I Read 37 Books in 2017

At the beginning of 2017, I set out to read fifty two books. Due to ill health, I didn’t quite make the whole fifty two, but I did read thirty seven in total, which is vastly more than I’ve read in a long time.

In reading so much I found some new favourites: J.D Salinger, Cormac McCarthy, Hubert Selby, Jr, Rupert Brooke, and Michael Horovitz, to name a few. I read some books by writers I already enjoyed: Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, and James Franco. I also learnt a lot, whether that was about interesting personalities in the biographies and autobiographies I read, about the craft of writing, or just in soaking up the knowledge that these stories, poems, and one play offered.

I’m not sure I would try and read a book a week like this again. Not because I didn’t enjoy it while it lasted, but because for me personally, I found it took over and I lost time to do other things, like work on my own writing. Plus, although I read a lot generally, I’m not the fastest reader, so it may have been more time consuming for me than others to ensure I completed a book a week.

Over the course of twelve months, I read eighteen novels, one book of short fiction, six books of non fiction, eleven books of poetry, and one play. Here’s what I read, starting with a list of the novels in order of enjoyment.

Novels

1. ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ by Ken Kesey

It’s one of my favourite films, and I feel like I’ve let Kesey down a bit by not reading his novel first. A book that never lets up.

2. ‘Catcher in the Rye’ by J.D. Salinger

Concerned more with conveying a feeling than being heavy on plot. I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to read this. I love Salinger’s understated style.

3. ‘The Road’ by Cormac McCarthy

Beautifully stark and brutal, like a post-apocalyptic Hemmingway novel.

4. ‘Requiem for a Dream’ by Hubert Selby, Jr

An intense and desperate bullet train of a novel.

5. ‘Fight Club’ by Chuck Palahniuk

A unique story told with cut throat minimalism.

6. ‘The Great Gatsby’ by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Decadence that becomes harder to put down the further it builds up to the tragic nature of excess.

7. ‘A Clockwork Orange’ by Anthony Burgess

A twisted fable of good and evil, with plenty of ultra-violence thrown in.

8. ‘Franny and Zooey’ – J.D. Salinger

A novel about depression comprised of a short story and a novella.

9. ‘Brave New World’ – Aldous Huxley

As relevant to our world today, controlled by media, celebrity, and sex, as it was in 1932.

10. ‘Life of Pi’ – Yann Martel

A page turner of fantasy and flight, which would be higher in my list if it wasn’t for those pesky anti-climaxes.

11. ‘Animal Farm’ – George Orwell

A fun read, and a clever introduction to the goings-on of the Russian Revolution.

12. ‘Lord of the Flies’ – William Golding

A war of egos, worth reading more for the plot than the clunky writing style it’s written in.

13. ‘Frankenstein’ – Mary Shelley

Well worth reading to realise the actual story of Frankenstein’s monster.

14. ‘Cry, The Beloved Country’ – Alan Paton (not pictured above)

An eye-opening book about the social, economic, and political conditions of 1940’s South Africa.

15. ‘The Place of Dead Roads’ – William Burroughs

The dreamlike imagery is amazing, but cut-up technique aside, this books feels really in-cohesive, and as a Burroughs fan, I hoped it would be better.

16. ‘The War of the Worlds’ – H.G. Wells

I’m not really sure what happened in this book. At least I can say I’ve read it.

17. ‘The Quiet American’ – Graham Greene

Everybody seems to love this book, but I found it a pain in the rear to read. Oh, how bored I was.

18. ‘Money’ – Martin Amis

Some of this book was clever, and even enjoyable. But for the most part it was filled with so much unjustified misogyny, that the more I reflect on it, the more I can’t stand it.

