IN this Brave New World, the children can learn erotic play from books like How Did I Begin? by Mick Manning and Brita Granstrom. The book features “a cartoon image of a couple in bed in an intimate embrace”.
An excerpt from the shocking masterpiece of Aldous Huxley (first published in 1932) which was mentioned two days ago on this blog:
From Chapter Three
OUTSIDE, in the garden, it was playtime. Naked in the warm June sunshine, six or seven hundred little boys and girls were running with shrill yells over the lawns, or playing ball games, or squatting silently in twos and threes among the flowering shrubs. The roses were in bloom, two nightingales soliloquized in the boskage, a cuckoo was just going out of tune among the lime trees. The air was drowsy with the murmur of bees and helicopters.
The Director and his students stood for a short time watching a game of Centrifugal Bumble-puppy. Twenty children were grouped in a circle round a chrome steel tower. A ball thrown up so as to land on the platform at the top of the tower rolled down into the interior, fell on a rapidly revolving disk, was hurled through one or other of the numerous apertures pierced in the cylindrical casing, and had to be caught.
“Strange,” mused the Director, as they turned away, “strange to think that even in Our Ford’s day most games were played without more apparatus than a ball or two and a few sticks and perhaps a bit of netting. imagine the folly of allowing people to play elaborate games which do nothing whatever to increase consumption. It’s madness. Nowadays the Controllers won’t approve of any new game unless it can be shown that it requires at least as much apparatus as the most complicated of existing games.” He interrupted himself.
“That’s a charming little group,” he said, pointing.
In a little grassy bay between tall clumps of Mediterranean heather, two children, a little boy of about seven and a little girl who might have been a year older, were playing, very gravely and with all the focussed attention of scientists intent on a labour of discovery, a rudimentary sexual game.
“Charming, charming!” the D.H.C. repeated sentimentally.
“Charming,” the boys politely agreed. But their smile was rather patronizing. They had put aside similar childish amusements too recently to be able to watch them now without a touch of contempt. Charming? but it was just a pair of kids fooling about; that was all. Just kids.
“I always think,” the Director was continuing in the same rather maudlin tone, when he was interrupted by a loud boo-hooing.
From a neighbouring shrubbery emerged a nurse, leading by the hand a small boy, who howled as he went. An anxious-looking little girl trotted at her heels.
“What’s the matter?” asked the Director.
The nurse shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much,” she answered. “It’s just that this little boy seems rather reluctant to join in the ordinary erotic play. I’d noticed it once or twice before. And now again to-day. He started yelling just now …”
“Honestly,” put in the anxious-looking little girl, “I didn’t mean to hurt him or anything. Honestly.”
“Of course you didn’t, dear,” said the nurse reassuringly. “And so,” she went on, turning back to the Director, “I’m taking him in to see the Assistant Superintendent of Psychology. Just to see if anything’s at all abnormal.”
“Quite right,” said the Director. “Take him in. You stay here, little girl,” he added, as the nurse moved away with her still howling charge. “What’s your name?”
“Polly Trotsky.”
“And a very good name too,” said the Director. “Run away now and see if you can find some other little boy to play with.”
The child scampered off into the bushes and was lost to sight.
“Exquisite little creature!” said the Director, looking after her. Then, turning to his students, “What I’m going to tell you now,” he said, “may sound incredible. But then, when you’re not accustomed to history, most facts about the past do sound incredible.”
He let out the amazing truth. For a very long period before the time of Our Ford, and even for some generations afterwards, erotic play between children had been regarded as abnormal (there was a roar of laughter); and not only abnormal, actually immoral (no!): and had therefore been rigorously suppressed.
A look of astonished incredulity appeared on the faces of his listeners. Poor little kids not allowed to amuse themselves? They could not believe it.
“Even adolescents,” the D.H.C. was saying, “even adolescents like yourselves …”
“Not possible!”
“Barring a little surreptitious auto-erotism and homosexuality–absolutely nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“In most cases, till they were over twenty years old.”
“Twenty years old?” echoed the students in a chorus of loud disbelief.
“Twenty,” the Director repeated. “I told you that you’d find it incredible.”
“But what happened?” they asked. “What were the results?”
“The results were terrible.”
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Look at the top of the cover: “New updated edition with chapter on internet safety”
What’s left to keep the kids safe from anywhere after they’ve read that book?
The book advocates and revels in the very perversions I want to protect my kids from which are also exactly the ones they’re most likely to come across ON the internet!
I can’t see a difference. I want my kids protected from the internet – AND books like that – because they contain the same content!
In fact, if anything, the strongest evidence shows a direct link between the sexual precociousness this book promotes and vulnerability to ANY predators – on the internet or otherwise – owing to the sexual normalisation this book promotes at such a young age.
.
Huxley, like Orwell, got some things right and some wrong.
So far, at least.
As James, above, points out. The difficulty today is with the internet.
It contains a world of information, not all of which we might want to know.
Sex should be learned behind the bike shed, not online.
What’s to be done about it? Don’t know. It’s almost impossible to surpress. Haven’t seen the American book in question, myself.
Well intentioned, no doubt.
“The book features a caroon image of a couple in bed in an intimate embrace.” Disgraceful. What is the world coming to?
Why can’t we have a cartoon image of a man cutting another man’s head off, instead? Wholesome, healthy fun, instead of filth!