Brain Pickings

Posts Tagged ‘out of print’

20 JANUARY, 2014

I’m Glad I’m a Boy! I’m Glad I’m a Girl!

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“Boys fix things. Girls need things fixed.”

In 1970, when the second wave of feminism was reaching critical mass and women were raising their voices for equality across the “social media” of the day decades before the internet as we know it, when even Pete Seeger was rallying for a gender-neutral pronoun, an odd children’s book titled I’m Glad I’m a Boy!: I’m Glad I’m a Girl! (public library) began appearing in bookstores.

It began innocently enough:

Hmm, okay… (But still.):

And then it straddled the gender-normative continuum between the appalling and the absurd:

At first glance, it appears to be the most sexist book ever printed, made all the worse for the fact that it was aimed at the next generation. In fact, many reviewers at the time took it for just that, and cursory commentary across the web even today treats it as a laughable fossil of a bygone era, handling it with equal parts outraged indignation and how-far-we’ve-come relief.

But what many missed, even in 1970, is that the man who wrote and illustrated the book was Whitney Darrow, Jr., whose father founded Princeton University Press and whose satirical cartoons graced the New Yorker for nearly fifty years between 1933 and 1982. When Darrow died in 1999, a New York Times obituary called him “a witty, gently satiric cartoonist” and “one of the last of the early New Yorker cartoonists,” part of the same milieu as James Thurber, Charles Addams, and Peter Arno.

Which is all to say: It’s highly likely, if not almost certainly the case, that Darrow, a man of keen cultural commentary wrapped in unusual humor, intended the book as satire. It came, after all, at a time when girls were beginning to be rather un-glad to be “girls” in the sense of the word burdened by outdated cultural expectations and boggled in an air of second-class citizenry. It’s entirely possible that Darrow wanted to comment on these outdated gender norms by depicting them in absurd cartoonishness precisely so that their absurdity would shine through.

Of course, we can never be certain, as there is no record of Darrow himself ever discussing his intentions with the book. All we have is speculation — but let’s at least make it of the contextually intelligent kind. Sure, he was born in the first decade of the twentieth century — a time when those absurd gender norms were very much alive and well, a time not too long after it was perfectly acceptable for a wholly non-sarcastic Map of Woman’s Heart to exist and a list of don’ts for female bicyclists could be published in complete seriousness. And he came of age in a culture where those same norms very much mandated the rules of love and gender relations. But that’s perhaps all the more reason for a man who dedicated his creative career to our era’s smartest institution of cultural commentary to poke fun at society’s ebb and flow of values the best way he knew how — through his satirical cartoons.

Sadly, I’m Glad I’m a Boy!: I’m Glad I’m a Girl! rests in the cemetery of out-of-print gems — but it might well be worth a trip to the local library.

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10 JANUARY, 2014

Alice in Wonderland Illustrated by Ralph Steadman: A 1973 Gem

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Down the rabbit hole of creative magic, one truly mad hatter at a time.

In the century and a half since Lewis Carroll met little Alice Liddell and imagined around her his Alice in Wonderland, the beloved tale has inspired a wealth of stunning artwork, ranging from John Tenniel’s original illustrations to Leonard Weisgard’s mid-century masterpieces to Salvador Dalí’s little-known heliogravures to Robert Sabuda’s pop-up magic. But among the most singular and weirdly wonderful is the 1973 gem Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland Illustrated by Ralph Steadman (public library). Barely in his mid-thirties at the time, the beloved British cartoonist — best-known today for his collaborations with Hunter S. Thompson and his unmistakable inkblot dog drawings — brings to Carroll’s classic the perfect kind of semi-sensical visual genius, blending the irreverent with the sublime.

(Because, you know, it’s not a tea party until somebody flips the bird.)

Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland Illustrated by Ralph Steadman is an absolute treat in its entirety. Wash it down with The Alice in Wonderland Cookbook.

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24 DECEMBER, 2013

T. S. Eliot’s “The Cultivation of Christmas Trees”: A Rare Vintage Gem, Illustrated by Enrico Arno

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“There are several attitudes towards Christmas, some of which we may disregard: The social, the torpid, the patently commercial…”

In 1927, an enterprising and creatively minded British man by the name of Richard de la Mare, production director at London’s Faber & Gwyer, which would become the legendary publishing house Faber and Faber two years later, came up with an unusual idea: He would ask famous writers and illustrators to contribute holiday-themed verses and drawings for a poetry pamphlet series to be sent to clients instead of Christmas cards and sold to the general public for a shilling each, or about five pennies. Thanks to the company’s relationships and stable of authors, he was able to secure work from such literary greats as Edith Sitwell, W. B. Yeats, and Vita Sackville-West (yes, as in Virginia Woolf’s lover). Among the most notable contributors to the series — titled Ariel, after Shakespeare’s spirit from “The Tempest” — was celebrated poet and notorious cat-lover T. S. Eliot, who wrote six poems for the project, beginning at its inception in 1927 and ending in 1954, when he was in his late sixties.

I was fortunate enough to track down a surviving first American edition of Eliot’s final poem-pamphlet for the Ariel series, The Cultivation of Christmas Trees (public library) — a long-out-of-print gem, typeset, bound, and illustrated by Enrico Arno, who had fled Nazi Germany due to his Jewish descent, spent some time in Italy, and eventually settled in the United States to become an acclaimed book designer and album cover artist.

What makes Eliot’s verses especially memorable is that while they deal with a religious holiday, they speak to a very secular concern: our struggle to hold on to our inborn capacity for wonder, that same essential faculty that fuels both science and spirituality. Please enjoy.

There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish — which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.

The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,

So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to children
(And here I remember also with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):

So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By “eightieth” meaning whichever is last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.

Used copies of The Cultivation of Christmas Trees can still be found and are very much worth the hunt — or the trip to the library.

HT Casey N. Cep / The Paris Review

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25 OCTOBER, 2013

Picasso’s Rare 1934 Etchings for a Racy Ancient Greek Comedy

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Literary entrepreneurship, unorthodox anti-war advocacy, and a side of sex.

There is something singularly mesmerizing about the marriage of great art and great literature — take, for instance, Salvador Dalí’s heliogravures for Alice in Wonderland, his illustrations for Montaigne’s essays and Don Quixote, and Henri Matisse’s etchings for Ulysses. The latter gem was masterminded by New York literary entrepreneur George Macey, who founded the Limited Editions Club in 1929 — an imprint specializing in commissioning some of the era’s best-known artists to illustrate literary classics in limited editions of 1,500 signed copies, sold to members on a subscription basis. It was an early — and successful — experiment in premium publishing and subscription models, later replicated by Anaïs Nin in her own Gremor Press.

In 1934, Macey commissioned Pablo Picasso (October 25, 1881–April 8, 1973) to illustrate a special edition of Aristophanes’s Lysistrata (public library) — a Greek comedy about a woman who sets out to end the Peloponnesian War by convincing her countrywomen to withhold sex from their war-bound husbands and lovers. Macey’s edition included six original etchings by the celebrated artist and 34 line block reproductions of the drawings. Picasso’s signature style of simple, elegant lines and expressive sensuality seemed to be a perfect fit for the ancient classic, which, though comedic in nature, also offered a prescient backdrop for Picasso’s own anti-war paintings a few years later.

While, sadly, long buried in the cemetery of out-of-print treasures, used copies of Picasso’s Lysistrata can still be found online.

Thanks, Open Culture

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