Short Fiction

‘Over to You’ – Roald Dahl

Poetry (in no particular order)

‘Selected Poems’ – Rupert Browne
‘Love Opens the Hands’ – Bill Wolak
‘Burn Site in Bloom’ – Jamie Houghton (Buy it here)
‘Poems’ – Pier Paulo Pasolini
‘The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam’ – Edward Fitzgerald
‘New York Insomnia’ – Philip Callow
‘Love Poems’ – Michael Horowitz
‘Better Than God’ – Peter Porter
‘Wait Til I’m Dead, Poems Uncollected’ – Allen Ginsberg
‘Straight James/Gay James’ – James Franco
’77 Dream Songs’ – John Berryman

Non Fiction (in no particular order)

‘Waging Heavy Peace’ – Neil Young
‘Anger is an Energy’ – John Lydon
‘Waiting for the Man’ – Jeremy Reed
‘Parsnips, Buttered’ – Joe Lycett
‘Oscar Wilde, The Story of An Unhappy Friendship’ – Robert H. Sherard
‘The Cube’ – Annie Gotlieb

Plays

‘Sarpedon’ – Gregory Corso

You can read my more in-depth thoughts on most of these books by scrolling down through my blog.

If you’re looking for something to read yourself, and fancy some poetry about being a father, please click here and reward yourself with that which you desire. Read a sample poem here. You can also read an article I wrote about my book on The Huffington Post.

52 Books in a Year – Books #24 – #31

June and July have  been a pretty mixed bag with my reading, from drug addiction, to alien invasion, to misguided spiritual seeking, to prank emailing, to love poetry. Here’s a brief summery of what I’ve read:

Book #24 – ‘Requiem for a Dream’ by Hubert Selby, Jr.

Loved this book. It’s very cleverly written with the different strands of each character’s addiction intertwining and getting more and more intense, desperate, and hellish as it climaxes. It leaves you slightly out of breath but wanting more.

Book #25 – ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H.G. Wells

As I’m not a huge science-fiction fan, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be into this, but wanted to give it a go anyway. The second part of the book was more entertaining than the first part for me, although overall I’ve came away not really knowing what happened, apart from the fact that Earth was attacked my martians.

Book #26 – ‘Franny and Zooey’ by J.D. Salinger

The second J.D. Salinger book I’ve read this year, and in total so far. Not dissimilar to ‘Catcher in the Rye’ in its style, this book comprises a short story about Franny descending into a depression, and a novella which tells of the aftermath, joined together to make a short novel. Salinger’s writing feels so understated generally. I’m really enjoying his work and will definitely be reading more.

Book #27 – ‘Parnsips, Buttered’ by Joe Lycett

Ridiculous, nonsensical, and clever. This was a pleasant break from the literary quest I’ve been on this year. Joe Lycett’s parking fine exploits have gone viral, and they’re reprinted in this book, along with various other humorous and mischievous plans and ploys to deal with modern day problems. Laugh out loud funny. Highly recommended.

Book #28 – ‘Oscar Wilde: The Story of An Unhappy Friendship’ by Robert H. Sherard

A fascinating, enlightening, and candid insight into Oscar Wilde’s life around the time he was unfairly convicted for homosexuality, from one of his few friends that stuck by him throughout. Not a biography, but a reflection from someone who was there when it was happening, perhaps a love letter even. A must read for any connoisseur of Oscar Wilde’s repertoire and legend.

Book #29 – ‘New York Insomnia & Other Poems’ by Philip Callow

I really enjoyed the poems in both ‘New York Insomnia’ and ‘Born Unborn’, the other pamphlet included here, for the most part. I felt the first few poems were a bit weak and I wasn’t sure if I was going to enjoy it, but then he suddenly started getting more interesting with his language and imagery. The odd poem in both parts of this book completely lost me, admittedly. Every other poem was a hit.

Book #30 – ‘Love Poems’ by Michael Horovitz

Combining surrealism and romanticism to conjure stunning dream-like imagery and language to express the many infatuations and phases of love – I love these love poems, and want to read more Horovitz. The opening poem ‘EpithaLAY-ME-UM – um – um’ which can be sung to the tune of Habanera in ‘Carmen’ is genius.

Book #31 – ‘Better Than God’ by Peter Porter

I bought this about eight years ago on a whim when I was starting to take writing poetry seriously. I gave up pretty quickly. It’s been hidden in my bookcase ever since. I thought I’d give it another go, being a bit older, and a bit more poetified. Apart from a handful of poems, I still wasn’t really a fan of this one. Most of the poems felt like trying to chew on concrete. I did make it to the end this time though.

Have you read any of these books? What did you think? Leave your comments below.

