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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Babes in the Darkling Woods," H.G. Wells masterfully blends fantasy and allegory to explore the tensions between innocence and experience, civilization and savagery. Set against a richly imagined backdrop, Wells employs a narrative style characterized by subtle irony and lyrical prose, echoing the Victorian tradition of moral storytelling. The novella delves into themes of moral growth and social critique, inviting readers to navigate the complexities of human nature through the eyes of its youthful protagonists. The fairytale-like setting contrasts with the stark realities of human flaws, revealing the shadows that lurk beneath the surface of adolescence. H.G. Wells, a pivotal figure in science fiction, was often inspired by the societal upheavals of his time. Growing up in a working-class environment and undergoing a tumultuous education, Wells cultivated a deep understanding of human vulnerabilities and societal structures. This unique perspective undoubtedly influenced "Babes in the Darkling Woods," leading him to craft a narrative that reflects his empathy for the struggles faced by the young and the moral dilemmas that accompany growth. His desire to scrutinize the human condition is palpable, making this work both personal and profoundly universal. Readers seeking a thought-provoking exploration of growth and morality will find "Babes in the Darkling Woods" an essential addition to their literary repertoire. Wells's ability to intertwine fantastical elements with serious ethical questions provides a compelling reading experience. Ideal for scholars and casual readers alike, this novella invites reflection on the journey from childhood innocence into the complexities of adulthood. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - An Author Biography reveals milestones in the author's life, illuminating the personal insights behind the text. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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Babes in the Darkling Woods
Table of Contents
Introduction
"In the heart of the Darkling Woods, where shadows intertwine with the light, lies the truth of human nature, both stark and beautiful." This poignant reflection encapsulates the essence of H.G. Wells's "Babes in the Darkling Woods." Here, Wells delves into the depths of humanity's duality, inviting readers to scrutinize not just the world around them, but their very own hearts. This exploration of moral ambiguity and the intricate dance of innocence and experience provides a compelling entry point into Wells's narrative.
Regarded as a literary classic, "Babes in the Darkling Woods" has etched its legacy into the annals of literature, resonating not just with contemporary audiences but with generations past. This novella, published during the early 20th century, embodies themes of existential inquiry that are both timeless and universal. Its exploration of childhood innocence juxtaposed against the darker aspects of human existence forms a narrative core that has inspired countless authors who followed in Wells's footsteps, each attempting to unpack the complexities of life and morality.
Written in 1899, Wells's "Babes in the Darkling Woods" falls within the broader movement of social criticism and speculative fiction. Crafting the narrative against the backdrop of a rapidly industrializing world, Wells's story serves as a mirror to his contemporaries, reflecting the tensions wrought by progress and the ethical dilemmas it engenders. The protagonist's journey through a landscape imbued with darkness and metaphorical shadows invites readers to ponder the consequences of choice, a theme that resonates across generations in literature.
H.G. Wells, a luminary of his time, adeptly wove science fiction, social critique, and philosophical commentary into his works. His purpose in writing "Babes in the Darkling Woods" was not purely to entertain but to challenge the status quo. By immersing readers in a world that blurs the lines between whimsy and despair, Wells intends to provoke thought and self-reflection. He encourages audiences to understand that humanity's darker impulses dwell alongside their noblest hopes—a dichotomy that exists in every individual.
In the realm of classic literature, a significant theme within "Babes in the Darkling Woods" is the loss of innocence. Wells masterfully unfolds a narrative that speaks to the struggles of youth as it navigates the often harsh realities of life. Through vivid descriptions and poignant imagery, he illustrates the tension between the ethereal beauty of childhood wonder and the inevitable encroachments of complexity and moral ambiguity. This tension remains a central pillar of human experience, making the narrative as engaging now as it was over a century ago.
As readers embark on the journey through Wells’s darkling woods, they encounter characters that resonate deeply. Each figure represents different facets of the human psyche, forging connections that transcend time and space. The innocence of the titular 'babes' collides with the darker elements of their environment, creating a rich tapestry of emotion and experience. This interplay of personalities and their consequential choices creates a dialogue between past and present, inviting readers to reflect on their own life experiences.
Another enduring theme lies in the exploration of societal structures and their impact on individuals. Wells critiques the established norms of Victorian society, revealing how conformity often stifles progress and individuality. Through the prism of a seemingly innocent tale, he unveils the complexities of social interaction and moral responsibility. This critique echoes through the ages, as modern readers navigate their own societal landscapes fraught with similar challenges, rendering the narrative exceptionally relevant.
"Babes in the Darkling Woods" acts as a meditation on fear and the unknown—forces that have historically governed human behavior. Wells’s articulation of the world’s darker tendencies compels readers to confront their own apprehensions and insecurities. By delving into the fears embodied within the woods, Wells presents a critical lens through which his audience can examine their responses to darkness both internal and external.
The style employed by Wells complements the philosophical questions posed throughout the novella. His use of allegorical elements intertwines with poetic language to create an immersive experience. The lush but somber details of the darkling woods serve as an atmospheric backdrop that reflects not only the internal struggles of the characters but also serves as an emotional landscape for the readers themselves. This intricate layering of prose enhances the overall impact of the narrative.
Furthermore, Wells's novella stands as a precursor to modern psychological literature, addressing internal conflicts and moral dilemmas that resonate even in today's society. His exploration of duality invites readers to question their own ethical boundaries and assumptions, a theme that has been expanded upon by later authors in various genres. The psychological undercurrents in Wells's writing have paved the way for future explorations of the human condition, solidifying his status as a pioneering thinker.
As the narrative unfolds, Wells’s philosophical musings on the nature of love, loss, and redemption surface prominently, making the story universally relatable. These themes intertwine to suggest that even in darkness, glimmers of hope exist. The juxtaposition of despair with the possibility of redemption mirrors the human experience itself, creating an emotional resonance that encapsulates both vulnerability and resilience, further enhancing the book's significance.
The interplay between reality and fantasy also looms large in Wells's work, offering a reflective examination of the power of imagination. By allowing the characters to roam through a world that clearly straddles the line between the surreal and the tangible, Wells emphasizes the importance of dreaming while questioning the limitations imposed by reality. This theme of imagination continues to spark debate in contemporary discussions around creativity and personal growth.
