E. M. Forster: Two Cheers for Democracy ( words) Published in Two Cheers for Democracy is Forster’s second collection of essays after Abinger. Two Cheers for Democracy has ratings and 13 reviews. Greg said: Essential Forster. As an essayist E.M. Forster is every bit the equal of George Orwel. Two Cheers for Democracy – E.M. Forster – Two Cheers for Democracy – E. M. ForsterI do not believe in Belief. There are so many militant.
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Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. An ovoulue charge of 10 nP. The Abinger Edition of E. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording or otheryvisc, without the prior permission of Edward Arnold Publishers Ltd.
Not ill-content when thinking of it — pains will start with reading it for revision. In the case of a miscellany submitted, of necessity, in a wide variety of printed and typescript formats, the process is a pernickety one requiring more patience and a higher degree of numeracy than many authors possess ; and the plan, no doubt, was for the British publisher, Edward Arnold, to make sure that the book was of suitable length before Forster began the detailed work of revision.
For a miscellany, Two Cheers for Democracy is in fact, like its predecessor Abinger Harvest, a very substantial book. Yet we can safely assume that no omissions were requested of Forster for this or any other reason, since on the contrary he was able, over the next six months, to insert four additional items as they were written.
Details of their first publication are given in the notes at the end of this volume, and Forster himself, in his Acknowledgements, has men- tioned some of the periodicals involved; the others are the Atlantic Monthly, the Calendar of Modern Letters, Harper” s Magazine, London Calling, the London Mercury, the Nation New Yorkthe New York Times Book Review and Tribune, Of the various publications to which Forster contributed in the 1 s and 1 s two stand pre-eminent: Raymond Mortimer of the New Statesman and, more particularly, J.
If you could land him for an article, or a book review, you landed the whale and were the envy of every other literary editor in London. The Listener was fortunate. Morgan did a lot for me during my literary- editorship. He always helped his friends. He always did for the Listener whatever I asked him to do, if he was interested.
And even though, untilreviews in the Book Chronicle section were unsigned. Now, that was something! Our greatest living English novelist doing unsigned reviews. Moreover, he disapproved of anony- mity.
Full text of “Two Cheers For Democracy Vol-ii”
This piece, indeed, illustrates well not only the changes specific to talks or lectures, but those that are just as likely to foester anywhere: Two modern writers of European reputation, the Frenchman Andre Gide and the German Stefan George, offer contrasted reactions to the present chaos. I will begin with Gide. This has been distilled from the following: They are not well known in England, nor I suppose in India, but they are great names on the Continent, the tormented Continent, and in different ways they illustrate its tragedy.
One of them is Andre Gide, the French novelist and man of letters.
The other is a fine German poet, Stefan George. You may jump to hear me referring politely to a German poet on the British radio, and you will jump still higher when I add that the Nazis approve of this particular poet and have con- stituted him their fwo bard.
If Dr Goebbels happened to be listening now, he would certainly be surprised at forstsr pr2using Stefan George, who is his own speciality, and he would wonder what I was up to. I am up to something. Let us leave Dr Goebbels in suspense for a little, and begin by discussing Andre Gide. I must now repeat that date — Remain Rolland has s the first world-war. A chronological arrangement would have been simplest. But I was anxious to produce a book rather than a time-string.
Long beforeForster was widely regarded as, at the very least, one of the five major English novelists of the twentieth century.
To emphasize this aspect of the collection seems natural: Joseph, The Art of Rearrangement: Those preparatory schools prepared me for life better than I realized, for having passed through two imbecile societies, a sister-conscious and a mother-conscious, I am now invited to enter a third.
I am asked to consider whether the people I meet and talk about are or are not Jews, and to form no opinion on them until this fundamental point has been settled. Neither science nor religion democrach common sense has one word to say in its favour. And there follows a devastating democgacy of antisemitism. Forster points the moral and adorns the tale: It has, every now and then, to remind the governing classes that they must not take themselves arid their awards too seriously, and if it is ever afraid to do this England will cease to be England.
A working-class man I know — he grew up in a Gloucestershire village — has told me of the reactions of the villagers there to the parson thirty years back. The parson was not disliked, he was a kindly, friendly fellow, who had the right word for every occasion.
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But when the right word was spoken and he passed out of earshot, swinging his stick and looking right and left at the sky, the villagers came into their own for a moment, and used foul language about him. They had to, to clear their chests and to get rid of their feeling of incompetence.
