Where Do These Book Recommendations Come From?

Carl Sagan was known to be a big reader; in fact, at one point, he said that “a book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” In an essay titled The Path to Freedom, published just before he died, he lamented about books, saying that they “permit us to interrogate the past,” “to understand the point of view of others, and … to contemplate … the insights, painfully extracted from nature, of the greatest minds that ever were.”

It makes sense that he would have a large library and read plenty in his lifetime, which we have plenty of proof of. One such piece of proof is his handwritten college reading list from 1954.

Now, of course, there are a number of books on this list that are strictly course-related, and there isn’t a whole lot of fiction. It was, after all, the reading list of a man who became one of the greatest famous scientists America knew in the 20th century. Still, there are plenty of interesting things on the list, and definitely texts worth picking up if you want to understand Sagan’s mind that little bit more!

Carl Sagan’s Fiction Suggestions

There isn’t a whole lot of fiction on Carl Sagan’s 75-year-old reading list, but there are a few texts that allowed Sagan to lose himself a little. The notable fiction texts on Carl Sagan’s reading list include STAR science fiction stories, an anthology by Frederik Pohl.

It was published in 1953 and includes works by William Morrison, C. M. Kornbluth, Lester del Rey, Fritz Leiber, Clifford D. Simak, John Wyndham, William Tenn, Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Judith Merril, H. L Gold, Robert Sheckler, Henry Kuttner, Murray Leinster, and Arthur C. Clarke.

Also on the list was Young Archimedes and Other Stories by Aldous Huxley. This is a collection of six stories, considered to be somewhat autobiographical. The stories were originally published under the title “The Little Mexican and Other Stories.” The stories are set in Europe and offer thoughtful discourse on childhood, love, life, death, and society.

The Immoralist is a confessional account of a man who is seeking the truth of his own nature. Michel, the story’s protagonist, marries Marceline out of his duty, only to meet a young Arab boy on their honeymoon. He discovers a new freedom in living his own life, but also tackles the burden that comes with that freedom.

Finally, the last full-length fiction piece on Carl Sagan’s college reading list was Julius Caesar by none other than William Shakespeare. The famous play sees Jealous conspirators convincing Caesar’s friend and confidant, Brutus, to join their assassination attempt against Caesar, in the hopes of stopping him from gaining too much power.

Sagan’s Philosophies

Where there were only a few fiction titles, there were significantly more philosophical titles. It seems that Sagan valued philosophy greatly, even though it was a scientific course he was about to undertake.

Some of the philosophical titles on his list include Who Speaks for Man? by Norman Cousins, a text exploring the debate of humanity and nuclear disarmament.

He then had multiple pieces by Plato. First on the list was Symposium, a dialogue that follows a man telling a story he heard from another man about a symposium (a party). Also on the list was Timaeus, an elaborate account of the formation of the universe, and The Republic, Plato’s examination of justice, order, the city-state, and man.

Non-fiction On Sagan’s List

There were other non-fiction titles on Carl Sagan’s list, too. These were, in fact, the majority. Of the non-fiction texts on the list, there were several course-related scientific journals and textbooks, but there were also a number of other texts.

For example, Death Be Not Proud. This 1949 memoir was written by an American journalist, John Gunther. The memoir follows the decline and, ultimately, the death of Gunther’s son Johnny. Johnny suffered from a brain tumor and died an untimely death at the age of 17.

In addition to this memoir, there was a detailed account of the J. Robert Oppenheimer Security Clearance Hearing. Looking into the work of Robert Oppenheimer at the Manhattan Project and the following court case that established concern that Oppenheimer might be an “agent of the Soviet Union.”

Another interesting piece on Sagan’s reading list is Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds by Charles Mackay. The book was published in three volumes: National Delusions, Peculiar Follies, and Philosophical Delusions. Each of the books sees Mackay, a Scottish journalist, debunk alchemy, duels, fortune-telling, haunted houses, the influence of politics on the shapes of bears, prophecies, relics, and crusades.

The post Celebrating 91 Years of Carl Sagan Through the Books That Made Him a Legend appeared first on Magazine.

If you’re just dying to know more, then you’re in the right place.

What Exactly Is “Harvard’s Book Made of Human Skin?”

Let’s begin with the basics. The “book made of human skin” refers to a copy of Des destinées de l’âme (in English, Destinies of the Soul), a French meditation on the soul and life after death written by Arsène Houssaye in 1879. Harvard’s particular copy is infamous because, at some point after the printed book was delivered, its owner, a French physician and bibliophile named Ludovic Bouland, decided to bind it using human skin.

Many years later, Harvard eventually acquired the volume, and the revelation of its binding caused a stir. Shockingly, though, this isn’t that unique. It’s an example of a rare (and macabre) historical practice called anthropodermic bibliopegy: binding books in human skin.

Who Was Ludovic Bouland, and What Motivated Him?

Bouland was a medical practitioner and book lover. According to a handwritten note inside the volume (inserted by Bouland himself), he believed that “a book about the human soul deserved to have a human covering.” The note goes further, describing how he prepared the skin for binding, and even suggesting that one could “distinguish the pores of the skin.”

But here’s where things get ethically murky: the skin came from a deceased female patient, likely without her consent, from a psychiatric hospital where Bouland had worked and studied. We don’t know the woman’s name, or whether any relatives were aware or consented (the evidence suggests not).

How Did Harvard Even Come to Own It?