In a broader sense, "Babes in the Darkling Woods" serves as a cautionary tale regarding the perils of unchecked progress, exploring the consequences of neglecting ethical considerations in the wake of advancement. Wells's prescience in addressing such issues makes the narrative exceptionally relevant, urging modern readers to engage critically with the ongoing dialogues surrounding technology, ethics, and societal advancement.
Moreover, the exploration of childhood in the face of societal corruption resonates powerfully today. Wells invites readers to consider the underlying vulnerabilities present in every young life, prompting a reflection on the responsibility adults hold over shaping the moral landscape of future generations. Such introspection continues to be relevant amid contemporary conversations on childhood education, protection, and empowerment.
The engaging and thought-provoking nature of "Babes in the Darkling Woods" makes it a timeless classic that transcends the boundaries of genre. Readers are immersed not only in a narrative but also in philosophical inquiries that challenge the very fabric of their beliefs. Through the lens of this novella, Wells cultivates a space for contemplation that is both necessary and profound, cementing its place in the literary canon.
As we delve into this beautifully complex tale, it is essential to recognize both its literary merit and its capacity to evoke deep emotional responses. Wells’s ability to navigate between light and darkness, innocence and corruption, creates a nuanced framework that reflects the multifaceted experiences of life. This delicate balance invites readers to engage critically and personally with the story and its themes.
Ultimately, the relevance of "Babes in the Darkling Woods" lies in its timeless exploration of humanity's depths. As readers traverse through the shadows and light of Wells's world, they are left to grapple with the existential questions posed, encouraging a deeper understanding of themselves and their place in society. It is this alchemy of tension, insight, and emotional resonance that allows Wells's work to endure, remaining a compelling read for modern audiences.
Synopsis
In 'Babes in the Darkling Woods,' H.G. Wells crafts a story that intertwines themes of childhood, imagination, and the primal instincts that lurk beneath the surface of society. The narrative follows young individuals navigating the encroaching darkness of a world that both shapes and constrains them. Set in a magical, yet menacing forest, the tale explores how innocence collides with the harsh realities of existence, serving as a microcosm for broader human experiences. Wells delves into the visible and invisible forces at play in shaping the lives and destinies of the characters involved.
The protagonists of the story are wrapped in a world filled with wonder and trepidation, characterized by the enchanting yet threatening darkling woods. Their journey leads them to confront not only external challenges but also the internal conflicts stemming from their desires and fears. Each character's growth reflects the universal struggle between the naiveté of youth and the seductive pull of danger, concepts that Wells intricately weaves into the fabric of the tale. As their adventure unfolds, the forest becomes a character in its own right, influencing actions and attitudes.
As the characters venture deeper into the woods, they encounter a series of whimsical yet perilous situations that deepen their understanding of both self and society. These encounters include interactions with mystical beings and confronting illusions that challenge their perceptions of reality. Wells utilizes these experiences to highlight the imaginative aspects of youth while reminding readers of the lurking dangers that accompany such naivety. This tension between reality and fantasy elevates the stakes, constructing a backdrop where choices must be made, and consequences faced.
Wells also introduces elements of social commentary through the characters' experiences. The forest symbolizes societal expectations and norms that can ensnare the unsuspecting. As the protagonists grapple with external threats, they simultaneously confront the constraints imposed by tradition and conformity. Their adventures allow them to question and, at times, rebel against the societal structures that seek to define them. This deeper reflection on the nature of freedom versus limitation resonates throughout the narrative, offering a critique of contemporary social mores.
The interactions among the characters reveal the nuances of human relationships and highlight the shared struggles against fears both real and imagined. Bonds are forged and tested as conflicts arise, demonstrating the importance of companionship amidst adversity. Wells examines how these relationships shape identity and influence personal growth. As they navigate waves of betrayal, loyalty, and sacrifice, readers are left to ponder the complexities of trust and the fragility of human connections within the darkling woods.
A pivotal moment occurs when the characters face a significant crisis that forces them to confront the reality of their circumstances. At this turning point, they are compelled to make crucial decisions that will ultimately define their futures. This event serves as a catalyst for change, pushing them toward greater self-awareness and maturity. As they emerge from the crisis, the characters reveal their transformations—through loss and discovery—which form a central theme of the narrative: growth often springs from hardship.
In the later stages of the narrative, the consequences of choices made earlier loom heavily over the characters. Each must grapple with the outcomes of their actions while navigating the duality of hope and despair inherent in the human condition. Wells masterfully illustrates the tension between innocence and experience, making palpable the internal battles faced by the protagonists. This culminates in moments of introspection that allow for personal evolution amidst chaos, reinforcing the idea that understanding oneself is an essential aspect of growing up.
Ultimately, 'Babes in the Darkling Woods' culminates in a blend of tragic and hopeful resolutions. The characters emerge from their trials with new insights about life, relationships, and their places within society. Wells evokes a sense of bittersweet triumph as they reconcile their experiences and lessons learned. The story ends on a note of ambiguity, leaving readers to reflect on the complexities of the human experience, where the line between innocence and the harshness of reality is often blurred.
In summary, Wells’s tale offers a rich exploration of childhood adventure tinged with elements of fantasy and social critique. Through the journey of the protagonists in the darkling woods, he emphasizes themes of growth, the imperative of choice, and the intertwining of innocence with danger. The narrative reinforces the idea that the journey toward maturity is fraught with challenges and revelations, ultimately inviting readers to contemplate the essential nature of human experience in the face of life’s unpredictability.
Historical Context
Babes in the Darkling Woods is set in early 20th-century England, a time of profound social transformation and shifting political ideas. The narrative unfolds during the late Edwardian era, shortly before the outbreak of the First World War, when industrialization spurred urban migration, altered labor relations, and challenged traditional lifestyles. Against this backdrop, emerging tensions over class, gender, science, and ethics come to the fore, reflecting a society becoming increasingly aware of its inequalities and the calls for structural change.