Follow my blog to stay updated with my ’52 Books in a Year’ journey.

Looking for something to read? My book ‘Zygote Poems’ about the charms and anxieties of new fatherhood is available here. You can read a sample poem right about here too.

52 Books in a Year – Weeks #13-#16

Last month (April), I read four books, which were for the most part enjoyable: two novels, one autobiography, and one play. Here’s what I thought:

Book #17: ‘Anger is an Energy’ by John Lydon

This was given to me as a wildcard for Christmas, and I found it really entertaining. John Lydon takes the reader from birth right up to the present moment, and gives a no-holds-barred account of his life so far, from having meningitis as a child and coming out of a coma with no recollection of where he was or who is parents were – a guilt that he’s carried ever since and has added weight to the isolation he feels as an individual, influencing his artistic career – through the Sex Pistols years, to PiL, to his life now living in America.

The book is written just as John Lydon speaks: eccentric and unabashed. The editor has made a point of not over-editing, leaving in most of Lydon’s grammatical quirks to stay true to his voice, which offers a unique reading experience.

I found Lydon’s account of the Sex Pistols the most interesting part to read about. His insight in to how the band formed, initially by Malcolm McClaren shoving four people who couldn’t stand each other and couldn’t play or sing into a rehearsal space and telling them to be a band, as a way of promoting his and Vivienne Westwood’s fashion line is funny to read about. Not as funny, but just as poignant, if not more so, is his account of Sid Vicious – knowing that, given the upbringing he had, Sid didn’t have a chance to start with, and the guilt Lydon felt for bringing him into the Sex Pistols.

I really recommend this book, whether you’re a fan of Lydon’s music or not – just as a fan of music it offers countless fascinating moments.

‘Poptones’ by Public Image Ltd

Book #18: ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ by J.D. Salinger

This is a book it’s taken me far too long to get around to reading. It’s a book, to me, about an adolescent’s descent into a deep depression. Holden Caulfield is fed up with what’s demanded of him from society and his parents, he’s kicked out of his second prep school in Pennsylvania and decides to bum around New York for a while, biding his time before he has to face his parents. The casual and conversational style in which the book is written, and the humbleness of the narrator, Caulfield’s voice is a pleasure to read, and takes you from beginning to end smoothly, with no unnecessary sharp turns or bumps in the flow of the novel. It’s a novel concerned more with a feeling, one of despair, loneliness, being lost in life, and an act of rebellion in 1950s America, than it is with a plot. A must read.

Book #19: ‘Sarpedon’ by Gregory Corso

As a huge fan of Gregory Corso’s work, admittedly I may be a little bias with this one. Corso’s use of language and imagery is so rich, vibrant, and playful, I am instantly sucked in to everything I read by him.

Sarpedon was his first play, a short affair, written when he was living on the grounds of, but not officially attending, Harvard University. The story goes that he lived there, mixing with Harvard’s literary circle, and sneaking into lectures in his neverending quest for knowledge and to better himself as a poet. Found out by an English professor, who lectured in Greek literature, Corso was allowed to stay if he could write a Greek play, which he did overnight.

Sarpedon’s dead body, having died on the fields of Troy, is requested by Hades, and as the son of Zeus, King of the Gods, whom Hades, King of the Underworld, is jealous of, Sarpedon is the ultimate dead body to acquire. In trying and ultimately failing to obtain Sarpedon, Corso mythologises with humour and a unique mix of classical and street language, which puts this Greek play on its own shelf entirely. It’s at once funny and enlightening – a killer combination.

Book #20: ‘The Place of Dead Roads’ by William Burroughs

Having loved ‘Naked Lunch’ when I read it, and finding Burroughs a really intriguing character having read a biography of his, I’ve been eager to read more of Burroughs’ fiction. I picked up this book about six years ago. Although the second book in a trilogy with ‘Cities of the Red Night’ and ‘The Western Lands’, as Burroughs employs a cut-up technique in his writing, I figured I could read the second book out of context from the others, and it does seem that way. I started reading this book those six or so years ago but quickly got lost and gave up. I’ve been meaning to give it a go ever since.