To preserve their manhood and their self-respect, they had to splutter a little smut. In preparing this edition of Two Cheers for Democracy I have received generous and valuable help of one kind or another from the following individuals and organizations: Certain outstanding and continuing debts have been more fully acknowledged elsewhere in this edition; on this occa- sion I hope that my thanks to all concerned will not seem the less warm for being so summarily expressed.
A title for the collection has been difficult to find. One of my younger friends suggested Two Cheers for Democracy as a joke, and I have decided to adopt it seriously.
Arrangement has been still more difficult. But I was anxious to produce a book rather than a time-string, and to impose some sort of order upon the occupations and preoccupations, the appoint- ments and disappointments, of the past fifteen years. Division into two sections proved helpful. Subjects such as Antisemitism, the Nazis, Liberty, the Censorship are here discussed. The climate is political, and the conclusion suggested is that, though we cannot expect to love one another, we must learn to put up with one another.
Otherwise we shall all of us perish. It opens with an essay which may be regarded as a key to the book. Then come the arts. I have found by experience that the arts act as an antidote against our present troubles and also as a support to our common humanity, and I am glad to emphasize this at a time when they are being belittled and starved.
Theories of art are followed by the arts in action — literature particularly: Skelton and Shakespeare to Forrest Reid, Voltaire to Proust and Iqbal, together with items less easily accommodated, such as Mrs Miniver, the Duke of Portland, my own grandfather, and my own library. Beginning with the Pelew Islands, which I have only visited vicariously, I flit via India and South Africa to the United States, to Europe, to England, and finally spiral down uppn Abinger, the village in Surrey which was for many years my home.
I hope it may reveal some unity of outlook, for it certainly lacks unity of atmosphere ; some of the items being expository in tone and others allusive. The broadcasts have been troublesome. There is something cajoling and in- gratiating about them which cannot be exorcised by editing, and they have been the devil to reproduce.
I have not been firster over broadcasts. In some cases I have taken the microphone by the horns and printed the script as it stood.
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Elsewhere I have attempted concealments which the reader will probably detect. But I do not really want to record the last of anything and am glad to change.
Human life is still active, still carrying about with it unexplored riches and unused methods of release. The darkness that troubles us and tries to degrade us may thin out.
We may still contrive to raise three cheers for democracy, although at present she only deserves two. Acknowledgements My thanks for permission kindly given to reprint previously published material are due, in the first place, to the Syndics of the Cambridge University Press for Virginia Woolf; the University Board of the University of Glasgow for English Prose between igiS and iggg — and for the quotations within it from T. The essays on Crabbe and on Skelton have not been published before; nor has the meditation with which the miscellany closes.
Palace of Discovery, Astronomical Section; model of the Earth in space. Yes, here is a model of this intimate object. It is a tidy size — so large that Europe or even France should be visible on it — and it revolves at a suitable rate. It does not take twenty-four hours to go round as in fact, nor does it whizz as in poetry.
It considers the convenience of the observer, as an exhibit should. Staged in a solemn alcove, against a back- ground of lamp-super-black, it preens its contours eternally, that is to say from opening to closing time, and allows us to see our home as others would see it, were there others who could see.
Its colouring, its general appearance, accord with the latest deduc- tions. The result is surprising.
For not France, not even Europe, is visible. There are great marks on the surface of the model, but they represent clouds and snows, not continents and seas. No doubt the skilled observer could detect some underlying fussi- ness, and infer our civilization, but the average voyager through space would only notice our clouds and our snows; they strike the eye best.
Natural boundaries, guns in action, beautiful women, pipe-lines — at a little distance they all wear the same veil. Sir Malcolm Campbell beats his own records till he sees his own back, Mr Jack Hulbcrt cracks still cleaner jokes, forty thousand mon- keys are born in Brazil and fifty thousand Italians in Abyssinia, the Palace of the Soviets rises even higher than had been planned.
Lord Baden-Powell holds a yet larger jamboree, but all these exercises and the areas where they occur remain hidden away under an external shimmer. The moon — she shows her face. Throned in an adjacent room, the moon exhibits her pockmarks nakedly.
But the Earth, because she still has atmosphere and life, is a blur. The Palaces of Glass and of Peace. The last-named occasionally sings. Moved by, an emission of Roman candles from its flanks, it will break of an evening into a dulcet and commanding melody.
Splendour ever to be surpassed? Probably never to be surpassed. The Eiffel Tower sings louder, a scientific swan.