The book was first acquired by John B. Stetson Jr., an alumnus of Harvard. In 1934, he gave it to Harvard on deposit. After that, it moved around: from the general collections to the rare books division, and finally, it became a permanent fixture after being donated as a gift in 1954.

Interestingly, Harvard had long suspected that the book’s binding might be human skin. In 2014, they conducted tests using peptide mass fingerprinting to confirm that the binding was indeed human in origin. That test was fairly definitive, ruling out most other animals and concluding that the sample was extremely likely human.

Harvard’s Reassessment and Removal

Once you realize that a human being’s remains were used, without known consent, and kept in the library collection for decades, you start to see the whole thing as, well… deeply uncomfortable. So how did Harvard confront it?

In the fall of 2022, Harvard’s Steering Committee on Human Remains in University Museum Collections issued a report prompting libraries and museums to examine whether human remains in their holdings should remain under institutional care. Houghton Library then formed a task force, reviewed the provenance, engaged stakeholders (students, faculty, external researchers), and weighed the ethics.

In March 2024, Harvard announced that the human skin binding would be disbound (i.e., removed) and placed in secure, respectful storage. The library concluded that the human remains “no longer belong in the Harvard Library collections,” given the ethically fraught nature of how they were obtained and the ongoing question of dignity to the person whose skin it was.

Harvard also acknowledged mistakes: historically, the library handled the book in ways that treated it as a curiosity or a museum oddity, rather than centering the humanity of the person involved.

Respectful Disposition and Ongoing Research

The removed skin is currently in secure storage while Harvard and relevant French authorities undertake further provenance and biographical research. The goal is to learn who the anonymous woman was, under what circumstances the skin was taken, and how best to provide a respectful disposition. Additionally, the university is consulting with stakeholders in France (where the act likely occurred) to determine how to lay the remains to rest, perhaps through reburial or another culturally respectful treatment.

Meanwhile, the text block of Des destinées de l’âme (i.e., the pages, minus the binding) is now separate, and while the book is temporarily unavailable for in-person access, researchers can still access the digital scans via Harvard’s online system.

The Intersection of Medicine, Ethics, Libraries, and Human Remains

This book highlights a rarely discussed (and very niche) overlap: libraries, as custodians of artifacts, sometimes hold human remains (bones, tissue, hair), especially in medical or anthropological collections. Decisions about how to care for, display, hide, or remove them often involve moral, historical, cultural, and legal judgments. The Harvard bookcase shows examples of what happens when this need arises.

It also illustrates how the medical community in previous centuries sometimes treated bodies as raw “material” rather than dignified persons. The woman whose skin was used was not accounted for in history; her remains were reduced to a binding. That reduction is exactly what many modern ethical reviews aim to undo, and what Harvard is actively pushing for in this case.

The Limits of “Curiosity” and “Collection”

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Many older museums and libraries accumulated strange or grotesque items under the banner of “curiosity” or “scientific interest.” But it seems that, over time, shifting norms are forcing these institutions to reconsider: was collecting justified? Who is or has been harmed? What is dignity owed to the dead?

Other Examples of Anthropodermic Binding

Harvard’s book is not the only known case of anthropodermic binding. But it is now one of the most visible, partly due to Harvard’s prominence. Some previously suspected human-bound books have later been found to be animal leather (sheep or goat) upon scientific analysis. If you’re interested in this tradition, check out Dark Archives, a book by Megan Rosenbloom that examines the phenomenon, what it reveals about medicine and death, and the ethics of keeping the books all these years later.

Harvard University is certainly not alone in its possession of such books. The Wellcome Library in London once held several suspected human-skin bindings, though scientific testing later proved some were made of sheep or goat leather. The Mütter Museum in Philadelphia has a verified human-skin-bound book titled The Highwayman: Narrative of the Life of James Allen, which Allen himself reportedly requested be bound in his own skin after his death. The Brown University John Hay Library also possesses a confirmed human-skin-bound volume of Practicarum Quaestionum Circa Leges Regias Hispaniae, a legal text from the 1600s.

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Marsh’s Library – Dublin, Ireland

Located behind Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Marsh’s Library is Ireland’s oldest public library dating back to the 18th century. Made up of two long galleries joined by a reading room, the inside of the building has remained, for the most part, untouched over time. But this library has more than just elegant oak bookcases, old books, and ladders among the shelves – it also has ghosts.

Patrons and staff have reported seeing the ghost of an old man rummaging through the shelves, believed to be that of Archbishop Narcissus Marsh, the library’s founder. The story goes that Marsh’s favorite niece, Grace, who he raised from a young age, fell in love with a sea captain at the young age of just 19.

Marsh made it clear he didn’t approve, which resulted in Grace running away and eloping. Grace left a note for her uncle explaining why she had eloped and asking for his forgiveness, but she hid the note among the thousands of books so he couldn’t find it in time to stop her. Legend has it, Marsh continues to search for the note in the afterlife.

Throughout the Middle Ages, chained libraries were common to keep expensive books safe. In Marsh’s Library, however, readers were locked in cages to keep them from nicking the books. You can still see these cages in the library, very much adding to the eerie atmosphere. Next door, in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, are the bodies of author Jonathan Swift and girlfriend Stella. Copies were made of their skulls and Stella’s was placed in one of the cages at the back of the library, while Jonathan’s remains in St. Patrick’s. Some say Swift’s ghost ventures to the library to pay Stella a visit.