‘The Place of Dead Roads’ is about gun-slinging, in an ongoing shoot-out for freedom. The book follows Kim Carsons, a highly intelligent individual who has acquired magic and other-worldly knowledge. Kim is a member of ‘The Johnsons’. ‘The Johnsons’ are good-natured thieves, in a Robin Hood kinda way, with whom Kim is on a mission to release himself and his fellow Johnsons from the societal and political ties of the West.

As standalone images, each paragraph is beautiful, a crazy dream-like/nightmarish vision, comical and then frightening, gritty and then triumphant. I loved these images, these fragments. As a cohesive whole however, although I don’t doubt it does make sense, it’s very hard to follow and the plot was often lost on me. I could see it was there, but the cut-ups were so frequent I struggled to keep up. Where ‘Naked Lunch’ sucked me in with such frenetic energy and flipping from one thing to the next, ‘The Place of Dead Roads’ spat me out for the same reason. Maybe I will pay this one a visit again sometime, and see if it clicks later on.

Have you read any of these books? What did you think? Leave your comments below.

Follow my blog to stay updated with my ’52 Books in a Year’ journey.

Looking for something to read? My book ‘Zygote Poems’ about the charms and anxieties of new fatherhood is available here. You can read a sample poem right about here too.

52 Books in a Year – Week #12

Book #16: ‘Frankenstein’ by Mary Shelley

Having grown up in a world in which Frankenstein is a legend, always counted on to be there at Halloween, and known as that flat-headed green monster with bolts in his neck, often appearing on TV in various scenarios, I’ve been curious to read the real story of ‘Frankenstein’ for some time to learn the truth behind its legend. I knew Frankenstein was made up of different body parts and brought to life by a scientist, but that was it really. I knew that sequence of events alone couldn’t make up an entire novel, so I was intrigued to see what else made up these one hundred and eighty four pages.

I knew by now that Frankenstein wasn’t the name of the monster, as we are lead to believe as children, but as the monster is unnamed it makes sense that the name of Frankenstein has become associated with it over time for want of a way to answer the question ‘What have you come as?’ at a Halloween party, rather than have to answer ‘Oh, a tall green monster made up of other people’s dead body parts as bought to life by Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel.’ Note: the monster is never referred to as being green in the book, but only once is the colour of its skin referred to, and when it is, it is yellow – which makes more sense, considering.

‘Frankenstein’ is a short but very epic tale that everyone should read at some point in their lives. Conceived via a challenge set by Byron, with Percy Bysshe Shelley, to all write a ghost story, the basis of Mary’s story came to her in bed one night. It follows Victor Frankenstein as he gains an interest in biology and chemistry, and in moving to England from Geneva to study science at university he becomes transfixed with the pursuit to bring a dead body back to life.

Frankenstein succeeds in his pursuit but is so disgusted by what he has created he cannot be in the same room as it. Soon his creation escapes to the detriment of his family – his creation resentful of his creator for making him so ugly that he has no place in society, and the isolation so unbearable, that he takes his revenge of Frankenstein through the killing of his family. Frankenstein is given the chance to stop the murderous rampage by creating a significant other for the monster, a female monster as ugly and outcast by society as him, with whom they will find solace and companionship in each other. Frankenstein, agreeing to do so, in disgust again abandons the idea, and alas his original monster seeks revenge once more.

In an early form of meta fiction, the story of Victor Frankenstein is told by Robert Walton through a series of letters and journal entries to his sister as he sails in the Arctic with his crew. Within these letters he recounts his meeting with Frankenstein, and how he felt he had found a companion to dismiss his loneliness (there’s a common theme here). He goes on to retell the story Frankenstein gives him in how he came to be in the Arctic chasing after a monster he’d created. Within this story the monster has a long monologue about the time between disappearing from Victor and being found again. The book then ends back with Robert Walton picking up the narrative in a Chinese box fashion. This un-boxing and re-boxing adds an element of surprise to the story, as more and more is revealed.

The imagery in Frankenstein is excellent, particularly in the building of Frankenstein, and the language used emphasises this. The only thing I didn’t like is how, for me, it took about sixty pages for the story to get going. Before that, there was a lot of information concerning dates, locations, and people, that it seems Mary Shelley needed to unload first in order to set the story up, but perhaps could have been done in a lot less pages. The novel also takes a bit of a dip about half way through as the monster recalls his own story, the elements from which it is made up perhaps unnecessarily elongated.

