Signed
The Riddle of the Tower
Esme Wynne-Tyson's copy
he Riddle of the Tower (1944) by J.D. Beresford and Esmé Wynne-Tyson is a dystopian novel structured as a journey through time, following a London publisher swept out of the present by an air raid and set adrift across successive civilizations. Moving from an ancient island utopia to the totalitarian future predicted by a philosopher's manuscript he has just agreed to publish, the novel traces the long human descent into mechanized conformity and ultimately into something beyond the human altogether. Written during the Second World War, it anticipates the postwar dystopias of Orwell and others while remaining distinctly its own thing. The first edition, published by Hutchinson in 1944, was a cheaply produced wartime issue and is difficult to find in collectible condition.
Author’s copy. This example belonged to Esmé Wynne-Tyson and comes from the estate of her son John Wynne-Tyson. The front free endpaper and half-title page contain three pages of penciled reflections in her hand, dated and initialed 17 June 1951. These annotations are deeply characteristic of her spiritual and philosophical outlook, rejecting materialism in favor of imagination, moral seriousness, and a sense of the sacred in nature.
In one passage she writes: “Away with your dreary materialistic knowledge. When I was a child the mossy tree trunks hid small sliding doors which, if you found the key, would admit you to fairyland.” Elsewhere she mourns the loss of wonder in an increasingly mechanized world: “There was mystery, there was charm, there was magic, which your utilitarian marvels not only lack, but destroy.” She also offers a pointed observation on postwar England, noting that the country can “afford so many wars and so few drains.”
Taken together, the notes form a vivid personal document that illuminates Wynne-Tyson’s inner life and philosophical beliefs.
Laid in are two contemporary newspaper clippings: a small notice mentioning Beresford, and a folded front page of the Daily Herald (25 October 1944) with a review of The Riddle of the Tower on the verso. The review, titled “Awful Warning from Mr. Beresford,” praises the book as “a great feat of the imagination.”
Hardcover. First Edition, First Printing. Octavo, bound in tan cloth with titles stamped in green. London: Hutchinson, [1944]. #11404.
Good copy in worn dust jacket.
Author’s copy. This example belonged to Esmé Wynne-Tyson and comes from the estate of her son John Wynne-Tyson. The front free endpaper and half-title page contain three pages of penciled reflections in her hand, dated and initialed 17 June 1951. These annotations are deeply characteristic of her spiritual and philosophical outlook, rejecting materialism in favor of imagination, moral seriousness, and a sense of the sacred in nature.
In one passage she writes: “Away with your dreary materialistic knowledge. When I was a child the mossy tree trunks hid small sliding doors which, if you found the key, would admit you to fairyland.” Elsewhere she mourns the loss of wonder in an increasingly mechanized world: “There was mystery, there was charm, there was magic, which your utilitarian marvels not only lack, but destroy.” She also offers a pointed observation on postwar England, noting that the country can “afford so many wars and so few drains.”
Taken together, the notes form a vivid personal document that illuminates Wynne-Tyson’s inner life and philosophical beliefs.
Laid in are two contemporary newspaper clippings: a small notice mentioning Beresford, and a folded front page of the Daily Herald (25 October 1944) with a review of The Riddle of the Tower on the verso. The review, titled “Awful Warning from Mr. Beresford,” praises the book as “a great feat of the imagination.”
Hardcover. First Edition, First Printing. Octavo, bound in tan cloth with titles stamped in green. London: Hutchinson, [1944]. #11404.
Good copy in worn dust jacket.
Additional Details
The Riddle of the Tower opens in wartime London, where Begbie, a publisher of progressive literature, receives a manuscript from a philosopher named Paul Detfold arguing that human beings are fundamentally creatures of "automatism," enslaved by habit and reflex, constitutionally incapable of genuine freedom. Intrigued, Begbie agrees to publish the work. An air raid explosion then propels him out of ordinary time and onto a journey across the "wheel of time" that will take him through successive civilizations, each one illustrating a stage in the argument Detfold's manuscript has set out.
