Smarty Pants From The American Scholar

Imagine there’s a place where music exists as it was first created, thousands and thousands of years ago, a place where song and dance still glued communities together across generations. That place exists: Epirus, a little pocket of northwestern Greece on the border with Albania. There, in scattered mountain villages, people still practice a musical tradition that predates Homer. This week, we’re revisiting our interview with Christopher King, an obsessive record collector—and Grammy-winning producer and musicologist—who goes on an odyssey to uncover Europe’s oldest surviving folk music, and spins us some rare 78s.Go beyond the episode:Episode page, with R. Crumb’s original illustrationsChristopher King’s Lament from EpirusBuy LPs, CDs, or MP3s of Chris’s Epirotic collections, from Five Days Married and Other Laments to Why the Mountains Are BlackRead Christopher King’s Paris Review essay, “Talk About Beauties,” about the lost recordi

Despite the rampant success of books like Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, intellectual circles tend to look down on anything that sells itself as self-help. And yet, in a certain light, the most original form of self-help might actually be philosophy—an older and more respected genre, even, than the novel. So this week, we’re going back to the past and asking that old chestnut: what is a meaningful life? The Stoics are awfully popular these days, but the philosopher Catherine Wilson joins us this episode to pitch a different kind of Greek: Epicurus, whose teachings live on most fully in Lucretius’s On the Nature of Things. For a few centuries, Epicurus was wrongly remembered as the patron saint of whoremongers and drunkards, but he really wasn’t: his philosophy is rich with theories of justice, empiricism, pleasure, prudence, and equality (Epicurus, unlike the Stoics, welcomed women and slaves into his school). Epicureanism advocated for a simple life, something that appeal

Long before the advent of true crime podcasts, 17th-century murder pamphlets sold like hotcakes in England, and dubious criminal “autobiographies” were sold at executions. On the eve of the 19th century, William Godwin published Things as They Are; or the Adventures of Caleb Williams, identified by this week’s guest, Martin Edwards, as the “first thriller about a manhunt”—and a blueprint for how detective novelists would go on to construct the whodunnit. Edwards should know. He’s the eighth president of the Detection Club and the author of dozens of crime novels (and about a thousand articles about other people’s mysteries). Now he has written A Life of Crime, the first major history of the genre in more than 50 years, distilling two centuries of crime fiction from around the world, from the Golden Age of Agatha Christie and company to the realm of contemporary Japan. Go beyond the episode:Martin Edwards’s The Life of Crime: Detecting the History of Mysteries and Their CreatorsRead an excerpt hereWe dare

Anglo-American attitudes toward burial have changed significantly over the past half century: today, most people choose to be cremated, and alternatives like natural burials and human composting are on the rise. Margareta Magnusson’s The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, about the importance of getting your affairs in order, was a surprise bestseller, and American mortician Caitlin Doughty is but one of several popular YouTube personalities who speak about death. But largely absent from the conversations at so-called Death Cafes (coffee, crumpets, and the inevitable!) is any discussion of the people who devote their lives to caring for the dead. These death workers are the focus of Hayley Campbell’s new book, All the Living and the Dead. Campbell speaks to people doing jobs we tend not to consider: embalmers and executioners, of course, but also crime scene cleaners, mass fatality investigators, bereavement midwives, and others. What makes these people choose to surround themselves with death tells us a l

In pursuit of the natural laws of the universe, human beings have accomplished remarkable things. We’ve outlined the principles of gravity and thermodynamics. We’ve built enormous machines to dig into the deepest parts of the Earth, to understand what happens at the shortest quantum distances, and equally large machines to take pictures of the most distant parts of the cosmos. Still, there remain a number of foundational gaps in our knowledge—gaps that have allowed some wild ideas to take root. Some scientists hypothesize that, with every decision we make, our universe forks into multiverses, that consciousness arises from the quantum movements of microtubules, that the universe itself is conscious, or that there is this cat in a box and not in a box at the same time. These ideas, and related big questions about the nature of the universe, are the subject of particle physicist Sabine Hossenfelder’s new book, Existential Physics. In it, she argues that many of these far-out theories, put forward without eviden