Marsh’s Library is open to the public, and upon visiting we recommend taking a look at the visitor book for the signatures of authors Bram Stoker, Johnathan Swift, and James Joyce.

Andrew Bayne Memorial Library – Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

If you find yourself perusing the Andrew Bayne Memorial Library, there’s a chance you may run into Amanda Balph, the former owner of the library who passed away in 1912. Built in 1875, this Victoria-style home holds roughly 14,000 print volumes, as well as a residential spirit that is as kind as she is mischievous.

The building was originally the home of Amandy Bayne Balph, the daughter of Allegheny County Sheriff Andrew Bayne, and was donated after her death to be used as a library and a park under the stipulation that no trees were to be removed from the property; however, after a 300-year-old tree on the grounds had to be removed due to Dutch elm disease, some very spooky things started happening around the library including lights and ceiling fans turning off and on, computers and other electronics being played with, and books, keys and other items being hidden from staff members.

But don’t get too spooked, as long as you ask her nicely, she’ll stop.

Combermere Abbey Library – Cheshire, England

Built sometime around 1113, Combermere Abbey is a former monastery, that later served as a country house for the family who took ownership in the 16th century. More recently in 1998, the building was entered into English Heritage’s “Buildings at Risk” register. While the abbey is partially occupied and restored, work has been ongoing since 2010 to save the building. Now, let’s get to the spooky stuff because a building that has been around since 1113 is bound to have a ghost story or two.

The most famous ghost story has been around since 1891 when Abbey owner Lord Combermere passed away after being run over by a horse-drawn carriage. During his funeral on December 5th at St. Margaret’s Church in Wrenbury, Sybell Corbet took a photo of the library with a long exposure camera. After the photo had been developed, Sybell noticed the image of a man’s upper body sitting in one of the chairs of the library, which was peculiar since the house was empty at the time the photo was taken.

Lord Combermere’s children said the apparition not only looked like their late father but that it appeared to be sitting in his favorite chair. Abbey staff members still report a number of ghostly sightings and other paranormal activity.

Peoria Public Library – Peoria, Illinois

Our story begins in the 1830s when Mrs. Gray gained custody of her nephew after the death of her brother. Unfortunately, her nephew had a mind of his own, to say the least, getting into trouble at every opportunity. Mrs. Gray, a widow who had little money to her name, decided that it would be best to hire a lawyer to attempt to get her nephew out of his legal troubles. David Davis took her house as collateral to cover his fees and when the bill came, Mrs. Gray was unable to pay and Davis sued to collect the mortgage for his fees.

In a fit of anger, Mrs. Gray kicked her nephew out of the house while she battled her own court case. Soon after, her nephew’s lifeless body was found floating in the Illinois River, the cause of death unknown. A devastated Mrs. Gray didn’t blame herself, but instead blamed Davis and cursed the property and all future occupants.

The lore is after Davis took over the property, nothing would grow on the land, despite the fact Mrs. Gray had beautiful gardens. Davis was also known to wake up suddenly throughout the night to a banging on the door, finding Mrs. Gray’s nephew outside, begging to be let in, only to immediately disappear.

In 1894, the city of Peoria purchased the property and built a public library. The first three directors of the library died under suspicious circumstances including a streetcar accident, a heart attack during a board meeting, and suicide after swallowing arsenic. While these could all be coincidences, Mrs. Gray’s curses were always at the forefront of locals’ minds. The original library was torn down in 1966 and rebuilt, but library visitors still report seeing Mr. Wilcox wandering the halls, staff have reported seeing his face in doorwards, their names called when nobody else is around, and have felt cold spots where there should be no drafts.

Houston Public Library – Houston, Texas

One morning in November of 1936 the librarians of the Houston Public Library arrived to find the night watchman/handyman/gardener, Jacob Frank Cramer, dead. Eventually, the cause of death was determined to be a lung hemorrhage. Since his death, all peculiar instances reported at the library have been attributed to Cramer. 

Cramer had rented a small apartment in the basement of the library where he lived with his beloved German Shepherd, Petey. In his spare time, Cramer loved to play the violin and could often be found serenading the building that he loved and cared for. Patrons and staff have reported finding violin sheet music on the basement floor, as well as hearing a scratching sound as if a dog was digging and the sound of a dog’s toenails tapping on the floor. Staff have also reported seeing shadows, that disappear when directly looked at, lights flickering on and off, and trees sprouting up in freshly planted locations around the building.

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The Return (Better Late Than Never)

In July 1943, someone borrowed a book called Your Child, His Family, and Friends by Frances Bruce Strain. The due date was supposed to be 28 days later. But, as is all too often the case, that book never came back… or so everyone thought.

Fast-forward to June 2025, and the library received, rather shockingly, that exact same book, complete with a letter from a person in Oregon. The writer explained they had found it while going through their late father’s belongings.

Apparently, the borrower decades ago was their grandmother, who had moved to Mexico City for work at one point, and the book had stayed in the family ever since.

So yes, a book borrowed during World War II finally returned during the 2020s. What a wild adventure that little book has had.

What the Note Said

The letter accompanying the book is part apology, part explanation, part lighthearted remark. The writer said they noticed the San Antonio Public Library stamp and thought, “Hey, this belongs back there.” They also mused something along the lines of: “I hope there is no late fee for it, because Grandma won’t be able to pay for it anymore.” Ouch! But fair enough, nobody wants to have to pay out for Granny’s 80-year library fine!

