The Confessions of an Anti-Feminist: The Autobiography of Anthony M. Ludovici

651 Pages·2018·2 MB·English

by  Anthony M Ludovici

T C
HE ONFESSIONS OF AN
A F
NTI- EMINIST

T A
HE UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
A M L
NTHONY . UDOVICI

E J V D
DITED BY OHN . AY

Counter-Currents Publishing Ltd.
San Francisco
2018
Copyright © 2018 by Counter-Currents Publishing All rights reserved Cover image by Antony M.
Ludovici Cover design by Kevin I. Slaughter Published in the United States by COUNTER—CURRENTS
PUBLISHING LTD.
P.O. Box 22638
San Francisco, CA 94122
USA
http://www.counter-currents.com/

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-940933-32-0
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-940933-33-7
E-book ISBN: 978-1-940933-34-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Ludovici, Anthony M. (Anthony Mario), 1882-1971. | Day, John V.
Title: Confessions of an anti-feminist : the autobiography of Anthony M. Ludovici / edited by John V. Day.
Description: San Francisco : Counter-Currents Pub. Ltd., 2018. | Includes bibliographical references and
index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2013037560| ISBN 9781935965886 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781935965893
(pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781935965909 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Ludovici, Anthony M. (Anthony Mario), 1882-1971. |
Essayists--Great Britain--Biography. | Philosophers--Great
Britain--Biography. | Critics--Great Britain--Biography. | Authors,
English--Biography.
Classification: LCC CT788.L7645 A3 2015 | DDC 920.92--dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2013037560

C
ONTENTS

Editor’s Foreword

Author’s Preface

1. My Family

2. My Mother

3. My Education I (1882–1910)

4. My Education II (1910–1916)

5. My Education III (1916–1959)

6. My Friends I

7. My Friends II

8. My Life Work

9. Final Reflections

Appendix

Select Bibliography

About the Author
E F
DITOR’S OREWORD

Anthony M. Ludovici, the author of this present book, was a British writer
who died in 1971, having left a will instructing his Trustees—the two executors
of his will—

to pay the cost of publication at the lowest price compatible with the cost of
production of a decent and presentable edition of the following works if
they have not already been published:

THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE
MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY (The Confessions of an Antifeminist)

and I DIRECT my Trustees to send complimentary sets of the said
publications to the Public Libraries of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Dublin,
Belfast, La Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, and the National Libraries of
Berlin, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Rome, New York and Zurich. I leave the
details of these publications otherwise to the discretion of my Trustees, but
the quality of the editions should not be inferior to that of THE QUEST OF
HUMAN QUALITY (published by Riders in 1952). The typescripts of the
1
books will be found among my papers in the study of my house in Ipswich.

After the estate duty was paid on his estate and a few minor bequests were
made, Ludovici had left over £36,000. According to Government statistics, such
a sum of money would today be worth more than ten times that figure. In short,
Ludovici had bequeathed plenty of money for the publication of these two
books. But for reasons best known to his executors, both of whom were trained
lawyers, neither work was ever put into print and then sent to the designated
libraries.
Typescripts of the two works are currently held by the Special Collections
2
Division of Edinburgh University Library in Scotland. According to the library,
its ‘Papers of Anthony Mario Ludovici (1882–1971)’ are ‘composed of 3 pieces
of typescript material, being The confessions of an antifeminist, The English
countryside today, and the considerably shorter Juvenile delinquency and sex.’
These three works, the library says, were ‘acquired from executors, in Diss,
Norfolk, January 1997.’
One presumes that Ludovici’s executors handed over these works to
Edinburgh University because Ludovici’s will had bequeathed the bulk of his
estate to Edinburgh. He wanted Edinburgh University to conduct ‘research into
the influence of miscegenation on man’s quality and well-being’ and to award an
annual Ludovici Prize for the best thesis on this subject, although, in the event,
the university declined Ludovici’s bequest and, after discussions with his
executors, used most of the money available to study the hereditary disease of
3
Huntington’s chorea.
But the good news is that Ludovici’s Confessions have not remained under
lock and key in a university library, because a second typescript of this work
recently cropped up in the public domain. Apparently with safe-keeping in mind,
Ludovici gave a copy of the work to Ron Creasey, a friend and neighbour in
Suffolk, and as an old man Creasey passed it on to his friend and neighbour,
Nick Griffin, who in turn lent it to people he knew were keen on publishing it.
This typescript must predate the Edinburgh one, because Ludovici declares in
the final chapter that ‘I am not sorry to have reached the end of my eightieth year
in 1962,’ whereas the corresponding sentence in the Edinburgh version
concludes with ‘my eighty-eighth year in 1970.’ Nevertheless, Edinburgh’s 1970
typescript has only three passages that add anything substantial to the 1962
typescript—the first passage has Ludovici apologizing for his behaviour when
younger; the second describes his father in a much better light than before; and
4
the third says a little more about Anthony’s own appearance and character.
Equally, though, this present book has several passages that the 1970 typescript
either omits or tones down.
Now, more than four decades after Ludovici’s death, it is thanks to Mr
Creasey, Mr Griffin and several of Ludovici’s admirers in the United States that
the public at large has the chance to read these present Confessions—the
autobiography of one of the twentieth century’s most perceptive and outspoken
thinkers.

John V. Day
P
REFACE

‘I believe that every man who has written anything whatsoever is bound by
the most compelling duty to supply material for his biography.’

—Friedrich Hebbel, Diaries and Letters

After translating the above quotation for this preface, I was not certain
whether Hebbel meant that an author owes the duty in question to himself or to
posterity. I incline to the belief that he owes it chiefly to himself. A man writes
to be understood, and the dread of failing here has probably led to many of the
autobiographies of literary men.
At all events, when a man has been misunderstood and misrepresented as
consistently as I have been, he owes it to himself to try to clear the fog that has
settled about him. For in England, and London above all, fog is notoriously the
danger. Careful clarity of expression is no protection against it, because long
ago, centuries before fighting armies and fleets had thought of the use of
artificial fog, literary critics, professional rivals and all those whose advantage
was served by obscuring an author’s message had discovered the tactical
advantage of smoke-screens in the war of ideas and, more especially, in the
struggle for power.
Besides, many quite innocent readers carry their own fog about with them
and, without malice prepense, allow it to settle on the printed pages before them.
This would be more easily forgiven if only they would refrain from subsequently
ascribing to the work itself and not to their own private nebulosity the false
impressions they have gathered.
Occasionally, even in the densest fog, the Englishman finds his way. But, as a
rule, only his own way home. Beware, then, all those who invite him to grope
through his murk along unwonted paths!
It has been my fate always to offer him hitherto untrodden, uncharted
itineraries. Naturally, he lost his way. What is far more serious, he usually lost
his temper. In my sixty years of literary work I have had to put up with an
extraordinary amount of bad temper. As most of it was quite undeserved, I owe
it to myself, rather than to my readers, to follow Hebbel’s advice.
But, in a sense, I also owe it to the public. For supposing that the many ideas
and messages in my books are, as I believe, valuable, what then? Could I in