The Book of This and That

In Short

This book is a compilation of journalistic essays originally published in The New Statesman during the early twentieth century. Across twenty-eight short chapters, the author examines everything from the nature of suspicion and political hypocrisy to the "sin" of dancing and the beauty of statistics. Its enduring appeal lies in the author's ability to pull wisdom from the mundane. By turning a skeptical eye toward contemporary fads and entrenched social injustices alike, the writing remains a masterclass in the gentle, observant art of the essay.

The Story

The arc of these essays is not a linear narrative but a progression of moods and meditations. The collection opens with "Suspicion," a scathing diagnosis of how public life, rather than pursuing truth, often descends into a "leering perversion" of it. From there, the author moves through a series of reflections on the human condition, shifting from the lighthearted—such as the perennial, doomed human habit of making good resolutions—to the deeply serious.

As the middle chapters unfold, the tone darkens to address the absurdity of societal conventions. The author skewers the "delusion" of modern fashion, which he argues prioritizes marketing over actual beauty, and he turns a fierce light on the historical and contemporary horrors of extreme religious dogmatism, noting how many once took sensual pleasure in the prospect of their enemies burning in Hell. This critical impulse is never cruel; it is grounded in a desire for a more humane society. He repeatedly returns to the idea that our collective stupidity—our habit of prioritizing individual comforts over the rights of our neighbors—is the greatest obstacle to progress.

In the later sections, the scope broadens to address the "terrors of politics" and the strange, often contradictory nature of human belief. The author explores the "humour of hoaxes," warning that our fear of appearing ignorant makes us susceptible to being fooled by pretentiousness, whether in literature or political discourse. He defends the role of the critic, arguing that criticism is not a failed art form but a creative pursuit in its own right, akin to the work of a gardener who clears away weeds to let the flowers breathe.

The collection concludes with a shift toward the power of objective truth as an instrument of social change. In the final essay, the author finds a surprising, almost poetic beauty in statistics, arguing that the cold, hard numbers of wealth inequality "thunder at one's imagination" more effectively than any politician's rhetoric. The journey ends not with a grand resolution, but with a call to replace the sword of empty rhetoric with the steady, sharp weapon of the "Arithmiad"—the measured, statistical account of human misery and abundance. Throughout, the author remains a constant companion, urging the reader to keep their eyes open, to refuse to be shocked by the wrong things, and to value the "child's vision" that allows even a dull world to blossom with color and meaning.

How It Unfolds

The critical gaze The opening essays establish a tone of intellectual inquiry, dissecting the "beast" of suspicion and the futility of human resolutions. The author argues that true wisdom requires us to move past the "drag of old habit" that stunts our growth.

The social critique The middle chapters pivot to cultural and political commentary, exploring how we dress, how we dance, and how we justify injustice. He systematically dismantles the conventions that protect greed, such as the "stupidity" that allows the wealthy to ignore the suffering of the poor.

The defense of the intellect The author spends several chapters grappling with the nature of art and public debate, defending critics and lampooning the pretentiousness that leads people to celebrate hoaxes. He insists that society only progresses when we learn to be shocked by our own moral failures rather than by breaches of etiquette.

The final tally The collection closes by embracing the power of facts, moving from philosophical musings to a surprising advocacy for the role of the statistician. He frames the collection as a transition between the old, servile ways of living and a future where objective truth drives reform.

The People

The figures in these essays are rarely individuals in the traditional sense, but rather archetypes that the author uses to illuminate human behavior. The Politician appears frequently as a cautionary figure, often portrayed as a man who plays games with reality while Rome burns. The Critic is presented as a misunderstood figure, a "brusher of noblemen’s clothes" who is essential for tidiness and honesty. The Child emerges as a symbol of the ideal vision—a state of innocence and curiosity that is required to recover a true sense of Christmas and wonder. Julia Decies, a woman who attempted to murder an abusive partner, is discussed as a tragic figure in a "story of contemporary life," serving as a foil for the legalistic, detached morality of a judge like Mr. Justice Darling. Finally, historical figures like Bernard Shaw and the Bishop of Kensington serve as proxies for the broader conflict between rigid tradition and radical theory, illustrating how easily we quarrel over things we have never actually seen.

In Its Own Voice

"Suspicion is a beast with a thousand eyes, but most of them are blind, or colour-blind, or askew, or rolling, or yellow."

The author uses this vivid, grotesque image to introduce his opening critique of the suspicious nature of modern public discourse.

"It is only our stupidity which makes us believe that, while it is right that superfluous wealth should be taxed a shilling in the pound for the good of all, it would be robbery to tax it ten shillings in the pound for the good of all."

He applies this blunt logic to illustrate how conventional economic attitudes prevent a more equitable society.

"Critics of the better sort need not worry when their service is misconstrued as servitude."

Defending his own craft, the author argues that the intellectual labor of criticism is a noble, necessary task.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the tension between human pretentiousness and the simple reality of our shared existence. The author asks why we cling so tightly to conventions—in dress, politics, and religion—that only serve to mask our own greed and ignorance. He identifies our "stupidity" not as a lack of intelligence, but as a lack of conscience, a willful choice to remain comfortable while others suffer. The central argument is that we are trapped by our own desire to appear knowledgeable and sophisticated, and that the only way forward is to "recover the child’s vision," to see the world as it truly is, and to allow ourselves to be shocked by the systemic injustices we have grown accustomed to ignoring.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the gentle, wandering pace of writers like G.K. Chesterton or E.M. Forster will find a kindred spirit here. The book is not a demanding narrative but a series of invitations to think differently about the ordinary. It feels like a long, intelligent conversation with a friend who is deeply learned but never condescending.

You should be aware, however, that the language is firmly rooted in the early 1900s; the references to specific scandals, minor politicians, and Victorian art will occasionally require the reader to be patient or to embrace their own lack of context. The author also periodically employs the period’s casual assumptions about gender and class, which may strike a modern reader as dated or even jarring. Yet, beneath these historical markers lies a radical, evergreen clarity. The author’s wit is sharp enough to cut through the noise of any century. What stays with you is his profound, quiet conviction that life is meant to be more than a collection of social performances, and that the most revolutionary act one can perform is to look at the world—and one’s own place in it—with total, unvarnished honesty.