The library’s staff was amused and touched. According to Scott Williams, Marketing Manager of SAPL, the content of the book is a bit of a relic; it is a self-help book about parenting from the 1940s, after all, so it doesn’t exactly align with modern parenting ideas. But it’s still a fascinating snapshot of its era.

So… What Was the Cost?

You might wonder: if the book was 82 years late, how much would the fine be? Some libraries charge as much as 20 cents a day, and we don’t even want to try and figure that one out.

Fortunately for the returner, it turns out that question is moot. The San Antonio Public Library eliminated fines for overdue books in 2021, in an effort to reduce financial barriers to library use.

Back in 1943, the fine was three cents per day. But to calculate a true number across decades, you’d have to take into consideration differing library policies, inflation, lost book rules, replacement cost rules, and more. It just would be far too complicated!

At one point, if a book became “lost,” the borrower would have to pay for replacing it, but in this case, that process obviously never played out.

What Happens Now?

With the book being as old and probably outdated as it is, so what happens next?

Here’s where it gets fun. For the month of August 2025, “Your Child, His Family, and Friends” will be displayed in the lobby of the Central Library in San Antonio. It’ll get a moment in the spotlight, just for the sheer brilliance of its return home.

Eventually, the library plans to donate it to the Friends of San Antonio Public Library, who will likely sell it in the used bookstore in the library’s basement. In other words, it’s going to end up in someone else’s hands soon (but this time, it’ll be official).

A Walk Down Memory Lane: 1943 vs. 2025

Let’s take a quick step back and imagine what life looked like when this book first left the shelves. It was July 1943. The world was in the thick of World War II. In San Antonio, people were rationing food, gas, and supplies. Soldiers were shipping out from military bases all around the area. Families were writing letters by hand and waiting weeks for news.

And in the middle of all that, someone was reading a parenting book. Think about that for a second: even in wartime, people were trying to figure out how best to raise their kids, and they turned to the library for answers. That alone makes this story feel a little poignant.

Fast forward to today, 2025. Parenting advice now is found on podcasts, TikTok channels, and parenting blogs. But back then, this book might have been a lifeline for a new parent. The very fact that it survived moves, lived through generations, and decades of cultural change almost feels like a little miracle.

The Charm of Late Book Stories

Here’s the thing: this isn’t the first time a library has gotten a book returned decades late, and it won’t be the last. Every so often, a headline pops up about a dusty volume being rediscovered in an attic, tucked into a box of keepsakes, or left behind in an old piece of furniture.

And each time, people smile. Why? Because these stories remind us that libraries are not just about books. They’re about the threads of connection that run through generations. A novel or parenting guide that belonged to Grandma in 1943 has now made its way back in 2025, and who knows who flicked through it in between. But now, it’s back home, where it can spark joy and conversation for strangers.

That’s the magic of it. Libraries aren’t just warehouses of books; they’re memory banks. And sometimes, memories come wandering back home, even after 82 years.

The post The Most Overdue Book Ever? San Antonio Library Gets Surprise Return appeared first on Magazine.

A.S.W. Rosenbach is about as close as we can get to an exception here. While his name is not as recognizable as those of Harper Lee, Jane Austen, or Charles Dickens, his remarkable career has made him one of the most celebrated booksellers in history.

This is largely thanks to his incredible knack for finding some seriously sought-after books, including several copies of one of the most sought-after.

A Legendary Bookseller’s Background

A.S.W. Rosenbach was born Abraham Simon Wolf Rosenbach in Philadelphia in 1876. His interest in books – in particular, old and rare books began when he was still young. While attending the University of Pennsylvania in the late 1890s, he located a copy of Dr. Samuel Johnson’s prologue for the opening of the Drury Lane Theatre in 1747. It was a first edition, and highly valuable, but Rosenbach picked it up for only $3.60.

This would be around $137.77 today – a not-inconsiderable sum for a book. Several years later, however, Rosenbach would refuse an offer of $5,000 for it, which would equate to almost $200,000 today.

Understanding that he had a knack for this kind of thing, Rosenbach started the Rosenbach Company in 1903, with his brother Philip. Philip took care of antique items, while Abraham hunted down valuable books.

Over the years, A.S.W. Rosenbach became known as the foremost book collector in the world. Working with the likes of Henry Huntington and J.P. Morgan, Rosenbach tracked down and secured many of the world’s most elusive titles. His purchase of The Bay Psalm Book in 1947, for $151,000 (almost $2.2 million in 2025) represented the highest fee ever paid for a book at the time.

The Gutenberg Bible

The Gutenberg Bible is among the first mass-produced books in history and was published around 1450 by Johannes Gutenberg. Also known as the 42-Line Bible, Gutenberg’s work used movable type to accelerate and revolutionize the book printing and distribution process.

Though the book was mass-produced, there actually weren’t that many copies published during the 15th Century.

Somewhere between 160 and 185 copies seems to be the academic consensus.

Of these copies, only around 49 are still extant to this day, and only 25 are actually complete.

The fragmented copies vary in quality – some just have a couple of pages missing, others are significantly depleted.

There are also a few individual pages still in existence, which may suggest a further 16 copies. This would bring the total number of surviving Gutenberg Bibles – in one form or another – up to 65.

A.S.W. Rosenbach and The Gutenberg Bible

One of Rosenbach’s many claims to fame is that he bought and sold eight Gutenberg Bibles over his career. In other words, almost one-third of the surviving copies of the Bible, and between 4% and 5% of all the copies that have ever existed, passed through Rosenbach’s hands.

