Experiment in Autobiography - Discoveries and Conclusions of a Very Ordinary Brain (Since 1866)

H. G. Wells

Description

Today, H. G. Wells is perhaps best remembered for his contributions to the science fiction genre thanks to such novels as “The Time Machine” (1895), “The Invisible Man” (1897), and “The War of the Worlds” (1898). Here, Wells recounts his childhood, school days, struggle to make money, eventual literary success, and predictions of the future. A fascinating and unique look into the life and mind of this seminal author, this autobiography will appeal to all who have read and loved the works of H. G. Wells.

Sujets

• Autobiography
• Biography
• Lettres et linguistique
• Literary Figures

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 04 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774642597
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 4 Mo

Extrait

Experiment in Autobiography - Discoveries and Conclusions of a Very Ordinary Brain (Since 1866)
by H. G. Wells

First published in 1934
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
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H. G. WELLS
Experiment In Autobiography -

Discoveries and Conclusions of a Very Ordinary Brain (Since 1866)
by H. G. WELLS


WITH DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR
[Page v]
[1]
CHAPTER THE FIRST
INTRODUCTORY
§ 1 Prelude (1932)
I need freedom of mind. I want peace for work. I am distressed byimmediate circumstances. My thoughts and work are encumberedby claims and vexations and I cannot see any hope of release fromthem; any hope of a period of serene and beneficent activity, beforeI am overtaken altogether by infirmity and death. I am in a phase offatigue and of that discouragement which is a concomitant of fatigue,the petty things of to-morrow skirmish in my wakeful brain,and I find it difficult to assemble my forces to confront this problemwhich paralyses the proper use of myself.
I am putting even the pretence of other work aside in an attemptto deal with this situation. I am writing a report about it—to myself.I want to get these discontents clear because I have a feeling that asthey become clear they will either cease from troubling me or becomemanageable and controllable.
There is nothing I think very exceptional in my situation as amental worker. Entanglement is our common lot. I believe this cravingfor a release from—bothers, from daily demands and urgencies,from responsibilities and tempting distractions, is shared by an increasingnumber of people who, with specialized and distinctivework to do, find themselves eaten up by first-hand affairs. This isthe outcome of a specialization and a sublimation of interests thathas become frequent only in the last century or so. Spaciousness andleisure, and even the desire for spaciousness and leisure, have so far [2] been exceptional. Most individual creatures since life began, havebeen "up against it" all the time, have been driven continually byfear and cravings, have had to respond to the unresting antagonismsof their surroundings, and they have found a sufficient and sustaininginterest in the drama of immediate events provided for them bythese demands. Essentially, their living was continuous adjustmentto happenings. Good hap and ill hap filled it entirely. They hungeredand ate and they desired and loved; they were amused and attracted,they pursued or escaped, they were overtaken and they died.
But with the dawn of human foresight and with the appearanceof a great surplus of energy in life such as the last century or so hasrevealed, there has been a progressive emancipation of the attentionfrom everyday urgencies. What was once the whole of life, has becometo an increasing extent, merely the background of life. Peoplecan ask now what would have been an extraordinary question fivehundred years ago. They can say, "Yes, you earn a living, you supporta family, you love and hate, but— what do you do? "
Conceptions of living, divorced more and more from immediacy,distinguish the modern civilized man from all former life. In art, inpure science, in literature, for instance, many people find sustainingseries of interests and incentives which have come at last to have agreater value for them than any primary needs and satisfactions.These primary needs are taken for granted. The everyday things oflife become subordinate to these wider interests which have takenhold of them, and they continue to value everyday things, personalaffections and material profit and loss, only in so far as they areancillary to the newer ruling system of effort, and to evade or disregardthem in so far as they are antagonistic or obstructive to that.And the desire to live as fully as possible within the ruling system ofeffort becomes increasingly conscious and defined.
The originative intellectual worker is not a normal human beingand does not lead nor desire to lead a normal human life. He wantsto lead a supernormal life.
