Oh Summer’s Day

Emily Dickinson, “The Bee is not afraid of me”

 

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The end of writing and reading will be the end of freedom

I recently read the impassioned defense of literature and reading (below) which was excerpted in the Washington Post from a commencement address by the American author Nicole Krauss.

The end of writing and reading will be the end of freedom
Why graduation season is so heartening to me
Nicole Krauss
For the past year, I’ve lived away from my home in America, in Rome, among the achievements and the ruins of 3,000 years. It’s made me deeply aware of the long arc of history, which saw the rise and fall of almost everything: democracies and dictators, gods and humans, war and peace, that which was feared, and that which was loved and cherished. And though the countless crossroads people arrived at in history, arguing about which way to go, may have since faded into the indelible road chosen, I’m also acutely aware that we now stand at another. That the direction we choose will determine not only our children’s future, but the future of what it will mean to be human — and the conditions under which human life will unfold.
Whether the still relatively young values of liberalism will survive, whether reading and writing will continue to be the underpinnings of culture, whether the constructs and algorithms of AI will replace the freedoms of selfhood, whether we will dominate and destroy nature or salvage and protect it: We now stand before these questions. Stand and, I hope, pause. For in the stillness of that pause, the lessons of history sometimes speak to us.
Lately, I’ve found such a lesson in the history of my own people. In the 5th century B.C., when the Jews in exile in Babylon were allowed to return to Jerusalem, they were called upon to rebuild themselves, their city and their lives in their homeland. In exile, without a land or a Temple, the Jews wrote and transcribed the Torah. The opportunity to return to reconstruct their home and rebuild the Temple raised a vital question: What kind of people are we going to be?
The synoptic Books of Ezra and Nehemiah are two accounts of that return and its essential question. Ezra, a priest, laments the moral and spiritual decline of the newly reestablished community, and calls for religious reforms and priestly leadership. But it is in Nehemiah that we read of something truly extraordinary: the first record of the Torah being read in public. Ezra brought the scroll out and read from it, “facing the square before the Water Gate, from the first light until midday, to the men and the women and those who could understand; the ears of all the people were given to the scroll of the Torah. … They read from [it], translating it and giving the sense; so they understood the reading.”
It is impossible to exaggerate how momentous this moment was. At perhaps the greatest juncture the Jews have ever faced, the Temple was replaced by Torah. Sacrifice was replaced by reading, teaching and study. And Judaism was made independent of place and became portable, ensuring its survival to this day.
Dayenu, as we say. But there is even more to those astounding lines in Nehemiah than the choice of Torah over Temple. What we find is a radical step toward democratization: toward the democratic ideals that generations of later Jews would not only embrace but die without, and also die to create — and whose present endangerment many are protesting in the streets and squares of their cities and countries. In those few lines of Nehemiah, we find a rejection of a hierarchical system based on hereditary power in the hands of the few, toward the town square, where all men and women are offered the chance to participate, to listen, learn and understand the teachings for themselves. It might be argued that from that day on, all that is required to live as a Jew are words. No more, and no less.
I am a writer in a long line of writers, among my people and all people who have been writing these last few thousand years. And I write, just as I read, because I believe that in the realm of literature we are, each of us, free. Free to imagine, to invent, to change our minds, to travel through time, across space, to feel and experience the full breadth of ourselves, and to do what I don’t believe can be done in any other realm, medium or dimension: to step into the mind of another. Feel what it is to live inside another and, in the process, enlarge ourselves beyond the borders of selfhood, into the vaster fields of mutual understanding and empathy. As such, literature is fundamentally democratic but for one major caveat: To access its freedoms, we must be taught to read, value and engage with literature.
At the crossroads where we now stand, among the many other things at stake, is the future of reading, writing and literature, and all of the expansive freedom they have afforded us.
In my lifetime, I have watched the demolition of the capacity to read and engage with books. Not just of our children, who have been the unwitting guinea pigs of growing up inside cellphones, but among all of us human beings. We have lost not just our ability to concentrate on deciphering long passages of written language; we have, I believe, begun to lose our attachments to the meaning of words and sentences, which we once trusted to carry the precious freight of communicating who we are — to ourselves and to each other. The blatantly, proudly senseless speech of our current leaders is not the cause, it is merely the most extravagant example of what happens when an entire culture — increasingly, the monoculture of the world — gives up on, and ceases to be capable of, the struggle to funnel meaning into language — to translate themselves, their thoughts, and their ideas into words that others can read and share. Writing and reading are not effortless. But, without that effort, we will slide deeper and deeper into inchoateness, darkness, violence, diminished freedom for all and a diminished state of human being.
This month, hundreds of thousands of students are graduating across the United States, from colleges and universities where it is the lifework of countless professors to ensure they have access to the freedom that comes with becoming a reader, being able to write for oneself, and partake in a culture of literature and ideas. Which, to me, is deeply heartening.
And I do believe that history is long, and that where there is destruction, there is also the potential for tikkun, for repair. For thousands of years, we have been finding words for ourselves, we have been writing our own story and, in the process, have done something far more radical than expressed ourselves: We have invented ourselves. We have asked the essential question: Who are we, and what kind of people do we want to be? And it is, I believe, only as readers and writers, only as people educated in the bonding of language and meaning, that we have any hope of rising to the occasion of an answer.
(Nicole Krauss is a novelist and a 2025 Guggenheim fellow. This op-ed is adapted from a speech the author gave on May 13 while receiving an honorary doctorate at Ben-Gurion University.)

