More often than not we imagine that earlier generations gathered around long tables, ate and drank in gargantuan amounts and socialized deep-heartedly. We, on the contrary, feel guilty for "bowling alone" at our tiny side tables, for eating any microscopic calorie, and for losing time in activities that don't improve ourselves.
Robert Seethaler's "Das Feld" points to some ways of finding meaning in life, breaking routines, enjoying the moment. And all these in (or despite) a banal city. This is the side effect of good literature. It lends itself to infinite interpretations. Read it this way. It has miraculous effects.
No matter the continent, people invented pottery almost together with decorating patterns. Beauty comes first.
The architecture of Ancient Egypt is grand: pyramids, temples and colossal statues. It is an architecture obsessed with afterlife, for most things left are meant for the dead. No ordinary house survived except for miniatures discovered -- where else? -- evidently, in tombs.
Meanwhile Agatha Christie arrived at Ur. After a turbulent divorce from her first husband, Dame Agatha Christie embarked on the Orient Express for an exotic trip. She eventually reached Ur, where she met a 14-years-younger-than-her archeologist, Max Mallowan. They rapidly married in 1930.
Have you ever seen a poor, unadorned hut haunted? Haunted houses have style because ghosts are picky. They choose Gothic revival, French colonial and late-Victorian mansions.
Why are white empty rooms elegant, but white surgery rooms just aseptic? You'll get the answer after a journey into centuries-old patterns of using white in the everyday versus extraordinary moments.
How did the everyday architecture look 10.000 years ago? Let's take a look at how the man jumped from caves into ziggurats.