Overall, this was a very enjoyable book, and as the ‘first ever science fiction novel’, although pretty tame in this day and age, I wonder what kind of shock value it had on first publication.

Have you read ‘Frankenstein’? What did you think? Leave your comments below.

Follow my blog and check back next week for my thoughts on book #17 of the ’52 Books in a Year’ challenge, ‘Anger is an Energy: My Life Uncensored’ by John Lydon.

Looking for something to read? My book ‘Zygote Poems’ about the charms and anxieties of new fatherhood is available here. You can read a sample poem right about here too.

52 Books in a Year – Week #11

Book #15: ‘A Clockwork Orange’ by Anthony Burgess

‘A Clockwork Orange’ is a writer’s treasure trove of ideas and techniques, and does nothing short of spark the imagination in one’s gulliver, O my brothers. Written in nadsat, the teenage slang of the time, a mix of Russian, Cockney Rhyming Slang, and gipsy, ‘A Clockwork Orange’ is told through the first person perspective of Alex, our humble narrator, who takes us through his story of being compelled and consumed by his love of a bit of the old ultra-violence, a bit of twenty-to-one.

‘A Clockwork Orange’ is a fable propositioning us with the right to choose between being dobby and being oozhassny, and to not become a clockwork orange ourselves – organic on the outside, but mechanical and working for the machine of what ‘authority’ wants on the inside, for to be as such is to be soulless, O my brothers.

Alex’s choice to be oozhassny with his fellow droogies is questioned throughout the book by not only other characters, but by himself, and by the author. The frivolity and musicality of the nadsat langauge that Burgess employs could be seen to rationalise our initial instincts as to condemn Alex as worth not even the merzky dirt on our toofles, as well as facetiously trivialise sin. But as Burgess points out, should we not feel sorry for Alex when he attempts to oobivat himself, then perhaps our love for mankind doesn’t reach as far as including every chelloveck, and perhaps then we only love those who are dobby – and should we not love all as equal?

It’s a controversial question, and seemingly one of a ‘Lapsed Catholic’, and one that the plot of ‘A Clockwork Orange’ does well to filly with. Alex leads his droogs through a series of oozhassny crimes as a stimulant for radosty and of his freedom in the world, at a time when the government has lost control and molodoy chellovecks have taken over and chaos in the nochy is normal. The barbaric crasting, beating, and oobivating all climaxes when he oobivats a baboochka on her oddy knocky at her domy with her koshkas, and the millicents catch him and send him to prison.

Here he learns of a technique the government are trying out to get prestoopnicks back into society a lot more skorry than staying the whole prison sentence, O my brothers. He later learns, and too late, that this technique – the Ludivico Technique – is an aversion therapy, which the millicents happily submit him to, and he is forced to viddy sinny films of oobivating, of rape, of grazhny psychopathic displays, set to the music of his beloved Ludwig van, having been injected with a drug to make him severely nauseous, so that the grahzny, merzky, and oozhassny images he viddies, the music he slooshies, and nausea he feels, become connected.

Having been released a ‘new’ chelloveck, Alex finds himself at a loss, on his oddy knocky, without a domy, without droogies, without a direction. It’s when he finds himself at the domy of the seemingly unknowing writer whose zheena he oobivated, that he is cared for and feels comfort again. However, the writer has other messels, and sights set on overthrowing the government, and soon Alex finds himself trapped in a malicious plan and is driven to oobivat himself.

This is where it changes interestingly. Burgess originally ended the book with Alex, having resisted and pushed through the affects of the Ludivico Technique, with a new shaika of droogs to commit his oozhassny crimes with, but soon getting bored of such a sinful lifestyle and deciding to get on the straight and narrow and be dobby, O my brothers. This chapter was then cut from the American edition of the book, the editor feeling American audiences wouldn’t buy into such a happy ending. Instead, like the sinny film (Kubrick having only read the American version), it ends with Alex in hospital having tried to oobivat himself, journalists and government persons surrounding his bed, and finally indulging in the music of Ludwig van who he can now slooshy without the  connotations of ultra-violence it once had. Both endings work, and both have very different effects on the story and one’s gulliver. Do we side with the Alex whose managed to avert himself to his aversion therapy and looks forward to getting back to being oozhassny, or the Alex who having got back to his merzky sinning and then sees his life better being dobby?