The expansion of the women’s suffrage movement in the United Kingdom, marked by the formation of the Women’s Social and Political Union in 1903 under Emmeline Pankhurst, brought questions of political inclusion into public debate. Although gender did not dominate all of Wells’s fiction, this novel portrays female characters whose frustrations and ambitions echo contemporary demands for voting rights and social recognition.
Social Darwinism, a late 19th-century interpretation of evolutionary theory applied to human societies, advocated competition and “survival of the fittest” as guiding principles for economics and imperial policy. Through its characters, the novel examines the moral consequences of a society that prizes individual ambition over collective well-being, illustrating how unchecked competition can deepen divisions and undermine community bonds.
The early 20th century also saw the rise of eugenics, propelled by advances in genetics and the writings of figures such as Francis Galton and Charles Davenport. The story engages with this contentious debate, questioning the ethics of efforts to “improve” populations through controlled reproduction and highlighting the risks of reducing human value to hereditary traits.
The looming First World War reshaped political landscapes and fostered widespread disillusionment with established authorities. Associated with progressive and socialist circles, Wells and other authors of the era challenged prevailing norms and envisioned new social arrangements. In this narrative, the specter of conflict permeates daily life, underscoring the fragile boundary between childhood innocence and the demands of a world on the brink of war.
The foundation of the Labour Party in 1900 signified a new political voice for the working class, advocating economic reforms, public housing, and healthcare improvements. While the novel does not present direct political advocacy, its depiction of labor struggles and calls for more equitable social structures resonates with the party’s early platform.
Urbanization brought overcrowded streets and inadequate living conditions to many industrial towns, prompting reformers to campaign for better sanitation and housing regulations. The novel’s portrayal of the cityscape highlights how environmental factors exacerbate social injustices, as its youngest characters bear the brunt of public neglect.
The 1918 Representation of the People Act significantly expanded the electorate, enfranchising men over 21 and many women over 30. This shift marked a turning point in British democracy, a change the novel reflects through its emphasis on emerging political awareness and the complexities of newly extended rights.
In the wake of the 1918–19 influenza pandemic, public health systems were tested as millions worldwide fell ill. The crisis exposed vulnerabilities within families and communities, a theme the novel explores by depicting how sudden illness and loss amplify existing social strains among its protagonists.
Though distinct from the formal modernist movement, the work captures the sense of dislocation and moral inquiry characteristic of early 20th-century literature. Its narrative experiments with shifting viewpoints and moral ambiguity, inviting readers to confront the uncertainties of a rapidly changing world.
Although published before the global economic downturn of the 1930s, the novel’s depiction of social fragmentation and economic hardship foreshadows the anxieties that would later become widespread, revealing early signs of dissatisfaction with traditional social orders.
Educational reform emerged as activists pushed for universal schooling and curricula that served all social classes. The novel’s young characters confront an educational system ill-equipped to address their needs, offering a critique of policies that fail to prepare future generations for societal challenges.
Advances in empirical science and rational thought challenged established beliefs, fostering a climate of inquiry and skepticism. The narrative reflects this shift, treating scientific exploration as a means to understanding while cautioning against the dehumanizing potential of uncritical faith in progress.
In the aftermath of large-scale conflict, thinkers reconsidered the foundations of civilization, ethics, and human purpose. The novel philosophically explores the tension between innocence and experience, virtue and vice, suggesting that resilience and moral responsibility remain vital amid societal upheaval.
Contemporary psychological theories, including those of Sigmund Freud, inspired writers to probe subconscious motivations and emotional complexity. Subtle psychological insights in the novel illuminate the inner lives of its characters, portraying how personal and social forces shape identity and action.
Ultimately, Babes in the Darkling Woods serves as a work of social criticism, exposing the vulnerabilities of a society grappling with entrenched inequities and moral dilemmas. Through its focus on the lives of children, it challenges readers to reconsider collective obligations to protect and nurture future generations in an era of profound change.
Author Biography
Introduction
Herbert George Wells was an English writer whose imaginative range and argumentative energy reshaped modern prose in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. He is best known for a cluster of pioneering scientific romances—The Time Machine, The Island of Doctor Moreau, The Invisible Man, and The War of the Worlds—that helped define science fiction. Yet Wells also produced realistic social novels such as Kipps, Tono-Bungay, and The History of Mr Polly, ambitious works of futurism, and popular history, notably The Outline of History. As a public intellectual, he blended scientific reasoning with social critique, influencing debates on education, governance, and the prospects of a technologically driven future.
Education and Literary Influences
Wells came from modest circumstances and experienced early apprenticeships, including work in a drapery, before moving into teaching. In the mid-1880s he won a scholarship to the Normal School of Science in South Kensington (later associated with Imperial College), studying biology under the eminent Thomas Henry Huxley. Though his formal course was uneven, Huxley’s pedagogy grounded Wells in evolutionary theory and the discipline of empirical inquiry. After leaving South Kensington, Wells supported himself as a teacher and author of science primers and textbooks. Through external study with the University of London, he obtained a science degree, sharpening the analytical habits that would structure his fiction and nonfiction.
Literary Career
Wells’s breakthrough came in the mid-1890s with The Time Machine, a novella that married speculative machinery to social allegory, imagining humanity’s far future as a parable of class and entropy. Rapidly produced successors—including The Island of Doctor Moreau, The Invisible Man, and The War of the Worlds—established his signature mode: concise, idea-driven narratives that press a single scientific premise to unsettling conclusions. Critics praised the vigor and clarity of his style, even as they noted its didactic thrust. His “scientific romances” offered compact experiments in thought, accessible to general readers yet insistent on the moral stakes of scientific curiosity.
Beliefs and Advocacy
Wells’s convictions centered on rational inquiry, social reform, and the possibility of planned progress. He argued for broadly socialist remedies to poverty and class inequality, often aligning with, and later critiquing, Fabian approaches. Education was his master theme: he envisioned curricula oriented toward science, civics, and world history as tools of emancipation. His fiction mirrored these commitments—Tono-Bungay exposes financial speculation; Ann Veronica confronts barriers to women’s autonomy; The War in the Air and related works warn of militarism unleashed by technology. He worked as a public advocate through essays, lectures, and organizational involvement, insisting that informed citizens could reshape institutions.
