig­ured ear­ly in that first 1947 road trip. “He was gone,” says Sal of Dean’s depar­ture from his life as he recov­ers from a fever in Mex­i­co City, the last stop of Ker­ouac’s 1950 road trip. “When I got bet­ter I real­ized what a rat he was, but then I had to under­stand the impos­si­ble com­plex­i­ty of his life, how he had to leave me there, sick, to get on with his wives and woes.” If you love Ker­ouac’s nov­el, by all means fol­low in his tire tracks — just make sure to find a more reli­able trav­el­ing com­pan­ion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jack Kerouac’s On The Road Turned Into Google Dri­ving Direc­tions & Pub­lished as a Free eBook

Jack Kerouac’s On the Road Turned Into an Illus­trat­ed Scroll: One Draw­ing for Every Page of the Nov­el

Jack Kerouac’s Hand-Drawn Map of the Hitch­hik­ing Trip Nar­rat­ed in On the Road

Jack Ker­ouac Lists 9 Essen­tials for Writ­ing Spon­ta­neous Prose

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

 

William S. Burroughs Drops a Posthumous Album, Setting Readings of Naked Lunch to Music (NSFW)

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Image by Chris­ti­aan Ton­nis, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

William S. Bur­roughs may have died almost twen­ty years ago, but that does­n’t mean his fans have gone entire­ly with­out new mate­r­i­al since. This year, for instance, has seen the release of the Naked Lunch author’s new spo­ken word album Let Me Hang You, which you can lis­ten to free on Spo­ti­fy. (If you don’t have Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.) Its con­tent, in fact, comes straight from that form- and taboo-break­ing 1959 nov­el, which Bur­roughs com­mit­ted to tape — along with a trio of accom­plished exper­i­men­tal musi­cians — not long before his pass­ing, and which thus got lost along the way to com­mer­cial release.

“But more than 20 years lat­er,” writes the New York Times’ Joe Coscarel­li, “those sur­re­al record­ings — which fea­tured music from the gui­tarist and com­pos­er Bill Frisell, along with the pianist Wayne Horvitz and the vio­list Eyvind Kang — are get­ting a sec­ond life as an album with an assist from the inde­pen­dent musi­cian King Khan, best known for his rau­cous live shows as an eccen­tric punk and soul front­man.” Fans of Bur­roughs’ rough­est-edged mate­r­i­al can rest assured that, in these ses­sions, the writer focused on speak­ing the “unspeak­able” parts of Naked Lunch: “think sex, drugs, and defe­ca­tion,” Coscarel­li says.

Hard as it may seem to believe that a nov­el writ­ten well over half a cen­tu­ry ago, let alone one writ­ten by an author born more than a cen­tu­ry ago, could retain its pow­er to shock, this new­ly pub­lished musi­cal inter­pre­ta­tion of Bur­rough’s sub­stance-inspired, ran­dom-access, “obscenity”-laden text fresh­ens its trans­gres­sive impact. “One par­tic­u­lar­ly jagged track on the record is ‘Clem Snide the Pri­vate Ass Hole,’ ” writes Rolling Stone’s Kory Grow. “As Bur­roughs stilt­ed­ly reads his own bizarre prose in which the tit­u­lar Snide recites every lurid, grit­ty detail he notices while watch­ing a junky ‘female hus­tler,’ Khan and his fel­low musi­cians play a brit­tle, upbeat groove and funky, bluesy gui­tar solos.” Final­ly, some­one has tak­en this work of the most off­beat of all the Beats and set it to a beat.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Reads Naked Lunch, His Con­tro­ver­sial 1959 Nov­el

The “Priest” They Called Him: A Dark Col­lab­o­ra­tion Between Kurt Cobain & William S. Bur­roughs

How to Jump­start Your Cre­ative Process with William S. Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Tech­nique

William S. Bur­roughs on the Art of Cut-up Writ­ing

William S. Bur­roughs Explains What Artists & Cre­ative Thinkers Do for Human­i­ty

William S. Bur­roughs on Sat­ur­day Night Live, 1981

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

In 1988, Kurt Vonnegut Writes a Letter to People Living in 2088, Giving 7 Pieces of Advice

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Image by Daniele Prati, via Flickr Com­mons

The mind of Kurt Von­negut, like the pro­tag­o­nist of his best-known nov­el Slaugh­ter­house-Five, must have got “unstuck in time” some­where along the line. How else could he have man­aged to write his dis­tinc­tive brand of satir­i­cal but sin­cere fic­tion, hyper-aware of past, present, and future all at once? It must have made him a promis­ing con­trib­u­tor indeed for Volk­swa­gen’s 1988 Time mag­a­zine ad cam­paign, when the com­pa­ny “approached a num­ber of notable thinkers and asked them to write a let­ter to the future — some words of advice to those liv­ing in 2088, to be pre­cise.”

