The year is 632 A.F. (After Ford, as in Henry, the New World’s philosopher-god of the assembly line). That would be 2540 AD. The past is absent from school curricula, for, as Ford proclaimed, “History is bunk.” Sexual promiscuity is mandated by the state; birth control pills are worn on women’s belts, a fashion item. If pills fail, abortion is available. Huxley’s “symbol of the New World, its crest,” is the zipper; he suspected the book’s merrily unzipping zippers explained American attitudes to his novel.

“Community, Identity, Stability” are guaranteed. Sad, anxious thoughts? Whisk them away with side-effect-free mood boosters (soma). “A gramme is better than a damn.” (Huxley’s spelling can seem antique.) So far, so familiar. The book opens in the Central London Hatchery and Conditioning Centre, where each fetus, scientifically designed for its class (Alpha, Beta, Gamma and so on) is ripened in its bottle, then decanted. The family is extinct.

Sleeping New World children hear whispered messages — “I love new clothes, I love new clothes” — like TV ads aimed at kids today, or like President George W. Bush’s comforting message to a panicked America: “Go shopping.” With no messy family life, no looking back, human lives are trauma-free. “No pains have been spared,” students touring the Hatchery are told, “to preserve you, as far as possible, from having any emotions at all.”