Internationalism formed another pillar of Wells’s advocacy. He promoted schemes for a coordinated global order to mitigate war and manage common resources, expressing these ideas in The Open Conspiracy and later in The Shape of Things to Come. His forecasts about atomic power in The World Set Free were entwined with arguments for transnational authority. Wells also engaged—sometimes controversially—with contemporary discussions of population and heredity, typical of his era’s scientific discourse. While critics have scrutinized aspects of his social engineering rhetoric, he consistently emphasized that ethical progress must accompany technical advance, and that humane ends require transparent, democratic, and educative means.
Final Years & Legacy
In the 1930s and early 1940s, Wells combined retrospection with renewed alarm about global conflict. Experiment in Autobiography assessed his career and the evolution of his ideas, while The Shape of Things to Come extrapolated from world crises toward sweeping institutional reform. The devastation of the Second World War deepened his skepticism. In The Mind at the End of Its Tether, published in the mid-1940s, he articulated a stark appraisal of humanity’s prospects under accelerating change. He died in the mid-1940s in London. Obituaries recognized him as a formidable innovator, educator of the public, and provocateur of the modern imagination.
Wells’s legacy is vast. He helped establish core science-fiction motifs—time travel, alien invasion, invisibility—not as mere marvels but as instruments of social inquiry. His realist novels remain valued for their portraits of aspiration and constraint in modern Britain. The Outline of History influenced popular historical understanding for generations. Later writers and thinkers, from mid-century science fiction to dystopian and speculative traditions, developed within an imaginative space he helped create. Film, radio, and later television repeatedly revisited his stories, while scholarship continues to assess his futurism and reformism. Today he stands as a foundational figure in global popular and intellectual culture.
Babes in the Darkling Woods
INTRODUCTION— THE NOVEL OF IDEAS
It is characteristic of most literary criticism to be carelessly uncritical of the terms it uses and violently partisan and dogmatic in its statements about them. No competent Linnaeus has ever sat down to sort out the orders and classes, genera and varieties, of fiction, and no really sane man ever will. They have no fixed boundaries; all sorts interbreed as shamelessly as dogs, and they pass at last by indefinite gradations into more or less honest fact telling, into "historical reconstruction," the roman à clef[1], biography, history and autobiography. So the literary critic, confronted with a miscellany of bookish expression far more various than life itself, has an excellent excuse for the looseness of his vocabulary, if not for his exaltations and condemnations. Unhappily he insists on adopting types for his preference and he follows fashions. My early life as a naive, spontaneous writer was much afflicted by the vehement advocacy by Henry James II, Joseph Conrad, Edward Garnett and Ford Madox Hueffer, of something called The Novel, and by George Moore of something called The Short Story. There were all sorts of things forbidden for The Novel; there must he no explanation of the ideas animating the characters, and the author himself had to be as invisible and unheard—of as Cod; for no conceivable reason. So far as The Short Story went, it gave George Moore the consolation of calling Kipling's stories, and in fact any short stories that provoked his ready jealousy, "anecdotes." Novelists were arranged in order of merit that made the intelligent reader doubt his own intelligence, and the idea of "Progress" was urged upon the imaginative writer. Conrad was understood to be in the van of progress; Robert Louis Stevenson had "put the clock back," and so on. Quite inconspicuous young writers were able to believe that in some mysterious technical way they were leaving Defoe and Sterne far away behind them. There has been no such "progress" in human brains. Against this sort of thing, which for many reasons I found tiresome and unpalatable, I rebelled. I declared that a novel, as distinguished from the irresponsible plausibilities of romance or the invention in imaginative stories of hitherto unthought-of human circumstances, could be any sort of honest treatment of the realities of human behaviour in narrative form. Conduct was the novel's distinctive theme. It was and is and must be, if we are to have any definition of a novel. All writing should be done as well as it can be done,[1q] wit and vigour are as Cod wills, but pretentious artistry is a minor amateurism on the flank of literature.
This present story belongs to a school to which I have always been attracted, and in which I have already written several books. The merit of my particular contributions may be infinitesimal, but that does not alter the fact that they follow in a great tradition, the tradition of discussing fundamental human problems in dialogue form.
The dialogue, written or staged, is one of the oldest forms of literary expression. Very early, men realised the impossibility of abstracting any philosophy of human behaviour from actual observable flesh and blood. As soon can you tear a brain away from its blood and membranes: it dies. Abstract philosophy is the deadest of stuff; one disintegrating hortus siccus follows another; I am astounded at the implacable Scholarly industry of those who still write Textbooks of Philosophy. And your psychological handbook is only kept alive by a stream of anecdote. The Socratic Dialogue on the other hand produces character after character to state living views, to have them ransacked by an interlocutor who is also a character subject to all the infirmities of the flesh. Plato's dramas of the mind live to this day. They may have inspired—it is a fancy of mine for which there is only very slight justification—that kindred Socratic novel, the Book of Job. For that magnificent creation my admiration is unstinted. I have made a close study of it; I have in fact not only studied it but modernised it, traced it over, character by character and speech, in The Undying Fire. The Book of Job has been compared to a Greek tragedy, to the Prometheus Bound of Aeschylus, for example, but I see it myself, naturally enough, from the angle of the writer. It was written to be read.
Manifestly the novel of ideas and the play of ideas converge. My friend George Bernard Shaw has lived a long, vivid life putting the discussion of ideas on to the English stage, to the infinite exasperation of generation after generation of dramatic critics, who insist upon puppets with heads of solid wood. Then they can get the drama of pure situation within the compass of overnight judgments. From opposite directions Shaw and I approach what is to us and, I submit, firmly and immodestly, to all really intelligent people, the most interesting thing in the world, the problems of human life and behaviour as we find them incarnate in persons. We have no claim to be pioneers, but by an inner necessity we were revivalists. Hamlet is evidently a dramatic dialogue about suicide in face of intolerable conditions, and Julius Caesar a treatment of political assassination. But by the time Shaw began dramatic criticism ideas had vanished from the English theatre for generations. Mallock and Peacock, however, had kept the dialogue alive through the darkest period of the three-volume novel.