The beloved writer’s let­ter to the “Ladies & Gen­tle­men of A.D. 2088” begins as fol­lows:

It has been sug­gest­ed that you might wel­come words of wis­dom from the past, and that sev­er­al of us in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry should send you some. Do you know this advice from Polo­nius in Shake­speare’s Ham­let: ‘This above all: to thine own self be true’? Or what about these instruc­tions from St. John the Divine: ‘Fear God, and give glo­ry to Him; for the hour of His judg­ment has come’? The best advice from my own era for you or for just about any­body any­time, I guess, is a prayer first used by alco­holics who hoped to nev­er take a drink again: ‘God grant me the seren­i­ty to accept the things I can­not change, courage to change the things I can, and wis­dom to know the dif­fer­ence.’

Our cen­tu­ry has­n’t been as free with words of wis­dom as some oth­ers, I think, because we were the first to get reli­able infor­ma­tion about the human sit­u­a­tion: how many of us there were, how much food we could raise or gath­er, how fast we were repro­duc­ing, what made us sick, what made us die, how much dam­age we were doing to the air and water and top­soil on which most life forms depend­ed, how vio­lent and heart­less nature can be, and on and on. Who could wax wise with so much bad news pour­ing in?

For me, the most par­a­lyz­ing news was that Nature was no con­ser­va­tion­ist. It need­ed no help from us in tak­ing the plan­et apart and putting it back togeth­er some dif­fer­ent way, not nec­es­sar­i­ly improv­ing it from the view­point of liv­ing things. It set fire to forests with light­ning bolts. It paved vast tracts of arable land with lava, which could no more sup­port life than big-city park­ing lots. It had in the past sent glac­i­ers down from the North Pole to grind up major por­tions of Asia, Europe, and North Amer­i­ca. Nor was there any rea­son to think that it would­n’t do that again some­day. At this very moment it is turn­ing African farms to deserts, and can be expect­ed to heave up tidal waves or show­er down white-hot boul­ders from out­er space at any time. It has not only exter­mi­nat­ed exquis­ite­ly evolved species in a twin­kling, but drained oceans and drowned con­ti­nents as well. If peo­ple think Nature is their friend, then they sure don’t need an ene­my.

You can read the whole thing at Let­ters of Note, where Von­negut goes on to give his own inter­pre­ta­tion of human­i­ty’s per­spec­tive at the time, when “we were see­ing our­selves as a new sort of glac­i­er, warm-blood­ed and clever, unstop­pable, about to gob­ble up every­thing and then make love — and then dou­ble in size again.” He puts the ques­tion to his future-inhab­it­ing read­ers direct­ly: “Is it pos­si­ble that we aimed rock­ets with hydro­gen bomb war­heads at each oth­er, all set to go, in order to take our minds off the deep­er problem—how cru­el­ly Nature can be expect­ed to treat us, Nature being Nature, in the by-and-by?”

Final­ly, Von­negut issues sev­en com­mand­ments — as much direct­ed to read­ers of the late 20th cen­tu­ry as to read­ers of the late 21st, or indeed to those of the ear­ly 21st in which you read this now — intend­ed to help human­i­ty avert what he sees as the utter cat­a­stro­phe loom­ing ahead:

  1. Reduce and sta­bi­lize your pop­u­la­tion.
  2. Stop poi­son­ing the air, the water, and the top­soil.
  3. Stop prepar­ing for war and start deal­ing with your real prob­lems.
  4. Teach your kids, and your­selves, too, while you’re at it, how to inhab­it a small plan­et with­out help­ing to kill it.
  5. Stop think­ing sci­ence can fix any­thing if you give it a tril­lion dol­lars.
  6. Stop think­ing your grand­chil­dren will be OK no mat­ter how waste­ful or destruc­tive you may be, since they can go to a nice new plan­et on a space­ship. That is real­ly mean, and stu­pid.
  7. And so on. Or else.