Many of the Gutenberg Bibles that are preserved in museums and collections to this day have been safeguarded thanks to Rosenbach’s work.

Other famous professional coups for Rosenbach include his acquisition of Shakespeare’s First Folio – something he did not once, but thirty times. In total, all of the book purchases he made over his life are estimated to be over $75,000,000.

An Incredible Career

As well as being a bookseller, Rosenbach was a prolific writer. He wrote a number of essays for publishers like the Atlantic, and also wrote two books: Books and Bidders: The Adventures of a Bibliophile in 1927, and A Book Hunter’s Holiday: Adventures with Books and Manuscripts in 1936.

But it is Rosenbach’s expertise as a book dealer for which he is most remembered. He famously presented a huge collection of children’s books to the Free Library in his native Philadelphia and established the Rosenbach Fellowship in Bibliography at his alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania.

So, to bring us full circle to the question that kicked off this post, yes, one bookseller did handle eight Gutenberg Bibles. That bookseller’s name was Abraham Simon Wolf Rosenbach, and those Bibles are just one achievement across his glittering career.

The post Meet The Lucky Man Who Held More Gutenberg Bibles Than Anyone in History appeared first on Magazine.

The Ancient Flood… or One of Them, Anyway

Imagine the scene: It’s 1872, and a room full of stiff-collared Victorian scholars is gathered at the British Museum. Then, a young Assyriologist named George Smith stands up, reads from a recently translated clay tablet, and drops a bombshell. The tablet tells a story about the gods planning to destroy the world with a massive flood. One man is warned, builds a huge boat, saves his family and animals… Sound familiar?

It was pretty much the story of Noah’s Ark. But here’s the twist: this tablet came from ancient Mesopotamia, and it was at least a thousand years older than the biblical Book of Genesis. The differences don’t stop there, either. On this tablet, the flood hero wasn’t Noah, it was a man named Ut-napishti. Oh, and the story happened to be a part of the famous historical tale: The Epic of Gilgamesh.

When it was revealed to the public, people went crazy. Newspapers ran with headlines. People were amazed and unsettled. People were asking whether or not the Bible had borrowed this story from an earlier source, or if perhaps both stories were preserving the story of a real historical flood.

A Piece of the World’s Oldest Literature

To get the obsession and fascination with this tablet and the story on it, you have to understand where it came from and how old it is. The tablet came from the Library of Ashurbanipal (that’s basically the even more ancient version of the Library of Alexandria). Ashurbanipal was a king of Assyria way back in the 7th century, and he was a famous scholar, as well as a warrior. During his reign, he collected thousands of tablets that covered everything from science to myth… including this flood story.

But even when the king had the tablet made, it was already ancient. Versions of the story of the Mesopotamian flood had been told for over 2,000 years before the tablet itself was inscribed. To put that into context, it’d be like someone today writing down a story that had been passed around since way before even the pyramids were built!

It is thought that The Epic of Gilgamesh, of which this tablet is a part, is the first great epic in world literature. It follows Gilgamesh, a divine king who embarks on a quest for immortality after the death of a close friend. He battles monsters, visits faraway lands, and meets Ut-napishti, our flood survivor, who tells him about how the gods once tried to wipe out humanity.

Ut-napishti: the original Noah

Ut-napishti is a fascinating figure. He’s not a righteous preacher like Noah, instead, he’s a clever man who happens to be in the right place at the right time. In the story, the gods decide humans are too noisy and chaotic, so they plan to flood the world (sounds familiar, right?). But the god Ea has a soft spot for Ut-napishti and whispers a warning to him through a dream.

So what does Ut-napishti do? He builds a gigantic boat (described in impressive detail on the tablet), loads it with his family, skilled workers, and “the seed of all living things”, essentially a Mesopotamian version of two of every animal. The storm rages, mountains disappear under water, and for seven days and nights, the world is in chaos.

Eventually, the waters recede, and the boat comes to rest on a mountaintop. Ut-napishti sends out birds to find dry land (sound familiar again?), and when the coast is clear, he steps out and offers a sacrifice to the gods. They’re pleased and grant him and his wife immortality. It’s this story he tells Gilgamesh, who’s desperately seeking a way to live forever.

You can see why people were amazed, or even still are. The parallels to the story of Noah are too striking to ignore!

What Does It All Mean?

So, what do we make of all this today?

Well, for one thing, the discovery of the flood tablet has been a game-changer in how we understand ancient history and religion. It reminded scholars (and the rest of us) that the Bible didn’t appear in a vacuum, that it isn’t the only ancient scripture out there. It reminded lots of people that the ancient world was interconnected and that myths, stories, and religious ideas flowed across borders, just like trade goods and armies.

It also highlighted the power of storytelling. When we see these common tales across ancient history, we can start to formulate an idea of the past. Flood myths pop up in many cultures: from the Greek story of Deucalion to flood legends in India, China, and the Americas. It’s possible they all stem from a real ancient flood (or several) that left a deep mark on human memory. Or maybe floods, being such dramatic and terrifying events, naturally inspired these kinds of cautionary tales.

Either way, the Mesopotamian flood story helps us see that ancient people wrestled with the same big questions we do: Why are we here? What is our place in the universe? Why do disasters happen? And can we, somehow, be saved?