I found myself, and I got to the dialogue novel, through a process of trial and error. The critical atmosphere was all against me. As I felt about rebelliously among the possibilities of fiction, I found certain of my characters were displaying an irresistible tendency to break out into dissertation. Many critical readers, trained to insist on a straight story, objected to these talkers; they said they were my self-projections, author's exponents. But in many cases these obtrusive individuals were not saying things I thought, but, what is a very different thing, things I wanted to put into shape by having them said. An early type of this sort of book was Ann Veronica. She is a young woman who soliloquises and rhapsodises incessantly, revealing the ideas of the younger intelligentsia round about 1910, which I had found very interesting indeed. Before then no one had realised there was an English intelligentsia. The book is not a dialogue, simply because no one answers Ann Veronica. It interested a number of people who did not realise fully what bad taste they showed in being interested.
I made a much nearer approach to the fully developed novel of ideas in Mr Britling Sees It Through. I was getting more cunning about the business. I made him a writer and I used the letters home of his son to say a number of things that could be said in no other way. In Joan And Peter, I did what I think was a better book than Mr Britling; it is a dialogue about education, and I centred the discussion on the perplexities of the guardian who had to find a school for these young people. All my most recent hooks, Brynhild, Dolores (apart from the scandalous misbehaviour of her dog and a few such uncontrollable incidents), The Holy Terror, are primarily discussions carried on through living characters; it is for the discussion of behaviour they were written, and to cut out the talk would be like cutting a picture out of its frame.
And now I will come to the plan and purpose of this present book, which is the most comprehensive and ambitious dialogue novel I have ever attempted. I will try to explain certain devices I have had to adopt, and certain unavoidable necessities of the treatment. At the present time a profounder change in human thought and human outlook is going on than has ever occurred before. The great literary tradition I follow demands that this be rendered in terms of living human beings. It must be shown in both word and act. This I attempt here. So far as my observation and artistry as a novelist have enabled me to achieve it, there is not a single individual in this book that you might not meet and recognise in the street. If you have had any experience in writing fiction, I think you will find that you can take any of my characters out of this book and invent a meeting between them and the real people you know. But because of the very great burden of fresh philosophical matter that this novel has to carry, I have chosen my chief individuals from among the sort of people who would be closest to that matter. I have made one main figure a psychotherapeutist who as an intrusive outside lecturer carries on a feud with the academic traditions of Cambridge. He writes, he talks, he lectures, aggressively and destructively. Very much under his intellectual influence are my central "Babes," two keen young people, one a Newnham undergraduate and the other her lover, Gemini, an Oxford man, who writes and criticises in a "highbrow" weekly, talks abundantly and is in harsh conflict with his father, a London Police Magistrate, celebrated for his bitter utterances on the London bench, and constitutionally addicted to uttering judgments. The mother is a highly self-conscious writer of bright letters. The mental break-down of Gemini after some grim experiences in Poland and Finland bring the methods of a leading psychoanalyst and modern psychosynthesis into the story. All these people talk, write and explain, by habit, profession and necessity. I could not devise a more favourable assemblage of personalities for a modem symposium, or I would have done so. The inexpert reader might imagine that nothing remained for the novelist to do but to report their conversations.
But that is by no means the case. Let us consider for example the long conversation between Stella and Gemini after they had received Uncle Hopkinshire's abusive threats. Everything reported of it was actually said and understood, and to both interlocutors the chastened, edited, polished conversation given in that section would certainly be acceptable as a fair rendering of their intentions. Yet it is really as different from what they actually said to one another as clear, large print is from a note scribbled in faint pencil on crumpled scraps of paper. They talked a language that was sometimes a kind of shorthand to each other. They had been educated upon parallel lines; they had read the same books; they could say much of this that is set before you, with half the words and without ever finishing a sentence; all sorts of things could be assumed between them; they could pick up and finish each other's phrases; and if I were to write it all down verbatim you would find it, unless you were made to exactly the same pattern and belonged to the same generation, inconsecutive and incomprehensible to the extremest degree. And sometimes, when they entered upon unfamiliar territory, instead of shorthand they used a roundabout very elongated longhand, abounding in loops, digressions and corrections, while they felt their way to their meaning. Moreover, ever and again, it has been necessary, by a turn of the phrase or the neat insertion of a phrase that might be unknown to you, to get over the reality of what they said to you. Again and again, to do them justice, it has been necessary to clarify, condense, expand or underline their words. Nevertheless, what is given here is what they imagined they were saying, and what indeed they meant. And I do not know of any way of writing the novel of ideas that can dispense with such magnified and crystallised conversations and meditations....
That magnification and clarification applies in a greater or lesser degree to nearly all the talk in every novel of ideas. It is the exact opposite of that "flow of consciousness" technique, with which Virginia Woolf, following in the footsteps of Dorothy Richardson, has experimented more or less successfully. Thereby personalities are supposed to be stippled out by dabs of responses, which after all have to be verbalised. Uncle Robert, when he discourses on a University Education, tells Stella a score of things that as a matter of fact he knew she knew. Later on he and Gemini perform a sort of duet of mutual information. They explain the whole gist and bearing of the new and entirely revolutionary philosophy of behaviourism to one another, cheerfully, uncivilly and without embarrassment. I know of no better way of setting out this new way of thinking. To the best of my ability I contrive a situation that makes their talk as plausible as possible, and I keep rigorously true to their mental characters. In this fashion I may manage t0 get away with the understanding reader. But against the carping realist who objects that people do not talk like this, there is no reply, except that people know what they mean much better than they say it, and that the most unrighteous thing a reporter can do to a speaker or lecturer is to report him verbatim. So I put this dialogue novel of contemporary ideas before you with characters I claim to be none the less living because through my lens you see them larger and clearer than life.
BOOK ONE THE EASY GOING COTTAGE
CHAPTER I UNREVEALED WORLD
1. AND NOW WHAT?
A GIRL still just short of twenty walked very gravely, lightly and happily beside her lover, a youngster of twenty-four, along an overgrown, sunken, sun-flecked lane in Suffolk. The lane ran sometimes between fields and sometimes along the boundaries of pleasant residences, and it led from the village green at the centre of all things to the cottage they occupied. It was early in June. Lilac was dropping but the may was at its last and best; and countless constellations of stitchwort, clusters and nebulae, celebrated a brief ascendency over the promiscuous profusion of the hedge-banks.