His first incarnation is as Aakisi, a member of a harmonious island civilization with something of the quality of a mythic Atlantis. It is a society of beauty and genuine communal life, and it collapses not from internal corruption but from contact with outsiders, a detail that carries its own quiet argument about the fragility of utopian conditions. As Begbie drifts forward through the ages, the trajectory becomes progressively darker.
In the novel's future sections, he witnesses the totalitarian society that Detfold's thesis has predicted and that humanity's successive choices have produced. It is a world that emerged after a Third World War and has since achieved a grim stability. Dissenters are removed without trial by a fatal soporific. Genius is classified as a form of madness. Parenthood has been abolished. Those who outlive their usefulness are dispatched to "the Hospital." Under what the novel calls "the mechanical system," people move through their lives like automatons, their laughter itself a conditioned stimulus response rather than genuine feeling. The population, as the narrator discovers, has no differences to discuss because it has been conformed into perfect agreement, and beneath that agreement runs a constant unacknowledged fear, which proves to have been the force holding the whole structure together all along.
The novel's final horizon extends further still, into a future where the human form itself has been superseded. The insectoid automatons who replace humankind are not conquerors but successors, the logical endpoint of the drive toward collective efficiency that the earlier sections have traced. Beresford and Wynne-Tyson refuse to make this apocalyptic in any dramatic sense. It simply arrives as the conclusion of a long, patient argument.
Beresford came to the novel from a background shaped by H.G. Wells, with whom he had a significant early relationship and whose rational optimism he had once shared. By the 1940s, that optimism had given way to something considerably darker, and The Riddle of the Tower reads partly as a reckoning with the Wellsian tradition from the inside. Wynne-Tyson brought a complementary perspective rooted in spiritual philosophy and moral seriousness, and the collaboration gives the novel a texture it might not have achieved from either writer alone: speculative architecture from Beresford, and from Wynne-Tyson an insistence that what is being lost in each stage of humanity's mechanization is something irreducible and sacred. Written during the Second World War, when the question of where collective human organization was heading felt anything but academic, the novel anticipates the postwar dystopias of Orwell and others while remaining distinctly its own thing.
His first incarnation is as Aakisi, a member of a harmonious island civilization with something of the quality of a mythic Atlantis. It is a society of beauty and genuine communal life, and it collapses not from internal corruption but from contact with outsiders, a detail that carries its own quiet argument about the fragility of utopian conditions. As Begbie drifts forward through the ages, the trajectory becomes progressively darker.
In the novel's future sections, he witnesses the totalitarian society that Detfold's thesis has predicted and that humanity's successive choices have produced. It is a world that emerged after a Third World War and has since achieved a grim stability. Dissenters are removed without trial by a fatal soporific. Genius is classified as a form of madness. Parenthood has been abolished. Those who outlive their usefulness are dispatched to "the Hospital." Under what the novel calls "the mechanical system," people move through their lives like automatons, their laughter itself a conditioned stimulus response rather than genuine feeling. The population, as the narrator discovers, has no differences to discuss because it has been conformed into perfect agreement, and beneath that agreement runs a constant unacknowledged fear, which proves to have been the force holding the whole structure together all along.
The novel's final horizon extends further still, into a future where the human form itself has been superseded. The insectoid automatons who replace humankind are not conquerors but successors, the logical endpoint of the drive toward collective efficiency that the earlier sections have traced. Beresford and Wynne-Tyson refuse to make this apocalyptic in any dramatic sense. It simply arrives as the conclusion of a long, patient argument.
Beresford came to the novel from a background shaped by H.G. Wells, with whom he had a significant early relationship and whose rational optimism he had once shared. By the 1940s, that optimism had given way to something considerably darker, and The Riddle of the Tower reads partly as a reckoning with the Wellsian tradition from the inside. Wynne-Tyson brought a complementary perspective rooted in spiritual philosophy and moral seriousness, and the collaboration gives the novel a texture it might not have achieved from either writer alone: speculative architecture from Beresford, and from Wynne-Tyson an insistence that what is being lost in each stage of humanity's mechanization is something irreducible and sacred. Written during the Second World War, when the question of where collective human organization was heading felt anything but academic, the novel anticipates the postwar dystopias of Orwell and others while remaining distinctly its own thing.
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