The land was cheap in those days, and they acquired it by purchase then, to demonstrate their abhorrence of the institution of property, ceremonially burnt the title deeds. They even flirt with, though never quite join, an experimental commune being set up in their area, about which Muggeridge has the best stories: Throughout Muggeridge’s youth, his family would host meetings, sing socialist songs, run for various minor offices on the socialist ticket, and exchange correspondence with intellectual worthies. These last two I had only the slightest familiarity with, but Muggeridge paints a picture of them as the progressive titans of his day, boasting a combination of Chomsky’s intellectual leadership and the Clintons’ network and political acumen. Their heroes were Karl Marx, George Bernard Shaw, and Fabian leaders Sidney and Beatrice Webb. He describes his birth in 1903 to a family of committed British socialists. Muggeridge is an obvious reactionary, but one with the personal and historical credentials to pull it off with the utmost class and credibility. It was a good choice, and not just because its title appropriately described my expectations about reading 500-page books on people’s recommendation. I was recently recommended Chronicles of Wasted Time, the autobiography of Malcolm Muggeridge.
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