Podcasts about light survived

F is for Floods - that is, the floods of the Seine River in Paris. And today we're paying particular attention to the game-changing Great Flood of 1910.  Featured is the voice of Jeffrey Jackson, Professor of History at Rhodes College, and the author of "Paris Under Water:  How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910". You can find more about Jeffrey on his website here. Become a Patreon member of The Earful Tower here to support this show and get extras. The music in this episode is from Pres Maxson. Lastly, book a walking tour of Paris, or indeed the Louvre, via our official website The Earful Tower.

Jeffrey Jackson, professor of history at Rhodes College comes on the show to tell us about Lucy and Suzanne's courage in defying the nazi occupation of the channel island Jersey. These two lovers, having developed their avant garde artistry in 1920 and 1930's Paris, will put all their skill to work, when undermining the enemy troops on their island. Professor Jeffrey Jackson, author of Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 describes how these two courageous women's paper bullets made the Nazi's question their own safety and why they were there at all. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Amidst the danger of Nazi-occupied Island of Jersey in the British Channel, two French women, Lucy Schwob and Suzanne Malherbe, drew on their skills as Parisian avant-garde artists to write and distribute “paper bullets”—wicked insults against Hitler, calls to rebel, and subversive fictional dialogues designed to demoralize Nazi troops. History professor Jeffrey Jackson joined us with the history of the audacious anti-Nazi campaign undertaken by this unlikely pair. In this presentation, Jackson drew on his book Paper Bullets: Two Artists Who Risked Their Lives to Defy the Nazis to weave a timeline of Lucy and Suzanne’s resistance. Better remembered today by their artist names, Claude Cahun and Marcel Moore, he explored how their actions were even more courageous because of who they were: lesbian partners known for cross-dressing and creating the kind of gender-bending work that the Nazis would come to call “degenerate art.” They also had communist affiliations in Paris, where they attended political rallies with Surrealists. He shared how they were betrayed in 1944, tried, and sentenced to death, ultimately surviving and continuing their fight even in jail by spreading a message of hope to other prisoners. Jackson invites us to a compelling story that has not been told before, about the galvanizing power of art, and of resistance. Jeffrey H. Jackson is Professor of History at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee. An expert on European history and culture, he is the author of Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 and Making Jazz French: Music and Modern Life in Interwar Paris. He has appeared in documentary films and helped develop “Harlem in Montmartre: A Paris Jazz Story” for PBS’s Great Performances. Buy the Book: https://www.thirdplacebooks.com/book/9781616209162  Presented by Town Hall Seattle. To make a donation or become a member click here. 

On the latest episode of Now, Appalachia, Eliot speaks to Tennessee historian and author Jeff Jackson about his latest book: PAPER BULLETS: TWO ARTISTS WHO RISKED THEIR LIVES TO DEFY THE NAZIS. Jeff is a is Professor of History at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee. An expert on European history and culture, he is the author of Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 and Making Jazz French: Music and Modern Life in Interwar Paris. He has appeared in documentary films and helped develop “Harlem in Montmartre: A Paris Jazz Story” for PBS’s Great Performances.

On the latest episode of Now, Appalachia, Eliot speaks to Tennessee historian and author Jeff Jackson about his latest book: PAPER BULLETS: TWO ARTISTS WHO RISKED THEIR LIVES TO DEFY THE NAZIS. Jeff is a is Professor of History at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee. An expert on European history and culture, he is the author of Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 and Making Jazz French: Music and Modern Life in Interwar Paris. He has appeared in documentary films and helped develop “Harlem in Montmartre: A Paris Jazz Story” for PBS’s Great Performances. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/eliot-parker/support

Jeffrey H. Jackson is a professor of history at Rhodes College and was last on Book Talk to discuss Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910. Today we'll be talking about his brand new one, 