Mankind is realizing more and more surely that to escape fromindividual immediacies into the less personal activities now increasing [3] in human society is not, like games, reverie, intoxication or suicide,a suspension or abandonment of the primary life; on the contraryit is the way to power over that primary life which, thoughsubordinated, remains intact. Essentially it is an imposition upon theprimary life of a participation in the greater life of the race as awhole. In studies and studios and laboratories, administrative bureausand exploring expeditions, a new world is germinated and develops.It is not a repudiation of the old but a vast extension of it, ina racial synthesis into which individual aims will ultimately be absorbed.We originative intellectual workers are reconditioning humanlife.
Now in this desire, becoming increasingly lucid and continuousfor me as my life has gone on, in this desire to get the primaries oflife under control and to concentrate the largest possible proportionof my energy upon the particular system of effort that has establisheditself for me as my distinctive business in the world, I findthe clue to the general conduct not only of my own life and the keynot only to my present perplexities, but a clue to the difficulties ofmost scientific, philosophical, artistic, creative, preoccupied men andwomen. We are like early amphibians, so to speak, struggling outof the waters that have hitherto covered our kind, into the air,seeking to breathe in a new fashion and emancipate ourselves fromlong accepted and long unquestioned necessities. At last it becomesfor us a case of air or nothing. But the new land has not yet definitivelyemerged from the waters and we swim distressfully in an elementwe wish to abandon.
I do not now in the least desire to live longer unless I can go onwith what I consider to be my proper business. That is not to saythat the stuff of everyday life has not been endlessly interesting, excitingand delightful for me in my time: clash of personalities, musicand beauty, eating and drinking, travel and meetings, new landsand strange spectacles, the work for successes, much aimless play,much laughter, the getting well again after illness, the pleasures, thevery real pleasures, of vanity. Let me not be ungrateful to life for itsfundamental substances. But I have had a full share of all these [4] things and I do not want to remain alive simply for more of them. Iwant the whole stream of this daily life stuff to flow on for me—fora long time yet—if, what I call my work can still be, can be morethan ever the emergent meaning of the stream. But only on thatcondition. And that is where I am troubled now. I find myself lessable to get on with my work than ever before. Perhaps the yearshave something to do with that, and it may be that a progressivebroadening and deepening of my conception of what my workshould be, makes it less easy than it was; but the main cause is certainlythe invasion of my time and thought by matters that areeither quite secondary to my real business or have no justifiable connectionwith it. Subordinate and everyday things, it seems to me inthis present mood, surround me in an ever-growing jungle. Myhours are choked with them; my thoughts are tattered by them. Allmy life I have been pushing aside intrusive tendrils, shirking discursiveconsequences, bilking unhelpful obligations, but I am moreaware of them now and less hopeful about them than I have everbeen. I have a sense of crisis; that the time has come to reorganizemy peace, if the ten or fifteen years ahead, which at the utmost I mayhope to work in now, are to be saved from being altogether overgrown.
I will explain later what I think my particular business to be. Butfor it, if it is to be properly done, I require a pleasant well-lit writingroom in good air and a comfortable bedroom to sleep in—and, if themood takes me, to write in—both free from distracting noises andindeed all unexpected disturbances. There should be a secretary orat least a typist within call and out of earshot, and, within reach, anabundant library and the rest of the world all hung accessibly on tothat secretary's telephone. (But it would have to be a one-way telephone,so that when we wanted news we could ask for it, and whenwe were not in a state to receive and digest news, we should nothave it forced upon us.) That would be the central cell of my life.That would give the immediate material conditions for the bestwork possible. I think I would like that the beautiful scenery outsidethe big windows should be changed ever and again, but I recognize [5] the difficulties in the way of that. In the background there wouldhave to be, at need, food, exercise and stimulating, agreeable andvarious conversation, and, pervading all my consciousness, thereshould be a sense of security and attention, an assurance that whatwas produced, when I had done my best upon it, would be properlysignificant and effective. In such circumstances I feel I could still domuch in these years before me, without hurry and without waste. Ican see a correlated scheme of work I could do that would, I feel, beenormously worth while, and the essence of my trouble is that theclock ticks on, the moments drip out and trickle, flow away as hours,as days, and I cannot adjust my life to secure any such fruitful peace.
It scarcely needs criticis