It also shows us how long-lasting and influential ancient literature can be. The Epic of Gilgamesh may have been lost for centuries, buried under the ruins of Nineveh, but it survived, on clay tablets, long enough to speak to us today. And thanks to one curious 19th-century scholar, we now know that long before Noah, there was Ut-napishti, sailing a giant boat into literary immortality.

The post Buried for Centuries, This Tablet Tells a Story Older Than the Bible appeared first on Magazine.

In a world of gramophones and print newspapers, the rise of the television set was a real revelation. And it set imaginations running wild as people wondered what would come next.

So, between 1958 and 1963, Arthur Radebaugh put pen to paper to create a series of illustrations for the Chicago Tribune, entitled “Closer Than We Think!” Radebaugh’s drawings were eye-catching in their own right, but their content would have been seriously exciting for newspaper readers at the end of the ‘50s. But, more than 60 years later, was he correct?

Closer than We Think: Arthur Radebaugh’s Vision

Radebaugh’s Closer Than We Think series spanned several years in the late 1950s and early 1960s and tantalized audiences with visions of the near future. Robot Railroading dealt with fully-automated public vehicles, the One-World Job Market focused on remote working and telecommuting, while Highway to Russia is pretty self-explanatory.

It’s the Electronic Home Library that is most relevant to us, though. Released in February 1959, the image paints a picture of a sprawling home entertainment system, covering a wealth of different media and cultural works.

As her mother and father recline on couches, a young girl selects a title from this library. The image’s commentary describes how moving pictures will be recorded and stored, and how televisions will reproduce images in three dimensions. Meanwhile, microfilm books will be projected onto huge spaces – the ceiling, in this particular image – and accompanied by electronic voice technology to help students and other readers.

Who Was Arthur Radebaugh?

Born in Coldwater, Michigan, in 1906, Arthur Radebaugh was a skilled illustrator and airbrush artist. His charming images demonstrate his proficiency and are stunning examples of the retro-futurist art style that became so popular in the post-war years.

But he was not just an artist. Radebaugh’s background in industrial design and automotive development made him well-qualified to make technological predictions about the state of future society.

This is perhaps why Radebaugh’s visions are a little more measured than those we may be used to.

The idea of wild optimism after the dark days of World War II has been much parodied, and we’re still waiting for the personal jetpacks and teleportation devices we were promised. Instead, Radebaugh’s speculations seem to be grounded in the technological reality he knew well.

Was Arthur Correct?

At first glance, Arthur’s predictions seem startlingly accurate. Automated vehicles and devices are very much a real thing. Automated grocery stores and self-checkouts are a real thing, too, although their benefits are enjoyed by all genders, not just the ‘housewives’ repeatedly mentioned in Radebaugh’s illustration.

But what about the Electronic Home Library? Well, as anyone who ended up with mountains of DVDs, CDs, and VHSs can attest, this one seems pretty accurate too. It’s unclear if projecting a book onto a ceiling ever really took off, but electronic books and e-readers are definitely a thing.

Of course, we’ve surpassed this vision now. Through digital streaming services, we have access to an untold amount of music, movies, TV shows, books, video games, and any other piece of digital media you care to mention. The living room depicted in Arthur’s illustration is nice and spacious, but even that couldn’t house a library of this size.

Radebaugh’s vision of the near future has become our vision of the recent past.

Behind the Wizard’s Curtain: Radebaugh’s Secret

Arthur Radebaugh: skilled artist, technological visionary, occasionally proponent of outdated gender roles? Yep, Radebaugh was all these things. But let’s focus on his technological vision. What was his secret? How did he get so much right?

Well, in truth, Radebaugh had an advantage. A lot of the technology he mooted was in fact already on its way. The robo-train illustration, for example, premiered in 1960, but automatic trains were being tested on the New York subway in 1959. As for the Electronic Home Library, published in 1959, the first magnetic tape video recordings were made as early as 1951, and the technology was developing pretty rapidly by the end of the decade.

So Arthur Radebaugh wasn’t so much dealing with “Closer Than We Think” as “Pretty Much Already Here.” Although this should take nothing away from Radebaugh, and his brand of practically-viable visions of the future is more useful than things like bowling alleys in space or a tiny nuclear reactor in every home.

As for the illustrations themselves, they still look great. Perusing the artworks these days offers a fascinating trip into the psyche, innovation, and aesthetic of the post-war world.

The post Did the 1950s Electronic Library Dream Come True? appeared first on Magazine.

And those decriers of rudimentary handheld game consoles were criticized themselves, in their own younger days. Back then, they were lambasted for wasting time with Star Wars and Led Zeppelin when they could be enjoying Shakespeare and Chopin.

Perhaps you see what I’m getting at here. We humans love a moral panic, especially when there’s an opportunity to slag off the younger generation and indulge in a bit of cultural elitism.

While all these panics are different, there is a common thread: reading a novel is considered to be a higher art form, a more worthy use of our time. Don’t bother with seismic cultural touchstones like The Sopranos and The Wire, or Metal Gear Solid and Red Dead Redemption. Just read a novel… literally any novel.

But it hasn’t always been this way. Once upon a time, novels were considered to be moral poison, corrupting the youth and bringing society to its knees. That’s right… the beloved, unassailable medium of the novel became a threat to civilization as we know it.

The Emergence of the Novel

Literature in the early 18th century wasn’t quite the same as we might know it today. Whether in the form of epic poetry, dramatic scripts, or reams of prose, literature had been around for millennia, but the form of the novel wasn’t so common, at least not in Europe.