"Stellaria[2]!" said he, "it's just chickweed, which proves that Stella is a chick—a downy little chick."
"We won't always talk nonsense," said Stella.
"When one is drunk with happiness, what else can one ta1k?"
"Well," she considered....
They bumped themselves against each other, summer-drunk, love-drunk, smiled into each other's eyes, and he ran an impudent, appreciative hand over her bare shoulder. She shrank a little from that before she remembered not to shrink. His hand dropped to his side and they walked on, a little apart and with grave, preoccupied faces.
"Things that aren't nonsense are so hard to express[2q]," he said presently, and lapsed into another silence.
She was slight and lithe and sunburnt, with sun-bleached hair and intelligent, dark—blue eyes. She had finely modelled brows, with a faintly humorous crinkle in the broad forehead, and enough mouth for a variety of expressions; a wide mouth it was that could flash into a vivid smile or shut with considerable deliberation, which could kiss, as he knew, very delightfully but was by no means specialised for that purpose. She was wearing an exiguous pale green vest which emphasised rather than hid the points of her pretty body, a pair of grey flannel trousers, in which she evidently carried a lot of small possessions as well as her dirty little hands, and brown canvas shoes. Her third finger in her left hand pocket bore a wedding ring that would not have deceived a rabbit. A bright patterned green and gold silk handkerchief round her slim but sufficient waist completed her costume.
Her companion was perhaps four or five inches taller, and darker in complexion. He was something of a pug about the face, with disarming brown eyes, a lot of forehead and a resolute mouth. His rather crisp brown hair seemed to grow anyhow and had apparently been cut en brosse[3] by an impatient and easily discouraged barber. This young man also wore grey slacks and canvas shoes, with a white cotton shirt that had once no doubt possessed as many buttons as any shirt, but which was now buttoned only at the right wrist. He was carrying a spike of bananas still attached to their parent stem in his left (off) hand. It was only as he walked that it became apparent that he was extremely lame.
The least worldly of people meeting this young couple would have known at once, if only by the challenging pride in their faces, that they were living in sin together, that they had been doing so for five or six days at the outside, and that they had never done anything of the sort before. But old Mrs Greedle, who did for them in Mary Clarkson's borrowed week-end cottage, never betrayed a shadow of doubt about that very loosely fitting wedding ring. She consulted Stella upon all sorts of matronly questions and prompted her with the right answer whenever there was the least sign of hesitation....
But of Mrs Greedle more later....
"It is just because we are so happy," he said, trying again.
"I know," she agreed.
"Has anyone any right to be happy in a world like this?"
"We were foolish to get those newspapers and letters."
"Sooner or later that had to come."
"They had to come. And anyhow it's been a lovely time. Such a lovely time. Such a very lovely time. Anyhow."
"But all those other fellows all over the world...."
"We've only stolen a week"
"And no one can ever take it away from us. Whatever happens. There's something unfair about our luck. Think of the ones who would—and can't. Down here-or wherever there's working people or out-of-works or gipsies or such-I look at them and feel a sort of thief. As though I'd stolen it from them. What right have we to our education, to the freedom in our minds, to the time and money, that makes all this possible? And our health! If we haven't stolen, our blessed progenitors did. We are Receivers of stolen goods."
"In a way it's getting less and less unfair. The Evil Thing is going to catch us all sooner or later. Why shouldn't we snatch this? At the eleventh hour?"
"To think that it's an advantage to have had a foot crushed between a motor-bike and a tram! Luck to be a cripple! No obligation to join up. One of the exempted. The last of the free. We shall catch it with the other civilians but anyhow we're not under orders."
"Not so much of a cripple," she reflected. "Anyhow I'm a woman now and grown-up and ready to look at what's coming to us."
"And what is coming to us?"
"It isn't fair. Life didn't come after our grandfathers and grandmothers and trim them up for slaughter. They had a breathing space."
"Much good they did with it."
"Romeo and Juliet weren't called on for national service."
"They didn't get away with so very much either."
"Just accidents and misunderstandings in their case, Gemini; they had bad luck, their people were awful people, worse than ours, and there were those mixed philtres, pure accident, and that was all there was the matter with them. But now everyone, all over the world, is being threatened, compelled, driven. Like a great hand feeling for us, catching more and more of us. It's only God's mercy that there isn't some siren howling after us, or some loud-speaker bellowing A.R.P. instructions, here and now. It got us at the post office; it's waiting for us at the cottage.... But I'm talking worse than you do, Gemini."
"And saying what everyone is saying. All the same we two are the world's pets. We've had education, art, literature, travel, while most of those others have been marched off long ago, trained to drudge, to obey, to trust the nice ruling classes—. Ideas kept from them. Books hard to get at. What's the good of pretending that you and I are not the new ruling-class generation? We are. We've shared the loot. And what are we doing by way of thank-you for the education and the art and the literature and the travel we've had? Trying not to care a damn. Having as good a time as we can manage until something hits us.... It's all the damned radio and the rest of it that does it. Why should I be worried because Chinese kids are being raped and disembowelled for fun by the Japs in Shanghai? Why should I be worried because they are being sold to the brothels and given syphilis and driven to death and all that, under the approving noses of our own blessed Pukka Sahibs[5] in Hong Kong? Lousy Pukka Sahibs! Dirty old Blimps!... This, that and the other horror, up and down the world. That concentration camp stuff.... And all hammering down on our poor little brains. All the time now. All hammering down on us. Things like that have always been going on, but they didn't worry grandfather when he walked in the lanes with grandmamma. They didn't come after them as they come after us."
"And they didn't say You next."
"Gods! Stella, and are we as bad as that? Maybe we are. Did it have to be bombs over London before any of our lot worried?"
She puckered her brows and weighed the question. She stuck her hands deeper in her trouser pockets as though that helped her thinking. "It wasn't in the same world then," she decided.
"Now it is. 'Ye ken the noo,' as the Calvinist's God said."