Long before Wynton Marsalis arrived in the plush halls of Lincoln Center, jazz was often performed in far more dangerous venues. Greats like Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Billie Holiday found their footing on the stages of America’s most notorious vice districts, where big players in the mob, such as Al Capone and Mickey Cohen, called the shots. In his new book, Dangerous Rhythms, journalist T. J. English explores the complexities of this corner of the underworld, where venues like the Cotton Club explicitly upheld the racial dynamics of Jim Crow America while simultaneously providing Black musicians with otherwise unavailable opportunities. But the emerging civil rights movement disrupted this “glorified plantation system,” as English calls it, just as it eventually upended both the music and the mob.Go beyond the episode:T. J. English’s Dangerous Rhythms: Jazz and the UnderworldPeruse his back catalog of books on organized crimeListen to a playlist of songs to accompany the episode, and the bookYou c

Picture the first “It Girl,” and you’re likely to imagine young, fun Clara Bow, sex symbol of the Roaring ’20s. But behind the frame is the woman who wrote It: Elinor Glyn, an English-gentlewoman-turned-Hollywood-screenwriter whose romantic novels inspired so much of the era’s glamorous aesthetic. Hilary Hallett, a professor of history at Columbia University, brings Glyn back into the spotlight in her new biography, Inventing the It Girl. Glyn’s story, like that of so many of her heroines—and unlike her contemporaries—begins after her marriage in 1892 to a spendthrift noble with a gambling problem. The blockbuster success of her scandalous 1907 sex novel, Three Weeks, catapulted her to literary stardom and, as it so often does, to Hollywood, where she worked on dozens of films and styled silent-era superstars like Rudolph Valentino and Gloria Swanson. Hallett joins the podcast to discuss how Glyn paved the way for a century of sexual, romantic, and psychological independence.Go beyond the episode:Hilary Halle

The Pain Killer, the Penicillin, the Doctor—some cocktail menus lean heavily on the idea of “self-medication.” But for millennia, alcohol was medicine. Weak beer was safer to drink than water, and eau de vie was distilled from any number of fruits to treat colic or a cold. Though the ancient Greeks wrote at length about the medical applications of wine, even earlier uses for fermented beers and beverages appear on Sumerian tablets, Egyptian papyri, and Vedic texts. Cocktail connoisseur Camper English, who has been covering the drinks industry for more than 15 years, turns his attention to this long and storied history in Doctors and Distillers, which traces modern mixology back to its therapeutic roots. Go beyond the episode:Camper English’s Doctors and Distillers: The Remarkable Medicinal History of Beer, Wine, Spirits, and CocktailsRead English’s series on four bitter botanicals: cinchona bark, rhubarb root, wormwood, and gentianEnglish’s blog Alcademics has a wealth of cocktail-related articles, inclu

In Great Britain, some 3,000 villages and towns disappeared in the Middle Ages due to the effects of the Black Death alone. Zoom out on the time scale, then factor in storms and floods, economic or social shifts, climate change, and war, and the number of abandoned settlements balloons. The historian and broadcaster Matthew Green selected eight to visit in his new book, Shadowlands: A Journey Through Britain’s Lost Cities and Vanished Villages. From the mysterious Neolithic ruins of Skara Brae and the medieval city that fell off a cliff, Green takes us to the militarized STANTA villages of Norfolk and drowned Capel Celyn in the 20th century. As man-made climate change causes ever more extreme weather events and threatens to engulf our coastal cities, these places become more than a memorial to the past—but a harbinger of the future that awaits us. Matthew Green’s Shadowlands: A Journey Through Britain’s Lost Cities and Vanished VillagesAnd if you’re closer to London than we are, take a walking tour with

The Creek chief Cow Tom was born around 1810 along the west coast of Florida. He survived the Trail of Tears, served as an interpreter between the Creeks and the U.S. government, and earned the title of Mikko, or chief, for his leadership of Creek refugees during the Civil War. In 1866, he served as an adviser during the nation’s treaty negotiations with the U.S. government. This treaty, in addition to banning slavery in the five First Nations who were party to it, granted full citizenship in the Creek Nation to Black Creeks who had been accepted into the community after marriage or had been previously enslaved by their Indian owners. Mikko Cow Tom was one of those Black Creeks. When he died in 1874, he bequeathed his considerable assets, including grist mills, cattle, and land, to his family—along with Creek citizenship and a degree of social prominence that was exceedingly rare for a Black family of the time. But in 1979, the Creek Nation expelled its Black members, and to this day refuses to recognize thei