‘A Clockwork Orange’ is a must-read by all accounts. Amongst all the crime is a real horrorshow time to be had in its reading, perhaps a great part due to the nadsat that the novel bounces along with. For every part of the book that has you poogly in strack, there’s a part that has you smiling; for every part of you that wants Alex dead for his deeds, there’s a part that wants to see him live and be successful, with a better sense of morality, but still with an ignorance of the government.

Have you anything to skazat about this book, O my brothers? Leave your slovo below and let us govereet about it real horrorshow.

Follow my blog and check back next week for my thoughts on book #16 of the ’52 Books in a Year’ challenge, ‘Frankenstein’ by Mary Shelley.

Looking for something to read? My book ‘Zygote Poem’ about the charms and anxieties of new fatherhood is available here. You can viddy a sample poem right about here. What’s it going to be then, eh?

52 Books in a Year – Week #9

‘The Quiet American’ by Graham Greene

Here’s the thing: I was rarely entertained by this book. Mostly, the characters did nothing for me. I couldn’t even find it in me to dislike them. I was utterly bored for the approximate 180 pages, pushing through, hoping it would get better by the next chapter, but continuously disappointed. Nothing much happens.

‘The Quiet American’ is set amidst the war of the Viet Minh and South Vietnamese, and puts the modest Pyle, sent over from America by the Economic Aid Mission into the fold with Fowler, a British journalist adamant not to express his own opinions on the war but to simply report the facts.

Between them comes Phoung, symbolic of Vietnam. Phoung was originally the love interest of Fowler, until Pyle comes along and almost politely (but irritatingly) takes Phoung from him. Phuong and Fowler end up together in the end however, as Pyle has now died, having caused unnecessary deaths and unwarranted turmoil in trying to promote democracy through aligning himself with General The.

The plot isn’t laid out as a-z as this however, and instead we begin with learning Pyle’s dead, and Greene jumps back and forth in time throughout the novel, gradually piecing everything together and revealing the bigger picture.

Although this technique didn’t do anything for me (call me old-fashioned), it was an interesting way to go about the plot, and credit is due to Greene there – I can see why this would be stimulating for other readers.

For me though, through his growing distaste for Pyle, it is quite obvious from early on who is responsible (admittedly in part) for Pyle’s death. I’m not fond of this predictability.

More un-enjoyable though, as I mentioned, are the main characters: Fowler, Pyle, and Phoung. Fowler and Pyle are un-likeable. Fowler selfish, self-indulgent, and boring to read; Pyle seemingly using a shy and humble facade to hide his sly and sneaky demeanour. I appreciate that this is how the characters are intended to be by the author, and that perhaps we aren’t meant to like either of them, but it quickly became a chore to read them.

Phoung is the only likeable character in the book, however she is barely given a character at all. Again, this seems purposeful, as she seems intended to be a means to an end for the plot, and as she is symbolic of her country, perhaps Greene felt a more fleshed-out character would take over that symbolism and it would be subsequently lost. I do feel though that the book would be more enjoyable if we learnt more about Phoung, her background, her motives. Instead she is little more than a young Vietnamese woman caught between two men, who has a desperate sister who is desperate for her to get married to at least one of them. Yeah, she’s an annoying character too.

Before I wrote this, I read some reviews on Goodreads to back up my theory that if I thought this book was awful, everyone else stating their opinion online would think it’s great. I was right. I found mainly 4 and 5 star reviews, and even the remaining 3 star reviews baffled me. Perhaps I have missed something here, but as a book I discovered though a ‘Books You Should Read Before You Die’ list, I don’t understand why ‘The Quiet American’ isn’t better. It felt like a poor man’s Hemmingway.

Have you read this book? What did you think? Leave your comments and let’s discuss.

Check back next week to see what I thought of book #14 of my ’52 Books in a Year’ challenge: ‘Waging Heavy Peace’ by Neil Young.