 

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Judging Books By

I recently stumbled on Matt Dorfman’s annual Ten Best list in the New York Times Book Review and was impressed by the terrific book covers. Here’s how Dorfman introduced the article:

If most book cover designs are conceived as quick-to-metabolize marketing tools, a great one can make the reader do a double take in slow motion. A good first impression is, of course, the goal: to elicit curiosity and excitement before you’ve even picked the book off a shelf. But a great cover can fortify itself in our consciousness, resonating more deeply as we absorb the text within, ideally prompting a second impression after we finish reading.

 

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August arrives in the dark…etc.

“But most urgent on my list of appreciation are those of you who have welcomed my tunes into your lives, into your kitchens when you’re doing the dishes, in your bedrooms, in your courting and conceiving, into those nights of loss and bewilderment, and into those aimless places of the heart, which only a song seems to be able to enter. It is before this sudden and strange and mysterious intimacy that has developed between us that I bow my head with real gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

-Leonard Cohen

 

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My favorite story this month

It’s been a horribly depressing July here in the former colonies, but there was one story that lifted my spirits and gave me a moment of joy.

Just ahead of the August fortieth anniversary of the release of the 1985 film, the Alamo has acquired the iconic, custom Schwinn DX Cruiser that appeared on screen in Pee-wee’s Big Adventure. Directed by Tim Burton and cowritten by Paul Reubens and Phil Hartman, Herman travels cross country in search of his stolen bicycle hitchhiking to Texas after being told by a fake psychic that his beloved bike is in the basement of the San Antonio mission. The film prop will go on display in the visitors’ center and museum of the Alamo, in the sublevel that famously did not exist at the time of the shooting, a space below the gift shop also used as a reception hall.  This accession was undertaken by a private trust that maintains the monument’s collections.

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Book Making

If you are a regular visitor to Travel Between The Pages, you will be well aware that I am enamored with books. I have been a bibliophile since I picked up my first book. By this I mean that I am fascinated by all things book related including the printing and publishing of physical books. The wonderful video below profiles the creation of a new edition of the beautiful volume Kissa By Kissa: How to Walk Japan by Craig Mod.

Here’s how the author describes the book:

Kissa by Kissa: How to Walk Japan (Book One) is a book about walking 1,000+km of the countryside of Japan along the ancient Nakasendō highway, the culture of toast (toast!), and mid-twentieth century Japanese cafés called kissaten.

The walk of this book begins in the city of Kamakura, just south of Tokyo. From there we head to Tokyo, and then from Tokyo all the way to Kyoto via the old Nakasendō highway, snaking through Saitama, over to Nagano, down through the bucolic Kiso Valley along the Kiso-ji road, into the plains of Gifu, alongside Lake Biwa, and to Kyoto. Along the way we meet farmers, gardeners, and a host of incredible and inspiring café owners.

Kissa by Kissa is not a guide. It sits somewhere between travelogue, photo book, and bizarro ethnographic field study of old café — kissaten — culture.

Those kissaten — or kissa — served up toast. I ate that toast. So. Much. Toast. Much of it pizza toast. If you buy this book, you’ll learn more than you ever dared to know about this variety of toast available all across Japan. It’s a classic post-war food staple. Kissa by kissa, and slice by thick slice of beautiful, white toast, I took a heckuva affecting and long walk. This book is my sharing with you, of that walk, the people I met along the way, and the food I ate.

NB: If the video doesn’t open in your browser click here.

If you’d like to learn more about the book or Craig Mod’s many projects, you can check out his newsletter right here.

 

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Landlord’s Game

In 1904, Elizabeth Magie patented “The Landlord’s Game” the original version of what we now know as Monopoly. Her goal wasn’t entertainment. It was education. Magie designed the game to highlight the dangers of wealth inequality and unchecked capitalism, showing how landlords could bankrupt tenants while enriching themselves.

She pitched the game to Parker Brothers but was told it was too complex. Decades later, Charles Darrow discovered her idea, made a few changes, and sold it to Parker Brothers as his own invention.

