by Aldous Huxley
Genre: Utopian Science Fiction
Publication Date: 1962
I have a horrid confession to make: I didn’t know who Aldous Huxley was until approximately three weeks ago.
For those of you reading this months (or, dare I say, years) after I’m typing these words—I was approaching thirty when I discovered him. Yes, discovered, like one uncovers buried treasure in their backyard. That is to say, found by complete accident years after the owner neglected it. In other words, late to the party.
Anywho, I discovered Aldous by accidentally stumbling upon his illuminating quote. And, as is prone to my Columbusian nature, I went a little overboard. I purchased Aldous’ book—the source of said quote—and may or may not have also permanently adhered part of it to my body.
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
Aldous Huxley, Island, page I-haven’t-gotten-there-yet
I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig. Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me. When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic. No rhetoric, no tremolos, no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell. And of course, no theology, no metaphysics. Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.
So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling, on tiptoes and no luggage, not even a sponge bag, completely unencumbered.”
In just the first few chapters, we meet a young girl from Utopia who doesn’t understand why a mother would console a hurt child, “My poor baby, my poor little baby.” According to her, “that’s the way to rub it in….it must have gone on hurting for hours.”
Instead, she forces the broken man to face the darkness head on–and slowly see how that helps him move on. She has her childlike practicality that would come off as rude if she didn’t also have her childlike pureness. And, her name is also Mary, so of course I’m bias.
“You can’t be here and now,” she went on, “until you’ve got rid of those snakes. Tell me.”
“I don’t want to, I don’t want to.” He was almost in tears.
“Then you’ll never get rid of them. They’ll be crawling about inside your head forever. And serve you right,” Mary Sarojini added severely.”
Aldous Huxley, Island, page 13
Aldous also describes butterflies swooping “in the thick buttery sunshine” so there’s poetic prose to look forward to, too.
I haven’t dug too deep into the backyard, so stay tuned as I get dirty!
Mary's One Hundred 