ABSTRACT
Mr. Aldous Huxley's new novel is definitely a disappointment-the least of the many good things he has given us. As prophecy it is merely fantastic; as satire it overshoots the mark (if indeed there is a mark); as a story it lacks interest. It is, in fact, an elaborate and somewhat tedious joke. And what else? There are signs, alas, that Mr. Huxley would have us take his satire seriously, would have us applaud him as he pelts with ridicule, damns with ironical praise, one scientific Aunt Sally after an other. The book's intention seems to be suggested in the passage from Nicholas Berdiaeff quoted on the fore-page:
[Cites Berdiaeff ] . . . But nothing is more grotesquely improbable than that the
world will ever be so efficiently ordered, and human beings so accu rately conditioned and controlled, that all our present spiritual values will be meaningless to us. This is the state of affairs in Mr. Huxley's Brave New World.
