I’m in the middle of writing a very, very long post about Iraq, but in the meantime, I have discovered that my favorite book of all time, Penguin Island by Anatole France, is available entirely free as a plaintext file! Three cheers for the public domain!

And although it was written in 1908, it’s an amazingly prescient book. I’ll just link to the last chapter, which is pretty much independent from the rest of the book:

The houses were never high enough to satisfy them; they kept on making them still higher and built them of thirty or forty storeys with offices, shops, banks, societies one above another; they dug cellars and tunnels ever deeper downwards.
Fifteen millions of men laboured in a giant town by the light of beacons which shed forth their glare both day and night.
…
Clair stopped himself, gave a dry laugh, and handed the child back to his mother. Then he took out his watch again, and kneeling on the bench with his elbows resting on its back he gazed at the town. As far as the eye could reach, the multitude of houses stood out in their tiny immensity.
Caroline turned her eyes in the same direction.
“What splendid weather it is!” said she. “The sun’s rays change the smoke on the horizon into gold. The worst thing about civilization is that it deprives one of the light of day.”
He did not answer; his looks remained fixed on a place in the town.
After some seconds of silence they saw about half a mile away, in the richer district on the other side of the river, a sort of tragic fog rearing itself upwards. A moment afterwards an explosion was heard even where they were sitting, and an immense tree of smoke mounted towards the pure sky. Little by little the air was filled with an imperceptible murmur caused by the shouts of thousands of men. Cries burst forth quite close to the square.
“What has been blown up?”
The bewilderment was great, for although accidents were common, such a violent explosion as this one had never been seen, and everybody perceived that something terribly strange had happened.
Attempts were made to locate the place of the accident; districts, streets, different buildings, clubs, theatres, and shops were mentioned. Information gradually became more precise and at last the truth was known.
“The Steel Trust has just been blown up.”
Clair put his watch back into his pocket.
Caroline looked at him closely and her eyes filled with astonishment.
At last she whispered in his ear:
“Did you know it? Were you expecting it? Was it you…”

Click here to read Penguin Island in its entirety, translated from the French by A. W. Evans. It’s hilarious and smarter than any fiction I’ve read published since.

Warning: Penguin Island contains references to God, the Devil, penguins, sex, and the Dreyfus affair. May not be suitable for those unschooled in Western Traditional classics.

Update: So, there I was having spent several hours working on that Iraq post, and then I accidentally deleted all my work. I’m so fed up I don’t even want to think about Iraq any more. So for those who are really bored at work today, why don’t you read about my favorite manga artist in the meantime? She’s featured in MoMA’s anime exhibit, opening today.