Brave New World

Book, 1931

Premise - In this utopian future, civilization has reached complete stabilization. Everyone belongs to everyone and is endlessly happy. Engaging in sexual relations with whomever they please, drugging themselves into stupor at a moment's notice, and never existing in isolation, humans are able to suspend themselves in complete pleasure, behaviorally conditioned to be content with every possible aspect of their lives. At this expense, anger, sadness, passion, longing, and, consequentially, anything of genuine interest has been eradicated from the world.


Review - I spent a long time trying to write the premise to this novel, and I still think it's terrible. In truth, this novel cannot be summed up in a simple blurb. Brave New World is not so much about plot as it is about world-building, and I can seldom think of a more thoroughly written alternate world.

I was surprised to find out after I had finished that this novel was written back in 1931. Somehow in my head, I had pegged it as the 50's or 60's, maybe even later. Perhaps the only reason I thought it was written later (apart from the rise of authoritarianism in WWII, and then the "Red Scare" afterwards) was because I still found the novel emotionally, scientifically, and artistically relevant and insightful today. The lesson there must be the universality of human nature across all generations. Part of what this novel does best is compare the human spirit in this new era to that during Shakespeare's time, exploring what has changed over time and what inevitably remains.

Scientists have debated over nature vs. nurture for decades, but I think we all know we are made up of both elements of nature and nurture. It is about finding how the two balance each other. But what if there's a third element? In this novel, both nature and nurture are entirely controlled. Babies are all genetically similar, with thousands born from the same egg, and many of the lower caste as clones of one another. Moreover, they are raised in the same surrogate bottles and exposed to the same amounts of chemicals, at least within their social caste. After graduating from their bottled existence, infants and toddlers go through years of classic conditioning, hypnotized in their sleep to accept the lives they've been given. (Side note, that's another reason why I thought this novel was written in the 50's or 60's. While Pavlovian science existed before then, behaviorism exploded as a psychological schooling during the 50's, and this novel is all about behavioral conditioning). With both genetics and behavior completely under control, all individuals are expected to be exactly the same, which is to say, there are no individuals. But this is not the case. Somehow, personalities still differ. Most importantly, people still exercise free will. So where does this individuality originate? The soul? (95/100)

Quote - I actually need to take the time to include several. I listened to this on an audiobook instead of reading it, so actually seeing the words is a new and worthwhile experience for me.

“Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand.”

“I'm pretty good at inventing phrases- you know, the sort of words that suddenly make you jump, almost as though you'd sat on a pin, they seem so new and exciting even though they're about something hypnopaedically obvious. But that doesn't seem enough. It's not enough for the phrases to be good; what you make with them ought to be good too...I feel I could do something much more important. Yes, and more intense, more violent. But what? What is there more important to say? And how can one be violent about the sort of things one's expected to write about? Words can be like X-rays, if you use them properly-they'll go through anything. You read them and you're pierced. That's one of the things I try to teach my students-how to write piercingly. But what on earth's the good of being pierced by an article about a Community Sing, or the latest improvement in scent organs? Besides, can you make words really piercing-you know, like the very hardest X-rays when you're writing about that sort of thing? Can you say something about nothing?”

"I'm thinking of a queer feeling I sometimes get, a feel that I've got something important to say and the power to say it—only I don't know what it is, and I can't make any use of the power.”

"I'm claiming the right to be unhappy.”

"What the two men shared was the knowledge that they were individuals."

If you liked this book, I'd recommend 1984!
 
Written by Aldous Huxley
Published by Chatto & Windus