By the middle of the century, however, this had changed. Writers like Daniel Defoe and Samuel Richardson hadn’t exactly invented a new medium, but they had popularized it. Novels like The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe and Pamela became fashionable forms of culture.

Too fashionable, in the eyes of some. The term ‘Pamela-fever’ was coined, describing people who grew overly obsessed with Richardson’s 1740 novel.

Later in the century, the likes of The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Julie, or the New Heloise by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, inspired similar degrees of fanaticism. Their authors became the Beatles, or the Taylor Swifts of their day, achieving almost unprecedented levels of fame.

The novel had well and truly arrived.

Moral Corruption

All of the books mentioned above would be considered extremely respectable reading materials today, and perhaps even quite highbrow. But this was not the case in the late 18th century.

Critics of the time worried that people were slipping into a fantasy realm and losing their grip on reality. Novels were blamed for basically just about everything, from increasing promiscuity in young women to encouraging suicide and self-harm in young men.

One of these critics, Vicesimus Knox, called for the banning of novels altogether, arguing that people should instead read “true histories.” An article in Gentleman’s Magazine put forward the idea of a “sin tax,” with the hopeful notion of dissuading people from wasting their time with frivolous fiction.

Across the continent, commentators clutched their pearls in a manner similar to Helen Lovejoy from The Simpsons, if you’ll forgive the reference to something as base as a cartoon.

Fueling the Fire

As with many cases of moral panic, social commentators and the press backed up their sweeping statements with scant evidence. J.W. Appel, for example, claimed that a young man had tragically committed suicide while holding a copy of Goethe’s work. It is, of course, possible that this is true, but it seems somewhat fanciful, not to mention distasteful, to blame Goethe for this sad incident.

It’s much like when, in the 21st century, emo bands like My Chemical Romance were blamed for advocating self-destructive behaviors, after some high-profile cases in the media. Commentators by more than two centuries apart showed they were happy to exploit real-life tragedies in order to fan the flames of public opprobrium.

Reading-mania, or reading-lust, became a preoccupation right across Europe. Even with little evidence to back up the concern, the general public grew obsessed with stopping young people from reading too much.

The Endless Cycle of Panic

Reading-mania probably wasn’t the first moral panic, although the rise of mass media during the period certainly made its spread easier. What’s more certain is that it wasn’t the last. From satanic messages in Beatles tracks to peer-pressuring challenges on social media, plenty of things have been blamed for corrupting our youth and putting our social fabric at risk, but these panics are nearly always overblown.

What’s more, time has a habit of making them look pretty silly. A grandparent today, on finding a Black Sabbath record in their granddaughter’s room, is more likely to congratulate them on their music taste than call for the nearest exorcist.

Similarly, many parents today would probably be overjoyed if their kids wanted to read Goethe before bedtime, rather than playing on the iPad.

Perhaps it’s all a lot of stress over nothing. Read a book if it makes you happy, or have a chuckle at some cat videos on YouTube if you prefer. Life’s too short for cultural snobbery, and it’s definitely too short for worrying about the harmless things other people enjoy in their spare time.

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All these years later, the tablet bearing his stories has been on its own adventures. Passed through smuggling rings, surviving wars, and even taking a seat in courtrooms…

But why?

The Story of Gilgamesh

The Gilgamesh dream tablet contains an interesting section of one of the world’s oldest known literary works. The entire story is written in cuneiform script and was etched onto the tablet almost 40 centuries ago.

In the scene, Gilgamesh, a very famous superhuman king, recounts a strange dream to his mother, the goddess Ninsun. He describes seeing a massive meteorite crashing down from the heavens and tells Ninsun that he is both afraid of it and, for some unknown reason, strangely drawn to it.

Translations have shown that the imagery in this scene is intense and symbolic. The meteorite is described as immovable, powerful, and almost written like it is tied to fate. Gilgamesh tells his mother that he struggles with the rock and its arrival, but ultimately, he loves it “as a woman!”

Ninsun listens to her son and tells him that she interprets this dream as a sort of prophecy. To her, the celestial object represents Enkidu, a wild man who was created by the gods and who will soon enter Gilgamesh’s life.

She explains that not only will Enkidu become Gilgamesh’s closest friend, but he will also play a crucial role in Gilgamesh’s personal growth and eventual journey toward wisdom.

In its storytelling, the tablet captures more than just a dream. This scene is a crucial turning point in the epic. It marks the beginning of a legendary friendship and a foreshadowing of the emotional highs and tragic lows of their shared adventures.

Why is the Tablet Important?

The Gilgamesh Dream Tablet is a fragment of the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of humanity’s oldest known literary works. The whole text is written in the Akkadian language using cuneiform script, one of the oldest forms of written language.

As described, the tablet captures a poignant moment in which Gilgamesh recounts his dreams to his mother, seeking interpretation and guidance.

These dreams, rich with symbolism, offer important insights into the hero’s psyche and foreshadow his epic quests. Without this scene, important imagery and nuance in the story would be missing.

The tablet was first discovered in the 19th century among the ruins of the library of an Assyrian king in Northern Iraq. When found, the tablet provided historians with invaluable glimpses into ancient Mesopotamian beliefs, values, and even their storytelling traditions that we had not had before.

Its narratives, which parallel important tales from the Hebrew Bible, are just another piece of historical evidence regarding the interconnectedness among ancient civilizations.

The Tablet’s Tumultuous Journey

So, enough about the story on the tablet, what about the story of the tablet? Where has it been, and where is it now?