"We ken. And what are we going to do about it, Gemini? Playing bright kids won't save us. If our sort can't think of something, nobody will think of anything. We have to do something about it. We! You and me! And what can we do?..."
"What can we do?" he echoed. "Oh hell! Stella, what can we do? Being a Communist! What's being a Communist? What good is it? Trotsky and Stalin don't matter a damn to me. Conscientious objectors—objectors to being alive, I suppose. This, this muddle, is life. How can we stand out of it?... Anti-Fascist?... What party is there to work with; what leader can one follow? Saying No, No, NO to everything isn't being alive. Why haven't we leaders to lead us somewhere? I forgot things for a bit, this last week, but that emetic speech of the Prime Minister's friend—what was his name? Lindsey-Jump-in-the-Snow Lindsey, they call him—and that story of those Jews in No Man's Land and that quotation from that book of Timperley's about those Japanese atrocities.... It's all come back to me, and the helplessness of it. And the sun, old fool, goes on shining. You poor old fool up there! Why don't you go out and finish us up?"
"And none of the old religions are any good?"
"It's the old religions and faiths and patriotisms that have brought us to just exactly where we are. Manifestly."
"No good going back to them again."
"No good going back to anything again. But how to get on?"
She confronted him. "Gemini," she said, "have you no ideas?"
"Oh! the shadows of the ghosts of ideas. And a sound of claptrap in the distance"
"Gemini Jimmini—that is to say Mr James Twain—listen to me. I love you. Always have done; long before you thought of it. I am your true love. Haven't I proved it? And also, as I warned you, I am a prig."
"Don't I know it? Could I love you otherwise? Go on."
"I warn you I am going to talk like a prig. Almost like warning you I'm going to be sick. I've felt it coming on. Gemini, I must say it."
"Out with it, as they say on the excursion steamboats. Sorry! Oh-out with it, Stella!"
"Well, we two are individuals of outstanding intelligence. Outstanding intelligence. Young, of course, silly in a way because we are young, but really damned intelligent. That's generally admitted by our friends and relations. Even Aunt Ruby said that. We are bright. In the privacy of this Lovers' Lane, need we hesitate to say as much to one another? We are. Yes. And I'm for getting on with it. You listen. For all practical purposes, about the conduct of our lives, about the conduct of life, we don't know a blessed thing. Not a blessed real thing. You as well as me. They haven't told us anything worth knowing. We are just bright enough to realise that. The religion and morals they fed us are exploded old rubbish. That much we've found out. The unbelieving way they taught it us was enough to show that. Blank. Yet we've got to devote ourselves to something, Gemini, all the same. We're made that way. We've got to learn what we can and use it somehow. We've got to do whatever is in us, to save ourselves and the world. Maybe we'll do something. Maybe we'll do nothing at all. But we've got to make the effort. In a war hundreds of people have to be killed or messed-up. Even if their side is winning. Some get in the way of their own side and get done in like that. Trying to do their best. All sorts go into the boiling. But they've got to join up, they've got to try. It doesn't matter so long as they don't slack or hide.... We're slacking, Gemini...."
She was dismayed at herself.
"I can't go on. It's the very life of me I'm telling you, and it sounds—rot... preachment.... Salvation indeed!... Salvation Army.... If only I hadn't begun. I've never talked this way.... I must—with you. I'm not just talking? She was weeping.
"Darling," he said, and kissed and embraced her.
"No need to say any of this again," she sobbed, clinging to him....
"Can I borrow your snitch-rag, Gemini?" she said presently. "I left mine at home."
"We'll have to talk about things," he reflected. "I will. But it's awful hard. We get this stuff out of books. We think of it bookishly. We have to at first. When we talk about it, it's like bringing up partly digested print. We've got to talk bookish. What natural words are there? Slang, love-making, smut, games, gossip, 'pass the mustard,' one can talk about in a sort of natural unprintable way, but ideas.... We're abashed. We've been trained to be abashed. My old nurse began it. 'Don't you talk like a book, Mr Jimmy,' she said. 'Don't you go using long words.' But suppose the short words won't do it? You're so right, Stella. We've got to talk of these things. Of course we have. There's a sort of shyness they put upon us.... Even between lovers...."
She nodded. "Worse than their damned decency," she said. She returned the handkerchief rolled into a ball. Then she remarked, apropos of nothing: "This morning I saw a big bird flying across the garden and it cuckooed as it flew. Always before, I thought they sat and did it. Did you know, Gemini, they cuckooed as they flew?"
"And sitting also. I've seen 'em perched on branches and doing it...."
But he did not seem to be thinking about cuckoos. Neither of them was thinking with any particular intensity about cuckoos. And the sun, the old fool, went on shining upon them.
2. BLOCK OF ALABASTER
One side of the deep lane changed its character and became highly respectable as a tall, well-trimmed hedge of yew. Presently that hedge had a lapse, where something had devoured or destroyed it and left only a stretch of oak palings to carry on in its place.
Our young people cast off the cares of the world abruptly and became gaminesque. Simultaneously they had one and the same idea. "Let's peek at old Kalikov's lump," she said. "Just once more. That lovely lump."
"Marble it is," he said.
"Alabaster, I tell you. I know."
"Marble. You never get alabaster in 'normous lumps like that. Alabaster's semi-precious or something of that sort. Just little bits."
"Who ever saw marble all bloodshot?"
"Obstinate. Alabaster is marble."
"Ignorance. It's gypsum."
"That G is hard. It's Greek."
"Even there you are wrong. It's English and soft. Naturalised ages ago."
She put out her tongue at him. That was that.... In the most perfect accord they crept up to the gap in the hedge and looked over. There, amidst thick grass and tall wild hemlock was a big piece of Derbyshire alabaster, twelve feet high at least.
"See that sort of dirty pink vein," she began.... He laid a hand on her arm. "Sh," he said very softly. "He's there.... There!"