He became the first millionaire game designer. Magie, despite holding the original patent, received just $500 and no credit.

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Tourist Map of Literature

While not really a map this simple tool does map affinity based on user’s literary tastes. It allows you to plug in any author you like and then it  shows other writers whom readers of your literary choice also selected. Supposedly, the closer the names, the more readers of X tend to like readers of Y. The dataset is taken from Gnod.  And if you can’t really on Gnod, what can you rely on ? Give it a spin. I had some fun with it, but found many proximity connections dubious at best.

NB: DO NOT click on embedded links.

 

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Flora and Fauna

The wonderful, eclectic webcomic site XKCD mapped the most observed plant and animal for all 50 US states as reported by iNaturalist users. I’m not surprised that bumble bees were such a popularly observed animal — the common eastern bumble bee (Bombus impatiens) is most-observed in Vermont, Wisconsin, Maine, Connecticut, Illinois, and Minnesota. Also popular: white-tailed deer, bison, milkweed, honeysuckle, and robins. In my neck of the woods, I’d have to report clover and squirrels, with dandelion and white-tailed deer a close second.

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How well do you know your fairy tales

Most folks who grew up in the English-speaking know the fairy tale of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” In the story, an exasperating trespasser breaks into the home of three bears. The intruder eats their food and breaks furniture before being ejected. But, did you know that the housebreaker was originally an old woman, not a little girl named Goldilocks? Or, that the first Three Bears were friends instead of Mama Bear, Papa Bear and Baby Bear?

The Three Bears started as an oral tale and was first written down almost 200 years ago. Over the decades, the story has changed and grown into the tale we know today. The Osborne Collection of Early Children’s Books has materials which reveal the history of The Three Bears story.

Eleanor Mure wrote the first recorded version of The Three Bears story in 1831. Osborne Collection has Mure’s original manuscript, a handmade book created as a gift for her nephew Horace Broke. The story is set at Cecil Lodge, the Mure family estate in Hertfordshire, England. Mure’s The Story of Three Bears (1831) is told in verse and illustrated with original watercolors.

Instead of a little girl, the Bears’ house is invaded by an old woman. Mure’s old woman meets a bad end. As punishment for housebreaking, the Bears try to burn and drown the old woman. When nothing works, they “chuck her aloft on St. Paul’s church-yard steeple.”

In 1837, English poet Robert Southey released the first printed version of The Three Bears. The story appeared in Southey’s prose anthology The Doctor (1834-47). As with Mure’s family, The Three Bears was a popular story among Southey’s family. Southey likely heard The Three Bears from his uncle, William Tyler. Tyler was illiterate, but had a great memory for folktales.

Southey’s story is the first version to discuss the Bears’ size. He introduces the Three Bears as Little, Small, Wee Bear; Middle Bear; and Great, Huge Bear. The story has no illustrations, but the Bears’ size is represented by typography. Great, Huge Bear speaks in large gothic letters. Little, Small, Wee Bear speaks in tiny italics.

Unlike Mure’s telling, the Southey’s bears do not punish the intruding old woman. Instead she makes an escape through an open window. Southey speculates that she might be “sent to the House of Correction” for vagrancy, or perhaps “she broke her neck in the fall.”

Southey’s The Three Bears was an instant hit. Within months publisher George Nicol released his own version of The Story of the Three Bears (1837). Nicol’s story was in verse, but otherwise was a direct retelling of Southey’s version.

In early tellings of The Three Bears, the protagonist was an old woman. But, in 1850 Joseph Cundall wrote the first retelling featuring a little girl. Cundall called his character Silver-Hair and justified the switch by saying “there are so many other stories of old women.” Published in A Treasury of Pleasure Books for Young Children (1850), Cundall’s retelling otherwise closely followed Southey’s version of The Three Bears.

Following Cundall’s publication, little girl protagonists named Silver-Hair became a common feature of The Three Bears retellings. The character was sometimes called Silver-Locks, Golden Hair and other variant names.

The name Goldilocks was first used for the Bears’ nemesis in two 1904 fairy tale anthologies. Old Nursery Rhymes and Stories (1904) and Old Fairy Tales for Children (1904) both feature “Little Goldilocks” as The Three Bears’ intruder. It is possible that the name Goldilocks was inspired by an entirely different fairy tale. French fairy tale writer Madame d’Aulnoy’s story The Beauty with Golden Hair is sometimes translated as The Story of Pretty Goldilocks.

In the 20th century, Goldilocks became the character’s standard name. Popular fairy tale collections like Flora Annie Steel’s English Fairy Tales (1918) used the Goldilocks name. Now the story is sometimes simply titled Goldilocks without any mention of The Three Bears.

 

 

 

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