Volk­swa­gen had asked him to look one hun­dred years into the future. As of this writ­ing, 2088 lies less than 75 years ahead, and how many of us would agree that we’ve heed­ed most or even any of his pre­scrip­tions? Then again, Von­negut grants that pes­simism may have got the bet­ter of him; per­haps the future will bring with it a utopia after all, one where “nobody will have to leave home to go to work or school, or even stop watch­ing tele­vi­sion. Every­body will sit around all day punch­ing the keys of com­put­er ter­mi­nals con­nect­ed to every­thing there is, and sip orange drink through straws like the astro­nauts,” a com­i­cal­ly dystopi­an utopia, and not an entire­ly un-pre­scient one — a Von­negut­ian vision indeed.

via Let­ters of Note/Va Viper

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Kurt Von­negut Read Slaugh­ter­house-Five, Cat’s Cra­dle & Oth­er Nov­els

22-Year-Old P.O.W. Kurt Von­negut Writes Home from World War II: “I’ll Be Damned If It Was Worth It”

Kurt Von­negut Maps Out the Uni­ver­sal Shapes of Our Favorite Sto­ries

Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Kurt Von­negut Explains “How to Write With Style”

Kurt Von­negut Urges Young Peo­ple to Make Art and “Make Your Soul Grow”

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

1,600-Year-Old Illuminated Manuscript of the Aeneid Digitized & Put Online by The Vatican

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It’s fair to say that every peri­od which has cel­e­brat­ed the lit­er­a­ture of antiq­ui­ty has held epic Roman poet Vir­gil in extreme­ly high regard, and that was nev­er more the case than dur­ing the ear­ly Chris­t­ian and medieval eras. Born in 70 B.C.—writes Clyde Pharr in the intro­duc­tion to his schol­ar­ly Latin text—“Vergil was ardent­ly admired even in his own day, and his fame con­tin­ued to increase with the pass­ing cen­turies. Under the lat­er Roman Empire the rev­er­ence for his works reached the point where the Sortes Vir­gilianae came into vogue; that is, the Aeneid was opened at ran­dom, and the first line on which the eyes fell was tak­en as an omen of good or evil.”

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This cult of Vir­gil only grew until “a great cir­cle of leg­ends and sto­ries of mir­a­cles gath­ered around his name, and the Vergil of his­to­ry was trans­formed into the Vergil of mag­ic.” The spelling of his name also trans­formed from Vergil to Vir­gil, “thus asso­ci­at­ing the great poet with the mag­ic or prophet­ic wand, vir­go.” Pharr quotes from J.S. Tunison’s Mas­ter Vir­gil, a study of the poet “as he seemed in the Mid­dle Ages”:

The medieval world looked upon him as a poet of prophet­ic insight, who con­tained with­in him­self all the poten­tial­i­ties of wis­dom. He was called the Poet, as if no oth­er exist­ed; the Roman, as if the ide­al of the com­mon­wealth were embod­ied in him; the Per­fect in Style, with whom no oth­er writer could be com­pared; the Philoso­pher, who grasped the ideas of all things…

Vir­gil, after all, act­ed as the wise guide through the Infer­no for late medieval poet Dante, who was accord­ed a sim­i­lar degree of rev­er­ence in the ear­ly mod­ern peri­od.

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We should keep the cult of Vir­gil, and of his epic poem The Aeneid, in mind as we sur­vey the text you see rep­re­sent­ed here—an illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script from Rome cre­at­ed some­time around the year 400 (view the full, dig­i­tized man­u­script here). Begin­ning at the end of anoth­er great epic—The Ili­ad—Virgil’s long poem con­nects the world of Homer to his own through Aeneas and his com­pan­ions, Tro­jan refugees and myth­i­cal founders of Rome. It is some­what iron­ic that the Chris­t­ian world came to ven­er­ate the poem for centuries—claiming that Vir­gil pre­dict­ed the birth of Christ—since the Roman poet’s pur­pose, writes Pharr, was “to see effect­ed… a revival of faith in the old-time religion”—the old-time pagan reli­gion, that is.

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But the care­ful preser­va­tion of this ancient man­u­script, some 1,600 years old, tes­ti­fies to the Catholic church’s pro­found respect for Vir­gil. “Known as the Vergilius Vat­i­canus,” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic, it’s one of the world’s old­est ver­sions of the Latin epic poem, and you can browse it for free online” at Digi­ta Vat­i­ca, a non­prof­it affil­i­at­ed with the Vat­i­can Library.

