A World of My Own

Published 1992

This is Greene’s last book. He asked friends to ensure that it was published after he died. It contains a personally selected abstract of the dream diary that he maintained for decades and which ran to over 800 pages. After a quote by Heraclitus, Greene called his dream experiences A World of My Own. His waking life he called the Common World or the World he shares with others. The dreams in the book are organized into themes, such as “Some Famous Writers I Have Known,” “Travel,” and “My Life of Crime.” What makes the book enjoyable to read is that, aside from an introductory paragraph in some chapters, he relates the dreams as factual experiences, without further emphasizing their oneiric nature.

I have heard that some people think that hearing another person’s dreams is boring. I disagree. I find dreams, my own or others’, to be as interesting as waking life and no less real. The world of dreams presents a more complete view of our mind’s experience than the conscious self, which achieves consciousness by editing our perceptions into a narrative story. In order to allow us to feel a coherent and consistent identity, this process of editing leaves many experiences on the cutting-room floor. By providing a connection to less censored experience, dreams are more important than our conscious waking life to understanding our mind. In this way, dreams play a role similar to psychedelic mushrooms or plants.

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Once, when Greene was visiting the town he was born in, four hundred American parachutists began to land, with orders to capture him. He thought he might escape, but, immediately, the Americans were in his apartment and had him under arrest.

Greene had several unusual memories of popes. Greene remembers being shocked to hear that John Paul II was planning to canonize Jesus Christ. When Greene found the Pope walking around Antibes, he thought to give the vicar a piece of his mind about the audacity of canonizing the godhead, but suddenly felt sorry for the pope, who was dressed in dirty clothes. Earlier, he had attended a religious ceremony in which Pope Paul VI was officiating. In the ceremony lions chased after children and statues of cardinals moved around St Peter’s Square with nuns following, whacking them on the head.

Greene once arrived in Sierra Leone and discovered to his horror that his young daughter was on trial for insulting the president, a capital crime. He went to the court, but all the proceedings were in a language he couldn’t understand. He offered himself in her stead, as any bad opinions about the president that she had she must have picked up from him.

Greene had several brushes with the law. Once, when he was in his mistress’s apartment, where he was concealing stolen goods, he saw the police gathering outside to raid the place. He was determined to not go without a fight. Suddenly, small blue birds filled the room. They flew around in a small flock, before alighting on Greene and filling him with a calm love for the world. He went with the police with a smile.

Greene had several other strange experiences with animals. Most disconcertingly, he once pissed out several shrimp followed by a small lobster. More understandably, he sometimes had brief conversations with dogs. After finding his friends retriever that had got lost in Milan, the dog explained that, “If only I had carried a handbag with a little money for a taxi. I was lost, and I didn’t even know the name of the hotel.” Another time, in a seaside hut, a friend’s dog opened the door and stayed with Greene for a few hours. The dog brought up their mutual dog-acquaintances and asking if he were faster than each. When Greene scolded the dog for reaching for the sugar basin, the dog left the hut, closing the door behind himself.

The book ends with a poem that Greene wrote in a dream about his own death:

From the room next door
The TV talks to me
Of sickness, nettlerash, and herbal tea.
My breath is folded up
Like sheets in lavender.
The end for me
Arrives like nursery tea.

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This book was an appropriate end to the works of Graham Greene. The dreams he included are, of course, only a small portion of those he recorded in his diary. In that regard, they reflect the vision of himself that he wished to share at the end of his life. Still, we get a view of Greene in this book that is more human than his autobiographies and essays. He put more of himself into his novels, but it is difficult to know where he ends and fiction begins. This book wouldn’t be interesting or make much sense if you hadn’t already read Greene’s works. But, now, I have.

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Next week I will publish a retrospective of my year in Greeneland.