Last week’s Supreme Court ruling immediately prohibited abortion in seven states, with 23 more either moving to make it illegal or likely to. At the heart of Justice Samuel Alito’s opinion in overturning Roe v. Wade is the notion that abortion is not “deeply rooted in this nation’s history and tradition.” Since Roe was based on the 14th Amendment, Alito contends that we must consider the context in which the 14th Amendment was ratified in 1868. This week, to provide the context that Alito misrepresented, we are rerunning our interview with Tamara Dean about abortion in the 19th century, when it was common, and largely unprohibited. In the leather-bound death records of the county where Dean lives, only two abortions are mentioned, which she writes about in her essay “Safer than Childbirth.” The more common cause of death, Dean found, was giving birth. At the time, abortion was widely accepted as a means of avoiding the risks of pregnancy and childbirth. Even the Catholic Church didn’t oppose ending pregnancy

In 19th-century America, unhappily married couples faced divorce laws that varied wildly by state. Some states only allowed suits for “divorce of room and board”—but not the end of a marriage. In New York, divorce was permitted only in cases of proven adultery; South Carolina banned it entirely. But in South Dakota, things were different, and by the 1890s, people were flocking to Sioux Falls to take advantage of the laxest divorce laws in the country. In particular, the women seeking separation caught the most attention, as historian and senior Atlas Obscura editor April White writes in her new book, The Divorce Colony. These women—usually wealthy, almost always white, and trailing newspaper reporters—dared to challenge the status quo barely a generation after married women had won the right to own property, and well before they achieved the vote.Go beyond the episode:April White’s The Divorce Colony: How Women Revolutionized Marriage and Found Freedom on the American FrontierRead the Atavist article tha

Today is June 16, Bloomsday, the day in 1904 on which James Joyce’s novel Ulysses takes place. But this year also marks the 100th anniversary of its publication, and to celebrate the occasion, The American Scholar asked five writers for their thoughts on Joyce’s modern masterpiece. One of them, Flicka Small, wrote about the food in the novel, from the inner organs of beasts and fowls that Leopold Bloom eats with relish to the Gorgonzola on his sandwich—not to mention Molly Bloom’s sensuous seed cake, Blazes Boylans’s suggestive peaches, and everything that Stephen Dedalus can’t afford to eat. Flicka Small came to her lectureship at University College Cork by way of her earlier career as a chef, giving her a singular perspective on the wild array of foods that appear on that famous day in Dublin, Ireland.Go beyond the episode:Read Flicka Small’s contribution to our Joyce centennial, “Know Me Come Eat With Me”Read the other four essays: Robert J. Seidman on why Ulysses is as vital as ever; Keri Walsh’s celebrat

Humorist Sloane Crosley is best known for her witty essay collections, such as I Was Told There’d Be Cake and Look Alive Out There, both finalists for the Thurber Prize for American Humor. Her new book is a novel, Cult Classic—a mystery, romantic comedy, and conspiracy thriller rolled into one, with a sprinkling of mind control and A Christmas Carol for good measure. We first meet the novel’s heroine, Lola, as she sneaks out of a dinner with friends in Manhattan’s Chinatown for a cigarette and unexpectedly bumps into an ex-boyfriend. The next day, she runs into another one. Then another. What for many of us would merely seem like a bizarre series of uncomfortable encounters—or a personal nightmare—turns out to be something much stranger for Lola, who discovers that her very weird week has resulted from the machinations of a group that insists it’s not a cult. Sloane Crosley joins us to talk about love, psychology, and her new novel, Cult Classic.Go beyond the episode:Sloane Crosley’s Cult ClassicExplore her b

Most people who dig deep into their family histories tend to uncover the usual: an unexpected great-great-aunt, a familial home halfway around the world, maybe even a secret sibling. Hollywood producer Hopwood DePree found an ancestral English estate bearing his own name. But Hopwood Hall was falling apart, having sat empty since the Second World War and becoming the victim of age and vandalism. A visit to see the 600-year-old manor—and then another—and another—inspired DePree not only to try to save the hall, but also to trade movie scripts for a hard hat and move to Manchester. He describes his—and the house’s—journey in his new book, Downton Shabby.Go beyond the episode:Hopwood DePree’s Downton Shabby: One American's Ultimate DIY Adventure Restoring His Family's English CastleVisit our episode page for vintage photographs of the Hall in its glory daysExperience a day in the life of the Hopwood Hall restoration efforts on DePree’s YouTube channelListen to our interview with Adrian Tinniswood on why so many