Writ­ten by a sin­gle mas­ter scribe in rus­tic cap­i­tals, an ancient Roman cal­li­graph­ic script, and illus­trat­ed by three dif­fer­ent painters, Vergilius Vat­i­canus is one of only three illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts of clas­sic lit­er­a­ture. Gran­u­lat­ed gold, applied with a brush, high­lights metic­u­lous­ly col­ored images of famous scenes from the poem: Creusa as she tries to keep her hus­band Aeneas from going into bat­tle; the islands of the Cyclades and the city of Pergamea destroyed by pesti­lence and drought; Dido on her funer­al pyre, speak­ing her final solil­o­quy.

Hyper­al­ler­gic describes the painstak­ing care a Tokyo-based firm took in dig­i­tiz­ing the frag­ile text. Digi­ta Vat­i­cana is cur­rent­ly in the midst of scan­ning its entire col­lec­tion of 80,000 del­i­cate, ancient man­u­scripts, a process expect­ed to take 15 years and cost 50 mil­lion euros.

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Should you wish to con­tribute to the effort, you can make a dona­tion to the project. The first 200 donors will­ing and able to fork over at least 500 euros (cur­rent­ly about $533), will receive a print­ed repro­duc­tion of the Vergilius Vat­i­canus, sure to impress the clas­sics lovers in your life. Should you wish to read the Aeneid in its orig­i­nal lan­guage, a true under­tak­ing of love, you can’t go wrong with Pharr’s excel­lent schol­ar­ly text of the first six books (or see an online Latin text here). If you’d rather skip the gen­uine­ly dif­fi­cult and labo­ri­ous trans­la­tion, you can always read John Dryden’s trans­la­tion free online.

You can vis­it the illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script online here.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1,000-Year-Old Man­u­script of Beowulf Dig­i­tized and Now Online

Hear Homer’s Ili­ad Read in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

Learn Latin, Old Eng­lish, San­skrit, Clas­si­cal Greek & Oth­er Ancient Lan­guages in 10 Lessons

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

Marie Osmond Performs the Dadaist Poem “Karawane” on the TV Show, Ripley’s Believe It or Not (1985)

Remem­ber Don­ny and Marie Osmond, the toothy, teenage Mor­mon sib­lings whose epony­mous tele­vi­sion vari­ety show was a whole­some 70’s mix of skits, songs, and ice skat­ing?

Their sur­pris­ing­ly endur­ing theme song reduced their pop­u­lar­i­ty to an eas­i­ly gras­pable bina­ry for­mu­la:

She was a lit­tle bit coun­try. He was a lit­tle bit rock and roll.

Turns out Marie was also more than a lit­tle bit Dada.

From 1985 to 1986, Marie served as actor Jack Palance’s cohost on Ripley’s Believe It or Not, a TV series explor­ing strange occur­rences, bizarre his­tor­i­cal facts, and oth­er such crowd-pleas­ing odd­i­ties… one of which was appar­ent­ly the afore­men­tioned Euro­pean avant-garde art move­ment, found­ed a hun­dred years ago this week.

If you don’t know as much about Dada as you’d like, Ms. Osmond’s brief primer is a sur­pris­ing­ly stur­dy intro­duc­tion.

No cutesy boot­sy, easy ref­er­ences to melt­ing clocks here.

The high­light is her per­for­mance of Dada poet and man­i­festo author Hugo Bal­l’s non­sen­si­cal 1916 sound poem “Karawane.”

Lose the yel­low bathrobe and she could be a cap­tive war­rior princess on Game of Thrones, fierce­ly peti­tion­ing the Moth­er of Drag­ons on behalf of her peo­ple. (Invent some sub­ti­tles for extra Dada-inflect­ed fun!)

A sharp eyed young art stu­dent named Ethan Bates did catch one error in Marie’s les­son. The ’13’ cos­tume she pulls from a handy dress­ing room niche was not worn by Hugo Ball, but rather Dutch painter Theo Van Does­burg, one of the founders of the De Sti­jl move­ment.

Still you’ve got to hand it to Marie, who was slat­ed to per­form just a sin­gle line of the poem. When it came time to tape, she aban­doned the cue cards, blow­ing pro­duc­ers’ and crew’s minds by deliv­er­ing the poem in its unhinged entire­ty from mem­o­ry.

Now that’s rock and roll.

Below you’ll find footage of Ball him­self per­form­ing the work in 1916.