After being found in 1853, the tablet was stored in a museum for a significant chunk of time. But in the late 20th century, it went missing from Iraq.

Following the chaos that surrounded the 1991 Gulf War, the Gilgamesh Dream Tablet was unfortunately looted from its home in an Iraqi museum, and it quickly vanished into the shadows of the black market. Across the decades following the war, it discreetly traveled from one country to another again and again with documents that masked its real origins.

The tablet first appeared in London in 2003, where an antiques dealer purchased it. From there, it eventually made its way to the United States.

In 2007, the tablet appeared in the United States, where it was acquired by Hobby Lobby seven years later, in 2014. They hoped to display it at the Museum of the Bible, an attraction in Washington, D.C., but suspicions soon emerged regarding its importance, and it was seized in 2019.

Homecoming: A Nation’s Cultural Reclamation

It took a few years, but finally, in 2021, the United States officially returned the artifact to Iraq. The handover took place during a ceremony at the Smithsonian Institution in September of that year, and was hailed as a significant milestone and victory for Iraq, which has been fighting the trafficking of its cultural artifacts for years.

Faud Hussein, the nation’s cultural minister, emphasized the tablet’s importance. He said it was one of 17,926 pieces recovered in that year alone, and reiterated the significance of the victory in the face of those who sought to “steal” Iraq’s history.

Today, the Gilgamesh Dream Tablet is proudly displayed in Baghdad, where it should be.

The Enduring Legacy of Gilgamesh

The saga of the Gilgamesh Dream Tablet shows not only how long we as people have been telling stories, but also how important those stories are. Even now, all these years later, the tablet appealed to individuals enough to loot, hide, and sell it through whatever means necessary.

The celebration in Iraq shows us the importance of working together to preserve cultural heritage. Its return to Iraq not only restores a piece of the country’s heritage, but has rekindled global interest in the Epic of Gilgamesh and other super interesting parts of Iraqi history!

The post How the Gilgamesh Tablet Made Its Way Home After 30 Years appeared first on Magazine.

1. The Library of Alexandria

Perhaps the most famous of the libraries on our list, the Library of Alexandria was the crown jewel of education in the ancient world. The library was built on the grounds of the Royal Palace in Alexandria, Egypt, by Ptolemy I Soter in 323 B.C. Scholars and leaders from around the world were invited to donate to the collection.

The library was destroyed in 28 B.C., so little is known about the full extent of the collection, but scholars believe the library likely housed between 20,000 – 200,000 works of humanitarian works like literature, art, and philosophy at its height of operation.

2. The Library of Celsus

Built in 120 A.D. by Gaius Julius Aquila to honor his father, Roman consul Tiberius Julius Celsus, the Library of Celsus served as both a library and a tomb for Celsus. It was built in the heart of Ephesus, a social hub and the fourth largest city of the Roman Empire. The library is believed to be the home of 12,000 works and is considered one of the largest libraries in the ancient world. The library still stands in modern-day Turkey.

3. The Library of Pergamum

Rumor has it that the rulers of Pergamum, the bustling Greek city, built the Library of Pergamum in an effort to rival Alexandria. The true extent of the rivalry is unknown, but the grandeur of the library cannot be understated. It is believed to have stored an archive of 200,000 works of varying subject matter, like science, art, literature, and history.

The Pergamum Library is also associated with the invention of parchment, though the theory has not yet been fully verified.

4. The Library of Ashurbanipal

The Library of Ashurbanipal is the oldest known library in the world. Named after the Assyrian king credited with its construction in the seventh century B.C., the site contained an abundance of Mesopotamian history.

The library was forgotten for thousands of years until a collection of 30,000 clay tablets was discovered in Nineveh (now northern Iraq) over a series of archaeological digs in the late 1800s and early 1900s. The tablets are some of the best evidence of Mesopotamian civilization that we have today.

5. Imperial Library of Constantinople

Byzantine Emperor Constantius II founded the Imperial Library of Constantinople in an effort to preserve ancient texts by switching them from their deteriorating papyrus to parchment. Though the library is believed to have been one of the largest in ancient history, very little is known about the contents.

The library collection is speculated to have held over 100,000 volumes, and it is likely that many of the surviving texts from the destruction of the Library of Alexandria were brought to the Imperial Library of Constantinople. The library operated for more than 1,000 years before being destroyed by crusaders in 1204.

6. Villa of the Papyri

The antiquarian library in the Roman city of Herculaneum was home to nearly 1,800 scrolls. During the volcanic eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 A.D. , the library was covered by nearly 90 feet of volcanic material. The volcanic ash perfectly preserved the library and allowed its excavation in 1750. Thanks to this natural preservation, the library still stands today.

7. The Library of Nalanda

Considered to be the first residential university, the ancient school of Nalanda operated for more than 700 years. Over that time, it saw more than 10,000 students who studied everything from medicine to art and philosophy alongside Buddhist principles. Founded during the Gupta empire, famously known for their Hindu beliefs, Nalanda was home to more than 9 million books and is credited with the preservation of Buddhist principles that are still practiced today.

8. The House of Wisdom

Also known as the Grand Library of Baghdad, the House of Wisdom was known as one of the epicenters of learning during the Islamic Golden Age. The library was first established in the 9th century A.D. and flourished as a hub for scholars until its destruction in the mid-13th century. The House of Wisdom hosted a vast collection of books covering subjects ranging from medicine and astronomy to philosophy and religion.

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