Other editions of book Limbo - Scholar's Choice Edition

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This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work.This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

THE YOUNG ARE HAVING a terrible to-do about Aldous Huxley; they flutter and buzz about his candle, without so much danger of singeing their wings as of beating each other down. His greatest endowment, says one of his appraisers, is “a gift of satire and a sort of cosmic irony superimposed upon a genuine poetic gift and a superb technique.” He has caught on splendidly for a young man of twenty-five. He has four or five little books.But the other Anatole, the Anatole of burning indignation, of passionate sympathy, the valiant champion of unpopular causes — there is no trace of this in Mr. Huxley. “It is not that he does not agree that there are many undesirable aspects of life. A recurrent problem of Mr. Huxley's young men is whether they shall choose a literary career or become social reformers. Mr. Huxley has chosen a literary career — chiefly, we suspect, because he felt he would be ineffectual as a social reformer. And, having chosen, he does not mix the rôles. He does not write novels to reform the world—perhaps he does not believe that novels ever do reform the world. No, the choice, in Mr. Huxley's mind, is a definite one. Literature means something bright, amusing, fantastic. Its cardinal virtue is to his credit. “Leda: and other Poems” has called forth a critic's praise as “a glorious stretch of color in Keats's most luscious vein.” Then there are collections of short stories such as “Limbo,” “Crome Yellow,” and finally “Mortal Coils,” which puts him almost with the angels. The critics use up all their highest praises before he turns twenty-seven. Perhaps it is because of the twin names of Matthew Arnold and Thomas Henry Huxley, from whom he descends, that have blinded them. They take him a little more calmly at home. “At first sight Mr. Aldous Huxley seems to be distinguished from our other young writers chiefly by his lack of earnestness,” says a writer in the London Times. “He has the rest of their qualities—on the positive side a sound knowledge of literary tradition, and on the negative, a certain short-windedness. But he appears to be the least serious of a very serious group.” —"The Literary Digest", Volume 74

Excerpt from LimboHE most sumptuous present that Millicent received on her seventh birthday was a doll's house. With love to darling little Mill from Aunty Loo. Aunt Loo was immensely rich, and the doll's house was almost as grandiose and massive as herself.About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1920 edition. Excerpt: ...The Reverend Roger was Alfred Petherton's brother and a master at one of our most glorious public schools. Marjorie hardly agreed with her father in thinking that his presence would add anything to the "festiveness" of the party. It was a pity he should be coming at this particular moment. However, we all have our little cross to bear. Mr. Petherton was feeling playful. "We must bring down," he said, "the choicest Falernian, bottled when Gladstone was consul, for the occasion. We must prepare wreaths and unguents and hire a flute player and a couple of dancing girls..." He spent the rest of the meal in quoting Horace, Catullus, the Greek Anthology, Petronius, and Sidonius Apollinarius. Marjorie's knowledge of the dead languages was decidedly limited. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and it was only dimly and as it were through a mist that she heard her father murmuring--whether merely to himself or with the hope of eliciting an answer from somebody, she hardly knew--" Let me see: how does that epigram go?--that one about the different kinds of fish and the garlands of roses, by Meleager, or is it Poseidippus?..." II GUY and Jacobsen were walking in the Dutch garden, an incongruous couple. On Guy military servitude had left no outwardly visible mark; out of uniform, he still looked like a tall, untidy undergraduate; he stooped and drooped as much as ever; his hair was still bushy and, to judge by the dim expression of his face, he had not yet learnt to think imperially. His khaki always looked like a disguise, like the most absurd fancy dress. Jacobsen trotted beside him, short, fattish, very sleek, and correct. They talked in a desultory way about things indifferent. Guy, anxious for a little...