Creation[ edit ] The Anarchist Cookbook was written by William Powell as a teenager and first published in at the apex of the counterculture era to protest against United States involvement in the Vietnam War. During this time, the pacifist movements of the s began to take a more violent turn, having been responsible for over politically inspired bombings. Powell began plans to become a writer but decided upon a political course when he was drafted to the Vietnam war, which inspired him to write "recipes" and later compile them into a "cookbook". These "recipes" were eventually adapted to make up an entire book.
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Jan 09, Zany rated it really liked it In my personal library. This was Also slightly disappointing. I thought it was relatively modern.
I was saddened to learn it was written in the late 60s. Result: much of the technological tomfoolery is no longer valid. Still, there are some cool things: recipes for LSD; how to hotwire a pre Chevy; how to build In my personal library. Still, there are some cool things: recipes for LSD; how to hotwire a pre Chevy; how to build silencers; recipes for nitroglycerin, TNT; and the best placings for those concoctions to disable various types of bridges.
But the instructions seemed very rudimentary to me. They mostly reminded me of the Monty Python skit where they give you instructions on how to play the flute see link. Anyway, the most interesting aspect is how I acquired this book. Found it at an estate sale in my neighbourhood. The Cookbook seemed very out of place, and indeed, out of place is where I found it. With books all over the house, I found the Cookbook sitting by itself on a table of knickknacks, supervised by one of the sellers.
Being that the Cookbook seemed intentionally separated from the thousands of other tomes, I assumed its price might be equally different. I asked, "How much? Gonna burn it later today. I understand. You could get put on a federal watch list just for owning that thing". No, not on my watch. I continued perusing the junk-- old records, 8 track tapes, lamps with dingy shades, though never letting that book out of my peripheral vision for more than 30 seconds.
I wandered about the house for an agonising 25 minutes, surreptitiously glancing at him at his table, listening as he answered questions from little old ladies about the prices of small porcelain doggy salt-and-pepper shakers. I waited, biding my time. Then it happened! He got up to go help some octogenarian discern the value of a piebald quilt in a bedroom. I followed them into the bedroom to gauge approximately his level of commitment regarding the negotiation of this sought-after quilt.
The words they were exchanging gave an indication that there would have to be at least 75 more words between them before he could return to his table. I made my move. I went back to the table, picked up the most famous Cookbook in the world, and took it to the sweet little lady running the register at the front door.
She smiled and asked if that would be all. I said yes. I handed her the required dollar and we exchanged thank-yous. Not only had I found a treasure, but I had saved a book from being burned by an information-suppressing Nazi. Life had meaning that day, my friends.
The Anarchist Cookbook