Spoiler alert: This post is part of an in-depth discussion of Perelandra by C. S. Lewis, which will inevitably reveal key plot points. I recommend reading the book first. It's short, I promise.
Mark Studdock is a Fellow at Bracton College in the University of Edgestow. At a meeting of the Governing Board, the Progressive Element, a clique of which Mark is part, succeeded in approving the sale of some College property, the ancient Bragdon Wood, to the N.I.C.E., a scientific research institution. Afterward, Lord Feverstone (aka Dick Devine), another Fellow and an influential politician involved with the N.I.C.E., told Mark what the real business of the think tank is: human advancement through eugenics, environmental manipulation, and ultimately interplanetary travel. He invited Mark to join the N.I.C.E. to write flattering propaganda.
Jane, Mark's wife of six months, is a graduate student. She was disturbed by a nightmare of a recently executed murderer. She visited Mr. Dimble, her tutor, and his wife, and they suggested she talk to someone they knew in St. Anne's on the Hill. When she returned home, thoughts of her nightmare frightened her, and when Mark arrived, he found her sobbing at the door.
The next day, Mark drove with Lord Feverstone to Belbury, headquarters of the N.I.C.E., while Jane rode the train to St. Anne's, to meet with the Dimbles' acquaintance, Miss Ironwood.
Chapter 3: "Belbury and St. Anne's-on-the-Hill"1
Having arrived at the Blood Transfusion Office, the "florid Edwardian mansion" with its modernist additions that serves as the temporary headquarters of the N.I.C.E., Mark meets with John Wither, the Deputy Director. Wither is an elderly, polite man whom Mark feels is not wholly attentive; indeed, he seems to think Mark and Feverstone arrived by air, then by train, rather than car, despite being corrected. His mannerisms seem designed to put Mark at his ease, but he doesn't. In fact he doesn't seem to know anything about Mark at all, and when Mark presses him multiple times as to what his job description is, Wither completely fails to give a direct answer.
He is invited to lunch at the N.I.C.E. club, where (deserted by Feverstone) he sits amidst a group of strangers, whose conversation is incomprehensible due to the heavy jargon. After lunch they move to a lounge for coffee, where Mark encounters one of his own colleagues from Bracton: William Hingest, another Fellow whom the Progressive Element call "Bill the Blizzard." Hingest is apparently not on speaking terms with Feverstone. He was not present at the College meeting and regards the sale of Bragdon Wood to the N.I.C.E. as a foregone conclusion, though he doesn't know why they want it. Hingest is quitting the N.I.C.E. and advises Mark to go back to Bracton as well.
The narrator mentions that Hingest's family "was of almost mythical antiquity." I wonder if we're supposed to believe that he is related to Hengist and his brother Horsa, who, according to legend, led the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes in their invasion of Great Britain in the 5th century.
Mark hasn't made up his mind yet about taking the N.I.C.E. job and is determined to stay at least for a little while, so Hingest introduces him to Steele, the head of department for sociology, whom Mark would presumably be under. But Steele hasn't heard of him, either, and seems confused by him (remarking to another colleague, Cosser, that it's just like Feverstone to unload Mark on them like that).
Next, Mark is met by another man who recognizes him: Professor Filostrato, a famed Italian pphysiologist whom he had met two years earlier. Unlike Hingest, Filostrato seems to be all in with the N.I.C.E., calling their work "nothing less than the existence of the human race." He has a rather low opinion of his N.I.C.E. colleagues, in particular saying Steele and Feverstone are "of no consequence."
"Filostrato" means something like "defeated by love." It is the name of one of the narrators of Giovanni Boccaccio's Decameron, and the name of another of his poems, Il Filostrato, the inspiration for Geoffrey Chaucer's poem Troilus and Criseyde and in turn Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida. There was also a second-century Roman Sophist (travelling teacher of philosophy or rhetoric) named Philostratus. It's not clear whether Professor Filostrato is intended to be the namesake of any of these.
Filostrato warns Mark not to get on the bad side of Miss Hardcastle, the head of the institutional police, whom he calls the Fairy, and disparages as "Inglesaccia" (i.e. a nasty Englishwoman). Miss Hardcastle is a large, muscular, older woman in a black uniform, who drapes her leg over the chair arm when she sits down. A mannish woman with (implied?) sexual ambiguity and an ironic nickname who works in security? It's almost like she's a Bond villain, but a decade ahead of time. If this was a James Bond movie, she'd be the final opponent 007 had to beat.
