George Mikes. How to be an Alien

A HANDBOOK FOR BEGINNERS AND ADVANCED PUPILS

'I have seen much to hate here, much to

forgive. But in a world where England is

finished and dead, I do not wish to live.'

ALICE DUER MILLER: The White Cliffs

PREFACE TO THE 24th IMPRESSION

the reception given to this book when it first appeared in the autumn

of 1946, was at once a pleasant surprise and a disappointment for me. A

surprise, because the reception was so kind; a disappointment for the same

reason.

Let me explain.

The first part of this statement needs little amplification. Even

people who are not closely connected with the publishing trade will be able

to realize that it is very nice - I'm sorry. I'd better be a little more

English: a not totally unpleasant thing for a completely unknown author to

run into three impressions within a few weeks of publication and thereafter

into another twenty-one.

What is my grievance, then? It is that this book has completely changed

the picture I used to cherish of myself. This was to be a book of defiance.

Before its publication I felt myself a man who was going to tell the English

where to get off. I had spoken my mind regardless of consequences; I thought

I was brave and outspoken and expected either to go unnoticed or to face a

storm. But no storm came. I expected the English to be up in arms against me

but they patted me on the back; I expected the British nation to rise in

wrath but all they said, was: 'quite amusing'. It was indeed a bitter

disappointment.

While the Rumanian Radio was serializing (without my permission) How to

be an Alien as an anti-British tract, the Central Office of Information rang

me up here in London and asked me to allow the book to be translated into

Polish for the benefit of those many Polish refugees who were then settling

in this country. 'We want our friends to see us in this light,' the man said

on the telephone. This was hard to bear for my militant and defiant spirit.

'But it's not such a favour able light,' I protested feebly. It's a very

human light and that is the most favourable,' retorted the official. I was

crushed.

A few weeks later my drooping spirit was revived when I heard of a

suburban bank manager whose wife had brought this book home to him remarking

that she had found it fairly amusing. The gentleman in ques tion sat down in

front of his open fire, put his feet up and read the book right through with

a continually darkening face. When he had finished, he stood up and said:

'Downright impertinence.'

And threw the book into the fire.

He was a noble and patriotic spirit and he did me a great deal of good.

I wished there had been more like him in England. But I could never find

another.

Since then I have actually written about a dozen books; but I might as

well have never written anything else. I remained the author of How to be an

Alien even after I had published a collection of serious essays. Even Mr

Somerset Maugham complained about this type of treatment bitterly and

repeatedly. Whatever he did, he was told that he would never write another

Of Human Bondage', Arnold Bennett in spite of fifty other works remained the

author of The Old Wives' Tale and nothing else; and Mr Robert Graves is just

the author of the Claudius books. These authors are much more eminent tlian

I am; but their problem is the same. At the moment I am engaged in writing a

750-page picaresque novel set in ancient Sumeria. It is taking shape nicely

and I am going to get the Nobel Prize for it. But it will be of no use: I

shall still remain the author of How to be an A lien.

I am not complaining. One's books start living their independent lives

soon enough, just like one's children. I love this book; it has done almost

as much for me as I have done for it. Yet, however loving a parent you may

be, it hurts your pride a little if you are only known, acknowledged and

accepted as the father of your eldest child.

In 1946 I took this manuscript to Andre Deutsch, a young man who had

just decided to try his luck as a publisher. He used to go, once upon a

time, to the same school as my younger brother. I knew him from the old days

and it was quite obvious to me even then, in Budapest, when he was only

twelve and wore shorts, that he would make an excellent publisher in London

if he only had the chance. So I offered my book to him and as, at that time,

he could not get manuscripts from better known authors, he accepted it with

a sigh. He suggested that Nicolas Bentley should be asked to 'draw the

pictures'. I liked the idea but I said he would turn the suggestion down.

Once again I was right: he did turn it down. Eventually, however, he was

persuaded to change his mind.

Mr Deutsch was at that time working for a different firm. Four years

after the publication of this book, and after the subsequent publication of

three other Mikes-Bentley books, he left this firm while I stayed with them

and went on working with another popular and able cartoonist, David Langdon.

Now, however, Andre Deutsch has bought all the rights of my past and future

output from his former firm and the original team of Deutsch, Bentley and

myself are together again under the imprint of the first named gentleman. We

are all twelve years older and Mr Deutsch does not wear shorts any more, or

not in the office, at any rate.

'When are you going to write another How to be an Alien?' Deutsch and

Bentley ask me from time to time and I am sure they mean it kindly.

They cannot quite make out the reply I mutter ill answer to their

friendly query. It is: 'Never, if I can help it.'

London, May 1958 GEORGE MIKES

PREFACE

I believe, without undue modesty, that I have cer tain qualifications

to write on 'how to be an alien.' I am an alien myself. What is more, I have

been an alien all my life. Only during the first twenty-six years of my life

I was not aware of this plain fact. I was living in my own country, a

country full of aliens, and I noticed nothing particular or irregular about

myself; then I came to England, and you can imagine my painful sur prise.

Like all great and important discoveries it was a matter of a few

seconds. You probably all know from your schooldays how Isaac Newton

discovered the law of gravitation. An apple fell on his head. This incident

set him thinking for a minute or two, then he ex claimed joyfully: 'Of

course I The gravitation constant is the acceleration per second that a mass

of one gram causes at a distance of one centimetre.' You were also taught

that James Watt one day went into the kitchen where cabbage was cooking and

saw the lid of the sauce pan rise and fall. 'Now let me think,' he murmured

- let me think.' Then he struck his forehead and the steam engine was

discovered. It was the same with me, although circumstances were rather

different.

It was like this. Some years ago I spent a lot of time with a young

lady who was very proud and conscious of being English. Once she asked me -

to my great sur prise - whether I would marry her. 'No,' I replied, 1 will

not. My mother would never agree to my marrying a foreigner.' She looked at

me a little surprised and irri tated, and retorted: I, a foreigner? What a

silly thing to say. I am English. You are the foreigner. And your mother,

too.' I did not give in. In Budapest, too?' I asked her. 'Everywhere,' she

declared with determination. 'Truth does not depend on geography. What is

true in England is also true in Hungary and in North Borneo and Venezuela

and everywhere.'

I saw that this theory was as irrefutable as it was simple. I was

startled and upset. Mainly because of my mother whom I loved and respected.

Now, I suddenly learned what she really was.

It was a shame and bad taste to be an alien, and it is no use

pretending otherwise. There is no way out of it. A criminal may improve and

become a decent member of society. A foreigner cannot improve. Once a

foreigner, always a foreigner. There is no way out for him. He may become

British; he can never become English.

So it is better to reconcile yourself to the sorrowful reality. There

are some noble English people who might forgive you. There are some

magnanimous souls who realize that it is not your fault, only your

misfortune. They will treat you with condescension, understanding and

sympathy. They will invite you to their homes. Just as they keep lap-dogs

and other pets, they are quite prepared to keep a few foreigners.

The title of this book. How to be an Alien, consequently expresses more

than it should. How to be an alien? One should not be an alien at all. There

are certain rules, however, which have to be followed if you want to make

yourself as acceptable and civilized as you possibly can.

Study these rules, and imitate the English. There can be only one

result: if you don't succeed in imitating them you become ridiculous; if you

do, you become even more ridiculous.

1. How to be a general Alien

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