Looking for something to read? Like poetry? My book ‘Zygote Poems’ about fatherhood and anxiety is available from Cultured Llama here.

 

52 Books in a Year – Week #7

This week’s book was ‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley. A book I feel I should have read by now, but I find if things are put in front of me too much I tend to avoid them for something else.

Brave New World, to me, feels as relevant today as when it was published in 1932. In the way that it raises such controversial issues and subjects, it’s pretty crazy that this was written so long ago. Huxley was clearly ahead of his time, and the metaphorical landscape he sets for his ideas is so well thought out and constructed.

I found this one pretty easy to read, reading it in four days, which for 229 pages, plus lengthy introductions, a foreword, and a short biography of Huxley, at my reading speed is a mean feat. I was surprised at how I seemed to sail through it so swiftly, I think because given the subject and the heavy introductions which unwittingly prepared me for a heavy novel, I was expecting something more challenging.

I don’t think I read this so quickly and easily because this book and it’s ideas were any less heavy and complex than I was anticipating though. I think instead that Huxley’s style of writing feels so streamlined and pacy that it propelled me through at a rate of knots.

Brave New World follows Bernard and Lenina, citizens of the World State in 632 A.F. (After Ford), where embryos are duplicated in bottles to be either Deltas, Gammas, Epsilons, Betas, or Alphas, to create a systematic social hierarchy, of which as Alphas Bernard and Lenina are at the top. Lenina is completely content with the state of things in the world they inhabit: un-needing of human relationships, of hobbies, of interests, of love, of anger or dislike; disgusted by the idea of family, of parenthood; happy to be driven by promiscuity and to dope herself up on soma, a drug issued by the World State to be taken when a citizen feels any kind of extreme or ‘natural’ (in our sense of the word) emotion.

Bernard on the other hand, a psychologist, feels there is more to life than what they’ve been dictated, although he’s not sure what. He takes Lenina to the Reservation, where the natives live, love, are religious, build families, parent their children, etc. At first fascinated by this other world, Lenina soon becomes sickened by their customs and rituals and gives herself a ‘soma-holiday’ to take her away from reality until it’s time to leave. Her only solace is her meeting John, a native she has the hots for. Finding out that John is the illicit son of Bernard’s boss, when John’s mother Linda was made pregnant by him having come to the Reservation as a tourist, Bernard and Lenina return them to the World State, on which Linda is shunned as a freak, so different and ‘ugly’ in appearance and behaviour to them, whereas John is treated as an experiment.

John goes on to be shown around the ‘joint’ and the more he learns about civilisation the more he finds it to be disgraceful, and eventually begins to rebel and encourages others to join him, namely Bernard and Bernard’s friend Helmholtz – challenging the status quo, and resulting in Bernard and Helmholtz being sent to an island to live with others who have alternative ideas on how to live, whilst John retreats to an air-lighthouse in Puttenham where he gets back to his native rituals, namely of whipping himself and drinking warm water with mustard to rid him of his sins in being tempted by such a society. And as for Lenina, well…

I found it interesting how Huxley walks the line of what is/should be morally except-able and what isn’t, challenging the reader and their views of how they feel society should be. On the one hand, the conforming yet pleasure-filled society of the World State seems favourable for a moment, but then on the other hand, the freedom and dignity of the Reservation seems a more morally acceptable choice. Each have their pros and cons, and there seems to me to be no middle ground, it’s one or the other.

In today’s world where everything and anything is available at the click of a button, where billboards are becoming more and more sexualised…where everything is becoming more and more sexualised, Huxley’s prediction of the future is well on course to replicate a similar totalitarian yet moral-free society, which is as scary as all hell to think about. Spoiler alert: dystopia wins.

I’d reccommend Brave New World to anyone as a must read, particularly if you’re into dystopian fiction or sci-fi. Personally, I don’t read a lot of it, but occasionally I find a great dystopian novel like this one and enjoy getting lost in it.

Check back next week for my thoughts on book #11 of my ’52 Books in a Year’ challenge, ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ by Ken Kesey.

Looking for some new poetry to read? My book ‘Zygote Poems’ about my journey into fatherhood is available from Cultured Llama for a mere 5 pounds.