There's something about Aldous Huxley I don't entirely like. Coldness? Arrogance? Misanthropy? Whatever it is he leaves a metallic taste behind. Nonetheless he's an interesting writer- and his progress from between the wars satirist to prototypical hippie guru is fascinating. It's mainly the later things I've read because bright young things interest me less than the doors of perception. I've never read Brave New World but I'm going to now because the coffee and paperback outfit that my son signed me up with as a Christmas present have sent me a copy.
It's a 1970s Penguin Classic. Grey spine, art work by Leger on the cover. I owned a lot of Penguin Classics- Modern and otherwise- back in the day.