Marie’s ver­sion was even­tu­al­ly released by Rough Trade Records as a track on Lip­stick Traces, a com­pan­ion sound­track to Greil Mar­cus’ sem­i­nal book.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dada Was Born 100 Years Ago: Cel­e­brate the Avant-Garde Move­ment Launched by Hugo Ball on July 14, 1916

Hear the Exper­i­men­tal Music of the Dada Move­ment: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Cen­tu­ry Ago

Down­load All 8 Issues of Dada, the Arts Jour­nal That Pub­li­cized the Avant-Garde Move­ment a Cen­tu­ry Ago (1917–21)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

 

Walt Whitman Gives Advice to Aspiring Young Writers: “Don’t Write Poetry” & Other Practical Tips (1888)

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Some of the best, most suc­cinct writ­ing advice I ever received came from the great John McPhee, via one of his for­mer stu­dents: “Writ­ing is pay­ing atten­tion.” What do you see, hear, taste, etc.? Ques­tions of style, syn­tax, and punc­tu­a­tion come lat­er. Obsess over them before you’ve learned to pay atten­tion, and you’ll have noth­ing of inter­est to write about. And in order to notice what you’re notic­ing, you’ve got to record it; so keep a note­book with you at all times to jot down over­heard expres­sions, thrilling sights and insights, dra­mat­ic chance encoun­ters… hoard­ing mate­r­i­al, all the time.

Amongst the tidal wave of advice you’ll encounter when you first begin to write—much of it con­tra­dic­to­ry and some of lit­tle prac­ti­cal benefit—you’d have a hard time find­ing any­one who dis­agrees with McPhee. Not even Walt Whit­man, who embraced con­trari­ness and con­tra­dic­tion like no oth­er Amer­i­can writer, thus becom­ing all the more an hon­est reflec­tion of the nation. Few writ­ers spent more time notic­ing than Whit­man, who seem­ing­ly record­ed every­thing he saw and heard on his trav­els. “I heard what the talk­ers were talk­ing,” he pro­claimed, “I per­ceive after all so many utter­ing tongues.” Whitman—as a project called Har­vardX Neu­ro­science dubs him—was a “poet of per­cep­tion.”

But he was also a hard-head­ed real­ist with a bent toward the util­i­tar­i­an and a scrap­py resource­ful­ness that made him an artis­tic sur­vivor. Whit­man con­tained mul­ti­tudes, not only in his poet­ry but in his writ­ing advice. When edi­tors of The Sig­nal, news­pa­per of The Col­lege of New Jer­sey, asked the poet in 1888 to advise young schol­ars on the “lit­er­ary life,” he oblig­ed, giv­ing the paper a brief inter­view in which the “gray-haired, hand­some, aged poet of Cam­den” prof­fered the fol­low­ing (con­densed in list form below):

1. Whack away at every­thing per­tain­ing to lit­er­ary life—mechanical part as well as the rest. Learn to set type, learn to work at the ‘case’, learn to be a prac­ti­cal print­er, and what­ev­er you do learn con­den­sa­tion.

2. To young lit­er­a­teurs I want to give three bits of advice: First, don’t write poet­ry; sec­ond dit­to; third dit­to. You may be sur­prised to hear me say so, but there is no par­tic­u­lar need of poet­ic expres­sion. We are util­i­tar­i­an, and the cur­rent can­not be stopped.

3. It is a good plan for every young man or woman hav­ing lit­er­ary aspi­ra­tions to car­ry a pen­cil and a piece of paper and con­stant­ly jot down strik­ing events in dai­ly life. They thus acquire a vast fund of infor­ma­tion. One of the best things you know is habit. Again, the best of read­ing is not so much in the infor­ma­tion it con­veys as the thoughts it sug­gests. Remem­ber this above all. There is no roy­al road to learn­ing.

Whit­man’s advice con­tains sound, prac­ti­cal tips on what we might today call “pro­fes­sion­al­iza­tion.” Should we take his admon­ish­ment against writ­ing poet­ry seri­ous­ly? Why not? For a good por­tion of his life, Whit­man earned a liv­ing “whack­ing away,” as he liked to say often, at more util­i­tar­i­an forms of writ­ing, from reportage to an advice col­umn. Whit­man took seri­ous­ly his role as a voice of work­ing peo­ple and per­haps saw this inter­view as an occa­sion to address them.