Few birds enjoy the stature that the bald eagle has attained in the United States. It adorns our national seal, several denominations of currency, and T-shirts from coast to coast, with bonded pairs nesting everywhere from the National Arboretum to Dollywood. But not even 100 years ago, the bald eagle was hunted to the verge of extinction even while it was celebrated as a majestic symbol of independence. Children were taught that it was a threat to society or, worse, that it might kidnap and devour them. And just when we began to right our wrongs with the passage of the 1940 Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act, we nearly killed off our national symbol again with DDT. Pulitzer Prize–winner Jack E. Davis swoops through five centuries of history to tell the bird’s improbable story in The Bald Eagle.Go beyond the episode:Jack E. Davis’s The Bald EaglePeep bald eagle nest cams across the countrySmarty Pants loves birds: meet the caracara and the ravens of the Tower of LondonRead Erik Anderson’s story of how a beg

Americans love their cars. But why? When did cars become so wrapped up in the idea of American identity that we can’t pull ourselves away from them, knowing full well that they’re expensive, emissions-spewing death machines? Why are we so wedded to the idea of cars that we’re now developing all-electric and driverless cars instead of investing in mass transportation? To answer some of these questions, we’re joined this episode by Dan Albert, who writes about the past, present, and future of cars, from Henry Ford’s dirt-cheap and democratic Model T to the predicted death of the automobile in the 1970s—and again, today. This episode originally aired in 2019.Go beyond the episode:Dan Albert’s Are We There Yet?In our Summer 2019 issue, Steve Lagerfeld mourns what wonders might be lost with the end of drivingFor more on how highways made modern America, read Albert’s essay “The Highway and the City” and moreJulie Beck reports on the decline of driving (and driver’s licenses)An academic analysis of how different mo

Have you ever had a feeling that something bad was about to happen? Has it ever come true? On October 20, 1966, a young Welsh girl named Eryl Mai Jones recounted to her mother a dream in which she went to school and found it wasn’t there. “Something black had come down all over it,” she said. The next day, Eryl and 143 other people were killed when a pile of waste at a nearby coal mine collapsed and sent an avalanche of rubble into the village of Aberfan. After learning of Eryl’s dream—and others like hers—the psychiatrist John Barker teamed up with reporter Peter Fairley to establish a Premonitions Bureau at the Evening Standard newspaper to “log premonitions as they occurred and see how many were borne out in reality.” New Yorker staff writer Sam Knight tells the story of Barker’s experiment in his new book, The Premonitions Bureau: A True Account of Death Foretold. Barker hoped that the bureau, which would receive more than 700 premonitions within 15 months (some of which proved true) might serve as a warn

Russia and China recently agreed to be partners “without limits,” but from the 17th to the 19th century, their relationship wasn't so warm. As Georgetown historian Gregory Afinogenov writes in his recent book, Spies and Scholars, pencil-pushing Russian bureaucrats posted in China or along the border doubled as spies. These career apparatchiks succeeded at gathering intelligence on the Qing dynasty from their quotidian positions at diplomatic offices, religious missions, and frontier outposts, though they never seemed to get much credit for their work. The irony is that while the intelligence they shared bought Russia greater prestige among European powers, these encounters with European ideals of intellectualism also radically changed what kind of “intelligence” was considered worthwhile. This episode originally aired in 2020.Go beyond the episode:Gregory Afinogenov’s Spies and Scholars: Chinese Secrets and Imperial Russia’s Quest for World PowerItching to learn Ma

Long before the current spate of legislation aimed at transgender people—and long before 1492—people who identified as neither male nor female, but both, flourished across hundreds of Native communities in the present-day United States. Called aakíí'skassi, miati, okitcitakwe, and other tribally specific names, these people held important roles both in ceremony and everyday life, before the violence wrought by Europeans threatened to wipe them out. In his new book, Reclaiming Two-Spirits, historian Gregory Smithers sifts through hundreds of years of colonial archives, art, archaeological evidence, and oral storytelling to reveal how these Indigenous communities resisted erasure and went on to reclaim their dual identities under the umbrella term “two-spirit.”Go beyond the episode:Gregory Smithers’s Reclaiming Two-Spirits: Sexuality, Spiritual Renewal, and Sovereignty in Native AmericaRead Smithers’s essay on the hidden history of transgender TexasWatch Sweetheart Dancers, Ben-Alex Dupris’s short documentary a