Storyboard Read Free

Meanwhile they were there. The Agency was not concerned with art, except in so far as it could be used, and so it moved along the lines, presenting unimportant things in an important way, and material things in a spiritual way, and everything in a general way.
    A general way. If there was harm, it was here. For, whereas most of the good and harm the Agency did was part of the up-and-down of the system and cancelled out, those who believe that human beings are important as individuals might always say this against it, that it communicated to individuals only on a broad beam of general similarities. The Agency knew that one housewife in four had red hands, that three children out of five were afraid of the dark, that AB class men in generallost their hair at an earlier age than D class men, but were less worried about it. It dealt with groups—income groups, class groups, age groups, regional groups—and not with individuals. But the Agency was, after all, only part of the system, and the system does not deal with individuals either.

2
FOUNDATION SOAP
    “N EVER A T IME W ITHOUT B EAUTY . B E S URE O F Y OUR L OVELINESS W ITH F OUNDATION S OAP . Wherever you are—asleep or awake, at work or play—there is no time when your beauty is not enhanced by make-up if you use Foundation Soap.” Simon Purvis was reading over the shoulder of Sophia Last, with whom he shared an office. “Give it here,” he said, taking the top clipping from the file she was studying.” Why all this interest? Do you use Foundation Soap, love? Is that why you look so lovely all the time? Or is that the natural you, lambent beneath the maquillage? ”
    “Just natural me.”
    “True. But not modest to say so.” He continued to read. “Foundation Soap comes in five natural shades, specially blended by expert cosmeticians for your complexion’s needs.”
    “I know.”
    “There’s Radiant Peach, Apple Blossom, English Rose, Magnolia and Gypsy. Why are you reading all these anyway?”
    “For a meeting. P.A.’s office.”
    “That’s interesting. I wonder which shade he uses. Perhaps there’s a special one for burst capillaries. Old Tawny—as supplied to members of the Institute of Directors.”
    “Shut up, Simon. I’ve got to go down in a moment, and I want to read these first.”
    “Don’t bother. They’re all the same. Anyway, why Foundation Soap? Are we getting the account?”
    “Of course not. How could we?”
    “Quite right, love. A foolish question, and I’m a foolish boy to ask it.” The Agency already handled an account for one of the big soap and synthetic detergent companies, and could not accept a competitor. “Then what?”
    “How should I know?”
    “Mysteries! Mysteries!” Simon said. “What an exciting life we copywriters lead! You get on with your reading, love, and I won’t hinder you. Anyway, I’ve got a dishonest little eleven-inch triple to write for the News of the World .” He went back to his desk on the opposite side of the tiny office, picked up a pencil, and wrote “Science tells us …” meditatively on top of a sheet of blue copy paper. Sophia turned over one advertisement, and began to read the next. Simon was quite right; they were all the same, with only unimportant variations of picture and phrasing. Nevertheless , she read them all. When, twenty minutes later, she went off to her meeting in P.A.’s office, Simon had reached his second sub-head, “The Secret of Life”, and did not even look up to see her go.
    *
    P.A. was one of the Agency’s senior Directors, all of whom had initials and no names. He was a little ruddy man, who had once been Production Manager to a firm in the Midlands which manufactured wash-basins and lavatory pans. He had been at school with the Chairman of the Agency and when the Chairman, who had been an Account Manager at another Agency, hadbroken away in 1932 to found his own, he had asked P.A. to join him, and P.A. had raised what money he could, and had come to