Whit­man’s “seething rejec­tion of poet­ry,” writes Nicole Kukaws­ki in the Walt Whit­man Quar­ter­ly Review, should not sur­prise us; it is “sim­ply part of his attack on con­ven­tion­al­i­ty in all respects… poet­ry can nev­er be ‘utilitarian’—in no way can it reach the mass­es for their ben­e­fit.” Unlike our day, poet­ry was ubiq­ui­tous in late nine­teenth cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, part of an entrenched, high­ly con­ven­tion­al polite dis­course. Who knows, maybe a Whit­man of the ear­ly 21st cen­tu­ry would feel very dif­fer­ent­ly on this point. Sure­ly we could use a great deal more “poet­ic expres­sion” these days.

Whit­man’s final piece of advice accords ful­ly with John McPhee’s—and sev­er­al hun­dred oth­er writ­ers and teach­ers. But in Whit­man’s esti­ma­tion, notic­ing, and acquir­ing “a vast fund of infor­ma­tion,” was not only essen­tial to the lit­er­ary life but also key to pur­su­ing an “indi­vid­u­al­is­tic,” real-world self-edu­ca­tion. “One sub­ject about which Whit­man did not con­tra­dict him­self,” writes Kukaws­ki, “was his con­sis­tent belief that the schol­ar should learn by encoun­ter­ing life instead of read­ing books alone.” There may be no bet­ter exem­plar of that phi­los­o­phy in Amer­i­can let­ters than Walt Whit­man him­self.

via Austin Kleon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Walt Whitman’s Unearthed Health Man­u­al, “Man­ly Health & Train­ing,” Urges Read­ers to Stand (Don’t Sit!) and Eat Plen­ty of Meat (1858)

Walt Whitman’s Poem “A Noise­less Patient Spi­der” Brought to Life in Three Ani­ma­tions

Watch “The Poet­ry of Per­cep­tion”: Har­vard Ani­mates Walt Whit­man, Emi­ly Dick­in­son & William Car­los Williams

Iggy Pop Reads Walt Whit­man in Col­lab­o­ra­tions With Elec­tron­ic Artists Alva Noto and Tar­wa­ter

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

Hunter S. Thompson Gets Confronted by The Hell’s Angels: Where’s Our Two Kegs of Beer? (1967)

In 1965, the edi­tor of The Nation asked Hunter S. Thomp­son to write a sto­ry about the Hel­l’s Angels Motor­cy­cle Club, as they’re offi­cial­ly known. The assign­ment even­tu­al­ly yield­ed the arti­cle, “The Motor­cy­cle Gangs” (read it online), which became the basis for the 1966 book, Hel­l’s Angels: A Strange and Ter­ri­ble Saga. It was Thomp­son’s first book, and Amer­i­ca’s first real intro­duc­tion to Thomp­son’s Gonzo-style jour­nal­ism. Review­ing the book for The New York Times, Leo Lit­wak wrote:

Hunter Thomp­son entered this ter­ra incog­ni­ta [the world of the Hel­l’s Angels] to become its car­tog­ra­ph­er. For almost a year, he accom­pa­nied the Hel­l’s Angels on their ral­lies. He drank at their bars, exchanged home vis­its, record­ed their bru­tal­i­ties, viewed their sex­u­al caprices, became con­vert­ed to their motor­cy­cle mys­tique, and was so intrigued, as he puts it, that “I was no longer sure whether I was doing research on the Hel­l’s Angels or being slow­ly absorbed by them.” At the con­clu­sion of his year’s tenure the ambi­gu­i­ty of his posi­tion was end­ed when a group of Angels knocked him to the ground and stomped him…

Hunter Thomp­son has pre­sent­ed us with a close view of a world most of us would nev­er dare encounter, yet one with which we should be famil­iar. He has brought on stage men who have lost all options and are not rec­on­ciled to the loss. They have great resources for vio­lence which does­n’t as yet have any effec­tive focus. Thomp­son sug­gests that these few Angels are but the van­guard of a grow­ing army of dis­ap­pro­pri­at­ed, dis­af­fil­i­at­ed and des­per­ate men. There’s always the risk that some­how they may force the wrong options into being.

This clip above, which aired on Cana­di­an tele­vi­sion in 1967, describes the cir­cum­stances that led to the Angels giv­ing HST a beat down. The misog­y­ny that’s on dis­play as the bik­er tells the sto­ry will make you shud­der. Even worse are the laughs from the 1960s, but­toned-down crowd.

As for whether the Angels ever got their two kegs of beer, I don’t know.

