So I had occasion to look up the spelling of Aldous Huxley's name a while back. (I can never, for some reason, remember whether it's 'Huxley' or 'Huxly.') I did it the obvious way: I typed it into Google, knowing it would correct me if I were wrong. (I wasn't, as it happens.)
Anyways, I learned this strange and interesting fact, from the right-hand side-bar where they put info-results for famous people and the like…
Slight mirth ensued.
More seriously, this week has seen a huge amount of self-congratulatory hype from the BBC regarding the fiftieth anniversary of Dr Who, and they're covering the JFK assassination to almost as large an extent. You'd think the fiftieth anniversary of the deaths of two world-renowned English authors, CS Lewis and Aldous
Huxly Huxley, would get at least a slight mention, wouldn't you? Nope. Even the bloody Culture Show is sticking with the Dr Who BBC smuggery-fest.
And I really don't have much else to add. Just thought I'd get that off my chest…
And so, Gentle Reader, my little-mini-rant over with, I'll leave you with a quote from Huxley. And I'll preface it by mentioning that I cannot imagine being anything other than this:
Deprived of their newspapers or a novel, reading-addicts will fall back onto cookery books, on the literature which is wrapped around bottles of patent medicine, on those instructions for keeping the contents crisp which are printed on the outside of boxes of breakfast cereals. On anything.
Aldous Huxley—The Olive Tree
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