I just got back to New York City after almost a year in Portland, Oregon. For much of that time, I wondered why the Universe had brought me there, since I believe everything happens for a reason. Of course, there were many reasons ultimately, but among the most important was so that I could meet a woman named Stacey who would recommend a book to me. That book was Aldous Huxley’s “Island” published in 1962 (not to be confused with the sci-fi action movie “The Island” which was big-budget Hollywood piffle not based on anything written by Aldous Huxley).

Until recently, the only bits of Huxley I had read were the required classic “Brave New World,” “The Doors of Perception,” basically a mescaline trip report named after a line from William Blake about seeing the true infinite nature of things, and a few essays about eastern mysticism/philosophy contained in a volume called “Vedanta for Modern Man” edited by Christopher Isherwood. In these writings, I mostly found Huxley’s insights re-affirming of my own, which, while always appreciated, wasn’t particularly mind-blowing. Though, I certainly had to admire the depth and clarity of his writing. Despite how limited my familiarity with his work was, I felt satisfied that I had adequately benefited from it and assumed that I knew enough of what was worth knowing about his overall contribution to humanity.

After reading some decidedly pro-psychedelic writings of mine, Stacey figured that I would enjoy “Island,” the last major work Huxley wrote, the culmination of this brilliant enlightened man’s literary output. And when she suddenly piped up and recommended it, I was both pleasantly surprised and a little embarrassed because I’d never even heard of it.

It was a revelation.

There isn’t actually much plot to the book. What little there is serves primarily as a framework upon which Huxley can present an extremely comprehensive critique of Western “Civilization” and what essentially amounts to a manual for correcting its various ills, thus constructing a viable functioning utopia. As such, I found it a particularly rewarding and enjoyable read, especially in light of current events. So nice, for a change, to see that it is possible to focus on practical solutions to societal problems instead of simply going along to get along (or worse, fostering those problems for short-term gain). And I found it extremely therapeutic to break my cycle of “bad news” addiction by peeling my eyeballs away from mainstream news media (or even “The Daily Show”) and instead devoting my neurons to soaking up and grooving on Huxley’s good ideas.

The book opens in the highly disoriented consciousness of the central character, Will Farnaby, who has just narrowly survived a shipwreck. He is exhausted and badly injured. Huxley’s prose is disjointed to convey the man’s state of mind. Don’t let this throw you. The device only lasts a few pages before the book settles into a more comfortable narrative.

Farnaby is a cynical modern Western everyman, working as a journalist in the employ of a Rupert-Murdoch-like Media and Oil tycoon. His career has brought him to every war-torn, strife ridden corner of the globe. He has seen it all, and knows that the human race is doomed. By a special arrangement with his employer, he was sent to the titular island of Pala as an advance scout, to help secure drilling rights to Pala’s oil, a move which, should it come to fruition, would dismantle the Palanese way of life. But having crashed his small boat against the rocky coast, he is in no position to do much harm. Instead, he is rescued by the Palanese, treated by their healers and given the time to recover. During his convalescence, various locals come to visit the stranger, and his journalistic inquisitiveness leads him to ask about all aspects of the culture he has been sent to destroy, everything from child-rearing, to sexual mores, to death-care, to religious rites of passage, to crime prevention, and on and on (of particular interest to me was the depiction of the rite of passage for all teenagers, involving rock-climbing and magic mushrooms).

Huxley makes compelling cases for his various societal remedies, and one can’t help but wish there were some actual place where people were putting these methods into practice, at least as a test-bed.

So, this is pretty much my favorite book now. How is it possible that it took me 38 years to encounter it? I had to move to a hippie town in the Pacific Northwest to have a young woman clue me in to its existence? Why isn’t this book the well-known required classic? “Brave New World” is perhaps more compelling and inventive as literature. But it reinforces some pretty mainstream western notions (e.g.: drugs are bad) without offering any ideas for how to truly improve the human condition, in fact making it seem as if efforts in such a direction can only rob us of our humanity. “Island” on the other hand, offers simple workable ideas, which could easily contribute to a healthier way of life. No wonder it didn’t catch on. Read it anyway.