They became as still and observant as startled fawns. Kalikov, a great lump of a man, with a frizzy, non-Aryan coiffure and ears that you would have thought any sensitive sculptor would have cut off or improved upon years ago, was sitting on a garden seat in the shade of a mulberry tree, brooding over his huge, clumsy block of material. There was a flavour almost of blood-relationship between him and it. He was still as death and intensely wide awake. When at last he stirred it was as eventful as if the block had stirred. He put out his hand. He moved it slowly in a curving path. Then it came to rest, extended.
He shook his head disapprovingly. He repeated his gesture. This time it passed muster. He drew it back along an invisible lower path, carefully, mystically. It was as if he caressed the invisible. It was as if he was trying to hypnotise the inanimate. Then his hand went back into his pocket and he became still again, scheming, dreaming.
The two young people looked at one another and then dropped back noiselessly into the lane.
"Like that," she whispered.
"Then one day he will get his chisels and hammers and things and begin to hew it out," she expanded.
"No clay model?" he queried.
"Not for him." She was sure. Some paces further he spoke with a note of intense surprise.
"But that's exactly how we have to do it. Exactly. Exactly what has been trying to get into my mind for weeks."
She made an interrogative noise.
"That," he said, with a backward toss of the head. "That behind there. It's just exactly how I feel about things."
"Meaning?"
"Something completely hidden. Which is there?
"Yeah?"
"Clumsy block of a world, monstrous, crushing the grass, bloodshot, and yet in it there is a world to be found, a real world, a great world."
"Which he may find?"
"Which we may find-our sort of people—in this block of a world to-day."
She stood regarding him with her legs wide apart, her arms akimbo and her head a little on one side.
"Gemini, you're saying something. You talk like an evangelist tract but you're saying something considerable. It's a new sort of approach?
"I've said something that's been in my mind in a state of helpless solution for ever so long. That, somehow, has crystallised it. The proper religion, the proper way of life, it isn't all this everlasting squabbling of anti-this and anti-that. Newspapers, politics, churches; the whole bloody jumble. Everybody wrong and nobody right. Our sort of people and more of us and more, have been astray, getting into disputes that don't matter a damn, blundering away at negations. That isn't the job for us. Our job is to realise the shape in the block, to get the vision of it clearer and clearer in our heads and then to set about carving it out. Am I saying something at last?"
"Sounds to me something quite considerable?"
She reflected.
"I'll have a thousand criticisms presently," she said, "but you are saying something, Gemini. Something we can talk about for days."
"Leave it now then for a bit," said he, "for I'm hungry. Down here, what with the air and this love-making, I seem to be always hungry. Come on. Get to your kitchen, woman, for old mother Greedle is more of a talking heart than a head. See to things."
And he waved his bunch of bananas towards the cottage ahead of them, and went limping in front of her.
"It's such a consolidating idea," she said to his back.
"It is a consolidating idea. It's the consolidating idea. The unrevealed statue. The unrevealed new world. The right world.... I wonder if we shall find the unquenchable Balch on the doorstep.... So soon as he scents a meal afoot.... I'll try this notion out on him."
3. BALCHIFICATION
The unquenchable Balch, true to form, did not appear until the meal was ready. They went through the front room with its big open fireplace and its incongruous array of rugs, miscellaneous chairs, stools, ornaments, allusive and entirely irrational objects and artistic impedimenta—there were two inactive grandfather clocks, two brass panoplies for cart-horses, a powder horn, but only one copper warming-pan—towards the kitchen scullery at the back. They went calling, "Hullo Mrs Greedle, what have you got to cat?" and "Mrs Greedle, is there anything to eat?"
"Bubble and squeak[4], you said you liked, Mrs Twain," said Mrs Greedle. "The cabbage is all chopped. You left some bits of bacon; I can't think 'ow. With a bit of 'am and a hegg or so and a nunion for taste; not ten minutes it won't take, to 'ave it nice and spluttering, and there's them sardines to begin upon for an orderove and that nice fruit cake Miss Clarkson sent you down, and a nice tomato cocktail and the siphons 'ave come."
"Nice siphons," whispered Gemini.
"With coffee to follow," said the temporary Mrs Twain, hitherto known to us as Stella.
"Yes, Ma'am, nice black coffee in them little cups. As usual. Nice and 'ot."
"On with the frying!" cried Gemini. "We'll eat it here. Ten minutes! I'm damned if I don't wash my l1ands."
"Me too," said Stella. "See what a good example does!"
"How's the whiskey?" said Gemini.
"'S in the tantalus in the front room," said Mrs Greedle. "I didn't think to look 'ow much. I do 'ope...."
Gemini had a moment of apprehension, but he found the tantalus, which ages ago had lost its key and ceased to tantalise, still resourceful, even if Balch dropped in. "I ordered two bottles from the grocer," said Gemini, "in case," but Mrs Greedle seemed too preoccupied with the appetising mess in her frying pan to hear. They were busy with the sardines when Balch became audible as a copious throaty voice in the front room.
"Hoy Hoy!" it said. "What a reek of onions, and food at large! You children seem always to be eating."
"Bubble and squeak, Balch. You're just in time. Come and join us."
A large buff face with an enormous loose mouth, large grey eyes with a slight cast, and quantities of iron-grey hair, not only on the scalp but bursting generously from brows and ears, appeared in the doorway. The loose mouth was drawn down at the corners with a misleading effect of hauteur, and there was not so much a chin as a series of chin tentatives which finally gave it up and became a neck. The face radiated a sort of anxious benevolence, as though it was relieved to find things no worse than they were. It was closely followed by a body clad loosely in what was still technically a white linen suit, from_the breast pocket of which bristled a number of fountain pens, several copying-ink pencils, a spectacle-case, and a large red carpenters pencil, proclaiming an alert, various and fecund literary worker. He looked like a ham actor; he looked like an unsuccessful playwright; he looked exactly what he was—a free-lance journalist in his early fifties; the sort of man who is always getting on tremendously and volubly and never by any chance getting anywhere.
"If ever I hit this cottage between meals," he said, "I shall put it in my diary as a notable event."
"Join us," said Gemini, putting out the rest of the sardines for him upon a Woolworth plate. (All the plates in the house, except the wall decorations, were Woolworth plates and all the glasses Woolworth glasses.)
"I ought not," said Balch, and then relenting, "just to save your greedy little faces, I will."
He did.