Mark talks at length with Miss Hardcastle. Much of the discussion
has to do with her view of punishment. The Fairy (and, we can assume,
the N.I.C.E. falls on the side of "humane, remedial treatment" over
retributive punishment. In one of C. S. Lewis's most famous essays,
"The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment," he critiques such "remedial"
views of justice as the N.I.C.E. apparently supports, in which
punishment serves as a curative (for whatever disease the criminal has
that caused him to commit his crimes) or a deterrent. Retributive
justice, in which the criminal is punished because that is what he
deserves, is regarded merely as revenge. To Miss Hardcastle,
retribution is inadequate because "desert was always finite: you could
do so much to the criminal and no more." On the other hand, remedial
treament has no limits: "it could go on till it had effected a cure,
and those who were carrying it out would decide when that was." Views
like the Fairy's are why Lewis himself came down strongly on the side
of retribution: humanitarian theories opened up the possibility of
"cruelty and injustice without end."2 The endgame: "Soon
anyone who had ever been in the hands of the police at all would come
under the control of the N.I.C.E.; in the end, every citizen." This
sounds rather ominous, and it calls to my mind O'Brien's lecture to
Winston in Nineteen Eighty-Four (again, Lewis preceded
Orwell): "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping
on a human face—forever."
Miss Hardcastle isn't just some dumb henchman. She's clearly thought long and hard about this question, and she's glad Mark is on board so they can work hand in hand on it. Mark and sociology provide the theory; she and her police provide the muscle.
Later, Mark goes to dinner. He is seated next to Hingest, who tells him he is leaving tonight and offers Mark a ride, but Mark has decided to stay. Hingest is disillusioned with the N.I.C.E. because he had thought it a scientific institution, but it's actually political. Having heard Hingest is leaving, Miss Hardcastle asks him for a lift. (That's not disconcerting at all.) Unfortunately for her, he's going the wrong way. As he leaves, Hingest appeals to Mark one more time to go back to Bracton.
Meanwhile, in St. Anne's, Jane Studdock is admitted into Miss Ironwood's house, escorted by a Camilla Denniston. Is she any relation to the Denniston who was Mark's chief competition for his Fellowship? Miss Ironwood herself is about sixty, very tall, and dressed in black. Jane relates her dream to her, and she takes notes.
When Miss Ironwood learns that Jane's maiden name is Tudor (I think we are expected to understand that she is related to the Tudor dynasty that began with Henry VII), she asks if she is part of the Warwickshire branch of the family (which she is). Jane has an ancestor who wrote an accurate account of the Battle of Worcester (fought in 1651, marking the end of the British Civil War, the decisive victory of the Parliamentarians over the Royalists, and the beginning of Charles II's exile). But Jane's ancestor was in York at the time, not Worcester; he dreamt the battle. Jane has inherited a prophetic gift that gives her clairvoyant dreams. Mr. Dimble had recognized it in her, and sent her to St. Anne's.
Jane had hoped that Miss Ironwood could help with whatever was wrong with her, but Miss Ironwood insists there is nothing wrong—and therefore nothing to help. She tells Jane that she is very important: her dreams have to do with the future of the human race. She warns her, as well, that if she tells someone else about her dreams, she will certainly fall into the hands of others who want to use her gift for their own purposes.
Jane, however, decides that she wants nothing to do with it, and goes back home. At the apartment, the phone rings: it's Mrs. Dimble, saying she has an urgent need to stay the night.
I liked the initial impression of the N.I.C.E. this chapter gives. Several years ago, I worked on a six-month contract for a very large tech company. There were forms upon forms to fill out, status meetings without end, its own peculiar jargon, and a ten-minute walk across campus just to get a cup of coffee. So I found the Institution and its bureaucracy relatable. Who hasn't gone to a job (or an interview) where they didn't know who you were, where to put you, or what your job was, or some combination of the three? I think we tend to see conspiracies as practically infallible, well-oiled machines, possibly because shows like The X-Files show them that way for dramatic purposes. But while we know the N.I.C.E. is up to something nefarious, we also see that at another level they're just another big, bureaucratic, quasi-governmental organization where one hand doesn't know what the other is doing. It is ironic that Mark wants to fit in with the best crowd, but in this chapter, he doesn't fit in at all.
At Belbury, no one tells Mark anything concrete; he receives no job description, no straight answers, no offer. But in St. Anne's, Miss Ironwood tells Jane the meaning of her gift, tells her what is at stake, and lays all the cards on the table, giving her the options of ignoring the dreams, help them, or telling someone else. Jane refuses to play a part and goes home. Mark has been given nothing to refuse, but is staying on.
There's a fun contrast in character names, too. Mr. Wither is a small, rather absent-minded and feckless man, compared with the tough, masculinized and "emancipated" Miss Hardcastle—or, over at St. Anne's, the firmer resolve of Miss Ironwood. I think Lewis took some naming lessons from Dickens.
Professor Filostrato, who is a true believer in the N.I.C.E., says the existence of the human race is at stake in their work. And Miss Ironwood tells Jane almost the same thing about her dreams. It seems inevitable that the two groups are going to come into conflict. And what is Mrs. Dimble's trouble? We'll have to wait until next week to find out.
Footnotes
1. Lewis, or at least the Distributed Proofreaders Canada ebook that I am reading, spells "St. Anne's-on-the-Hill" inconsistently—sometimes hyphenated, sometimes not. Where the words are my own, I will continue to use the non-hyphenated spelling, but when I quote the text, I'll retain the spelling in that spot.
2. C. S. Lewis, "The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment," in God in the Dock, ed. Walter Hooper (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1970), 287–300.