Note: You can down­load Thomp­son’s Hel­l’s Angels: A Strange and Ter­ri­ble Saga as a free audio­book if you sign up for a 30-Day Free Tri­al with Audi­ble. Find more infor­ma­tion on that pro­gram here.

Relat­ed Con­tent

Read 18 Lost Sto­ries From Hunter S. Thompson’s For­got­ten Stint As a For­eign Cor­re­spon­dent

Read 11 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005)

Free Online: Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Read Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, as It Was Orig­i­nal­ly Pub­lished in Rolling Stone

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Jane Austen’s Music Collection, Now Digitized and Available Online

Austen Music 1

“What real­ly mat­ters is what you like, not what you are like,” says the nar­ra­tor of Nick Horn­by’s High Fideli­ty. “It’s no good pre­tend­ing that any rela­tion­ship has a future if your record col­lec­tions dis­agree vio­lent­ly.” That mas­ter Eng­lish social nov­el­ist of the late 20th cen­tu­ry made a point with which Jane Austen, the mas­ter Eng­lish social nov­el­ist in the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry, may well have agreed. Horn­by, like his char­ac­ter, loves and col­lects music, even into this 21st cen­tu­ry when the very def­i­n­i­tion of a music col­lec­tion has expand­ed into unrec­og­niz­abil­i­ty. Jane Austen did as well, though col­lect­ing music in her day meant some­thing else again: col­lect­ing sheet music.

“The Pride and Prej­u­dice author, who also played piano and sang, copied music by hand into per­son­al albums and col­lect­ed sheet music,” says the BBC about Austen’s per­son­al music col­lec­tion, part of the Austen fam­i­ly music library now dig­i­tized by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Southamp­ton’s Hart­ley Library and made avail­able at the Inter­net Archive. The arti­cle quotes project leader and pro­fes­sor of music Jean­ice Brooks as say­ing these 18 albums of music (the bound kind, not the kind over which High Fideli­ty’s Lon­don thir­tysome­things obsess) could not just help explain the “musi­cal envi­ron­ment that fed the nov­el­ist’s imag­i­na­tion” and led to nov­els “full of musi­cal scenes,” but pro­vide a “unique glimpse of the musi­cal life of an extend­ed gen­try fam­i­ly in the years around 1800.”

Austen Music 2

If, as a uni­ver­si­ty spokesman says, a 19th-cen­tu­ry sheet music col­lec­tion reflects the per­son­al­i­ty of its own­er “just as a dig­i­tal music col­lec­tion on a mobile phone or MP3 device would today,” what does Jane Austen’s say about her? The items in the col­lec­tion iden­ti­fied as belong­ing to Austen her­self include one vol­ume con­tain­ing “two songs from Dalayrac’s Les deux Savo­yards, one song, and the ‘Sav­age Dance,’ ” anoth­er con­tain­ing “Juve­nile Songs & Lessons” for “for young begin­ners who don’t know enough to prac­tise,” and anoth­er, accord­ing to the BBC, con­tain­ing “the tra­di­tion­al Welsh song Nos Galan, bet­ter known today as Christ­mas song ‘Deck the Halls.’ ”

Not quite a does-she-like-the-Bea­t­les-or-does-she-like-the-Stones sit­u­a­tion, cer­tain­ly. But Inter­net Archive allows you to flip at your leisure through these albums, all of them once kept in the Austen fam­i­ly home and some or all once han­dled by Austen her­self, which ought to pro­vide a sat­is­fac­tion for many of the count­less fans always seek­ing to get a lit­tle clos­er to the writer whose books they’ve read and reread so enjoy­ably. Some of them have no doubt drawn the inspi­ra­tion from her work to start writ­ing them­selves, com­pos­ing sto­ries in her style. Those who go so far as to copy out pieces of her beloved prose in their own hand, can now try not just writ­ing the words she wrote, but play­ing the notes she played as well.

via Austin Kleon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Jane Austen

15-Year-Old Jane Austen Writes a Satir­i­cal His­to­ry Of Eng­land: Read the Hand­writ­ten Man­u­script Online (1791)

Jane Austen Used Pins to Edit Her Aban­doned Man­u­script, The Wat­sons

Jane Austen Writes a Let­ter to Her Sis­ter While Hung Over: “I Believe I Drank Too Much Wine Last Night”

Down­load the Major Works of Jane Austen as Free eBooks & Audio Books

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

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