In the late 19th century, French sociologist Emile Durkheim warned the world about spreading “normlessness” (anomie). He claimed that modern society, and particularly life in concentrated urban-industrial areas like Paris, left people without the sense of belonging that characterized “traditional” life. Durkheim was not alone in thinking that there was something fundamentally sick-making about modernity. Marx called the modern malady “alienation” (Entfremdung), Weber called it “disenchantment” (Entzauberung), and Freud called it “discontent” (Unbehagen). The more general term used in fin de siecle Europe was “neurasthenia,” a condition of nervous exhaustion caused by the frenetic pace of modern life. The theory that modernity was pathological was put to the test on several occasions in the early twentieth century. One of the earliest was the Paris flood of 1910. It’s the subject of Jeffrey H. Jackson‘s wonderfully told tale Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 (Palgrave-MacMillan, 2010). By Jackson’s revealing lights, social science did not fare very well. When the Seine river literally rose up out of the ground and over its banks, things in Paris did not fall apart as Durkheim, Marx, Weber, and Freud might have predicted. Far from it: the Parisians generally pulled together, fought the rising waters, and helped one another. They were not “normless,” “alienated,” “disenchanted,” or “discontented.” They knew just who they were: French citizens. They knew just what to do: lend a hand. And they knew just why they did it: national duty. This isn’t to say that some sort of ideal democracy magically emerged out of the flood waters. It didn’t. As is always the case, people in desperate situations do desperate (and often stupid) things. The deluge ripped the veneer of normalcy from daily life and revealed underlying conflicts. But more than anything else the Paris flood revealed the remarkable strength of modern republican nation-states. Unlike their much praised “traditional” counterparts–the monarchies of early modern Europe–they did not fall apart when put under significant strain. They cohered and even grew stronger. We shouldn’t think, however, that this solidarity was an entirely good thing. National unity had a much darker side, as would be shown only a few years later. Nations are often very good at helping themselves, as the Paris flood demonstrated. But they are also very good (if “good” is the right word) at fighting other nations, as was demonstrated with horrible clarity in World War I and World War II. Please become a fan of “New Books in History” on Facebook if you haven’t already. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In the late 19th century, French sociologist Emile Durkheim warned the world about spreading “normlessness” (anomie). He claimed that modern society, and particularly life in concentrated urban-industrial areas like Paris, left people without the sense of belonging that characterized “traditional” life. Durkheim was not alone in thinking that there was something fundamentally sick-making about modernity. Marx called the modern malady “alienation” (Entfremdung), Weber called it “disenchantment” (Entzauberung), and Freud called it “discontent” (Unbehagen). The more general term used in fin de siecle Europe was “neurasthenia,” a condition of nervous exhaustion caused by the frenetic pace of modern life. The theory that modernity was pathological was put to the test on several occasions in the early twentieth century. One of the earliest was the Paris flood of 1910. It’s the subject of Jeffrey H. Jackson‘s wonderfully told tale Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 (Palgrave-MacMillan, 2010). By Jackson’s revealing lights, social science did not fare very well. When the Seine river literally rose up out of the ground and over its banks, things in Paris did not fall apart as Durkheim, Marx, Weber, and Freud might have predicted. Far from it: the Parisians generally pulled together, fought the rising waters, and helped one another. They were not “normless,” “alienated,” “disenchanted,” or “discontented.” They knew just who they were: French citizens. They knew just what to do: lend a hand. And they knew just why they did it: national duty. This isn’t to say that some sort of ideal democracy magically emerged out of the flood waters. It didn’t. As is always the case, people in desperate situations do desperate (and often stupid) things. The deluge ripped the veneer of normalcy from daily life and revealed underlying conflicts. But more than anything else the Paris flood revealed the remarkable strength of modern republican nation-states. Unlike their much praised “traditional” counterparts–the monarchies of early modern Europe–they did not fall apart when put under significant strain. They cohered and even grew stronger. We shouldn’t think, however, that this solidarity was an entirely good thing. National unity had a much darker side, as would be shown only a few years later. Nations are often very good at helping themselves, as the Paris flood demonstrated. But they are also very good (if “good” is the right word) at fighting other nations, as was demonstrated with horrible clarity in World War I and World War II. Please become a fan of “New Books in History” on Facebook if you haven’t already. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In the late 19th century, French sociologist Emile Durkheim warned the world about spreading “normlessness” (anomie). He claimed that modern society, and particularly life in concentrated urban-industrial areas like Paris, left people without the sense of belonging that characterized “traditional” life. Durkheim was not alone in thinking that there was something fundamentally sick-making about modernity. Marx called the modern malady “alienation” (Entfremdung), Weber called it “disenchantment” (Entzauberung), and Freud called it “discontent” (Unbehagen). The more general term used in fin de siecle Europe was “neurasthenia,” a condition of nervous exhaustion caused by the frenetic pace of modern life. The theory that modernity was pathological was put to the test on several occasions in the early twentieth century. One of the earliest was the Paris flood of 1910. It’s the subject of Jeffrey H. Jackson‘s wonderfully told tale Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 (Palgrave-MacMillan, 2010). By Jackson’s revealing lights, social science did not fare very well. When the Seine river literally rose up out of the ground and over its banks, things in Paris did not fall apart as Durkheim, Marx, Weber, and Freud might have predicted. Far from it: the Parisians generally pulled together, fought the rising waters, and helped one another. They were not “normless,” “alienated,” “disenchanted,” or “discontented.” They knew just who they were: French citizens. They knew just what to do: lend a hand. And they knew just why they did it: national duty. This isn’t to say that some sort of ideal democracy magically emerged out of the flood waters. It didn’t. As is always the case, people in desperate situations do desperate (and often stupid) things. The deluge ripped the veneer of normalcy from daily life and revealed underlying conflicts. But more than anything else the Paris flood revealed the remarkable strength of modern republican nation-states. Unlike their much praised “traditional” counterparts–the monarchies of early modern Europe–they did not fall apart when put under significant strain. They cohered and even grew stronger. We shouldn’t think, however, that this solidarity was an entirely good thing. National unity had a much darker side, as would be shown only a few years later. Nations are often very good at helping themselves, as the Paris flood demonstrated. But they are also very good (if “good” is the right word) at fighting other nations, as was demonstrated with horrible clarity in World War I and World War II. Please become a fan of “New Books in History” on Facebook if you haven’t already. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In the late 19th century, French sociologist Emile Durkheim warned the world about spreading “normlessness” (anomie). He claimed that modern society, and particularly life in concentrated urban-industrial areas like Paris, left people without the sense of belonging that characterized “traditional” life. Durkheim was not alone in thinking that there was something fundamentally sick-making about modernity. Marx called the modern malady “alienation” (Entfremdung), Weber called it “disenchantment” (Entzauberung), and Freud called it “discontent” (Unbehagen). The more general term used in fin de siecle Europe was “neurasthenia,” a condition of nervous exhaustion caused by the frenetic pace of modern life. The theory that modernity was pathological was put to the test on several occasions in the early twentieth century. One of the earliest was the Paris flood of 1910. It’s the subject of Jeffrey H. Jackson‘s wonderfully told tale Paris Under Water: How the City of Light Survived the Great Flood of 1910 (Palgrave-MacMillan, 2010). By Jackson’s revealing lights, social science did not fare very well. When the Seine river literally rose up out of the ground and over its banks, things in Paris did not fall apart as Durkheim, Marx, Weber, and Freud might have predicted. Far from it: the Parisians generally pulled together, fought the rising waters, and helped one another. They were not “normless,” “alienated,” “disenchanted,” or “discontented.” They knew just who they were: French citizens. They knew just what to do: lend a hand. And they knew just why they did it: national duty. This isn’t to say that some sort of ideal democracy magically emerged out of the flood waters. It didn’t. As is always the case, people in desperate situations do desperate (and often stupid) things. The deluge ripped the veneer of normalcy from daily life and revealed underlying conflicts. But more than anything else the Paris flood revealed the remarkable strength of modern republican nation-states. Unlike their much praised “traditional” counterparts–the monarchies of early modern Europe–they did not fall apart when put under significant strain. They cohered and even grew stronger. We shouldn’t think, however, that this solidarity was an entirely good thing. National unity had a much darker side, as would be shown only a few years later. Nations are often very good at helping themselves, as the Paris flood demonstrated. But they are also very good (if “good” is the right word) at fighting other nations, as was demonstrated with horrible clarity in World War I and World War II. Please become a fan of “New Books in History” on Facebook if you haven’t already. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices