The War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells
This month's read is The War of the Worlds,
chosen for the simple yet compelling reason that there's a movie
out based on it that we all think might probably be really really bad (a bad
Tom Cruise movie? say
it isn't so!) and some of our members want an excuse
to go jeer at it. I myself might go and
shell out a few bucks to take it in on the big screen so I can lay out all its
mistakes, miscalculations, and misconceptions in loving detail at the
meeting. (Preconceived notions? Me?)
WotW is perhaps the most science-intensive member of
Wells' big three (the other two being The Invisible Man and
The Time Machine also extremely enjoyable reads -- Invisible
Man is one of my favorite novels ever ever, and I was thrilled to receive a
truly kick-bootie annotated edition of it a few Christmases
ago). In WotW, the
journalistic voice Wells used with such skill in IM is raised to
perfection: the narrator's character is
developed just enough that when the tension or drama in any given episode of
the novel would be heightened by having an immediate, first-person reaction,
one is readily available; whereas when it would be of more advantage to the
flow or plot to have a simple taut telling of events, the character has been
unintrusive enough that there is no noticeable jar when he simply slides back,
almost unnoticeable behind the words.
And so at the end of the fifth chapter, the narrator can say, "It
came to me that I was upon this dark common, helpless, unprotected, and
alone. Suddenly, like a thing falling
upon me from without, came fear," adding that he then began to run,
"weeping silently as a child might do." But at the end of the next chapter, Wells uses
an almost pure third-person omniscience to describe events:
"They're coming!" a woman shrieked, and
incontinently every one was turning and pushing at those behind, in order to
clear their way to Woking again. They
must have bolted as blindly as a flock of sheep. Where the road grows narrow and black between
the high banks the crowd jammed, and a desperate struggle occurred. All that crowd did
not escape; three person at least, two women and a little boy, were crushed and
trampled there, and left to die amid the terror and the darkness.
Wells is perhaps the smoothest writer we have read: his prose is so clean that it does not
inspire much curiosity about the writer behind the pen, because one has to
remind oneself that such a person exists.
Nevertheless, a few facts about his life and personality are in order.
Herbert George Wells (remind me -- why did he decide
to go by his initials?) was born in 1866 of working-class parents -- his father
was a shopkeeper and professional cricketer, his mother had been a domestic
servant. (Wells' ringingly accurate,
unsentimentalized and uncondescending portraits of ordinary working people in The
Invisible Man probably owe a great deal to his up-close and personal
knowledge of the class.) In common with
so many great writers and thinkers (such as yours truly), Wells spent a
formative period of his childhood reading every book he could get his hands on
while convalescing -- in his case, from a broken leg when he was seven. By the time he was fully recovered, he was a
confirmed bibliophile.
Another leg injury, this one not his own, also had a
formative impact on Wells' life. When he
was eleven, his father fractured his thigh, effectively ending his career as a
cricketer. This had been a crucial
supplement to the money he made as a shopkeeper, and the critical state of the
Wells' finances led to Herbert George being apprenticed at the age of thirteen
to a draper. Like Dickens in the
blacking bottle factory, Wells was miserable in and humiliated by his
situation. After two years, he
threatened suicide until his mother agreed to have him released from his
apprenticeship.
Wells became a student assistant at Midhurst Grammar School,
and later won a scholarship to study biology at the Normal School of Science in
London. There, he became a pupil of T.
H. Huxley. A friend of Darwin and
enthusiast of his evolutionary theory, Huxley inspired Wells with a deep
interest in Darwinism. Although his
formal studies centered on science, Wells' own reading drew him to the great
philosophers -- Plato, Swift, Voltaire. While in college, he helped found "The
Science School Journal." Although
Wells was a brilliant scholar, he seems only to have been able to apply himself
where he had a real enthusiasm for the subject at hand, or else an inspiring
teacher to fire his interest. When
Huxley fell ill, Wells became bored and restless. He lost his scholarship when his lack of
interest in geology caused him to fail his final exam in 1887 and lose his
scholarship.
He did some teaching even without having taken his degree,
but chronic health problems forced him to give that up. Fortunately for us, he turned to
writing. Looking at any list of his
works, one is struck by the fact that almost none of the titles sound even
remotely familiar. The
History of Mr. Polly? Mr. Blettsworthy on Rampole Island? Tono-BUNGAY? Wells wrote dozens
of novels, short stories, histories, and philosophical treatises, but only a
few titles shine out at us, pulling the others along behind them as historical
footnotes.
It is something of a shock that those most famous novels
came so early in his life and his writing career, and came as well in such
rapid succession. The Time Machine
was published in 1895, The Island of Dr. Moreau in 1896, The
Invisible Man in 1897, and The War of the Worlds in 1898. The Time Machine is perhaps the
weakest of the great trio, slightly marred by the mawkishness of the love
story; The Invisible Man is without flaw and The War of the Worlds
very nearly so. The Island of Dr.
Moreau is more heard of than read; its premise is familiar to all, though
the writing itself can be difficult going.
Still -- three undisputed masterpieces of a then-fledgling genre were
produced within three years of one another by a man not yet thirty when the
first was released. If he had stopped
writing on completing them, his fame would still have been assured; if he had
written those dozens of other works and burned those first few in manuscript as
the fanciful dreams of a young man, he would be known only to scholars. We are used to the idea that writers mature
and ripen with time, and so we indulge and are even charmed by the occasional
missteps, the overeager prose, the sketchy characterizations of the young
writer when we have the smug hindsight knowledge of what his future greatness
will be. Wells puts us in the odd
position, as readers, of forgiving the many, many fairly forgettable works that
came after that first burst of brilliance.
Politically, Wells was a socialist. (Toward the end of the second
world war, the Allied forces discovered a list compiled by the SS of
political thinkers, intellectuals and others who would be executed once England
was successfully invaded. Wells' name
was prominently high on the list, thanks to his socialist beliefs.) Although some of his theories and conclusions
are questionable at best, his line of reasoning is honorable. The brilliant child of working-class parents
in England, where class lines were (and are) difficult to cross, regardless of
individual merit, he was in an excellent position to criticize the wrongs of a
society controlled by those who achieve power thanks to hereditary wealth and
privilege. His idea of a perfect world
was one controlled by the intelligent and the educated. This is open to accusations of elitism, but
consider -- Wells became a best-selling writer practically with his first
novel. It would have been extremely easy
for him to turn his back on his origins and relax into luxury. He'd earned his; let others sink or swim as
they would. Those who break free of
early poverty often respond to sudden wealth in exactly such a way. There's a natural, if regrettable, urge to
put one's unhappy beginnings as far behind as possible. Instead, Wells wanted to change the world so
that no intelligent child would remain mired in poverty, unable to employ his
gifts to their fullest extent, while fools of gentler birth rose in power and
prosperity.
Although Wells desired and worked toward sweeping political
changes, he wanted the world to be saved by education, not revolution. "Human history becomes more and more a
race between education and catastrophe," he claims in The Outline of
History. He was
initially excited by the communist revolution in Russia, but soon became
disillusioned when he got a close-up look at what was really happening
there.
In spite of what might have been expected given his
political beliefs, Wells had "a profound belief" in the deity he
describes in God The Invisible King as "a personal and intimate God." Wells had little patience in the shortcomings
and abuses he perceived in organized religions.
His greatest anger seemed reserved for those who used religion to
frighten or intimidate others. In The
Conquest of Time. he writes:
As a boy I heard a shrill
missioner in Portsmouth Cathedral trying to impress us with the tortures of the
damned. Every moment the damned
individual was to experience all the pain that has ever been on earth and more
also. Even at fourteen it was impossible
not to feel that this Christian God of Hell was an utterly detestable maniac,
demanding hate and defiance at whatever cost.
I am told that now things are very different, even in Catholic teaching,
and that the God of Hell and Salvation has been making himself
better understood even in the most authoritative circles. Hell, it seems, has been closed for repairs
and reconsideration, and may never be reopened.
That is good news for countless scared little children -- if it gets to
them.
Wells was married twice -- once, briefly, to his cousin
Isabel Mary Wells, whom he got to know while living with his aunt in his days
of student poverty; and then to one of his students, Amy Catherine Robbins
(nicknamed "Jane"). Though he
remained married to her for the rest of his life, and they had two sons, Wells
had numerous liaisons with other women.
One of those was Rebecca West, an important writer in her own
right. They met after she reviewed his
novel Marriage and referred to him as an "old maid
among novelists." West and Wells
became lovers shortly after, proving at the very least that Wells didn't hold a
grudge. Their son, Anthony West, grew up
to write a biography of his father.
In spite of his early idealism and passion for change, Wells
grew pessimistic toward the end of his life.
The title of his last book, Mind at the End of its Tether,
reflects this. He died in 1946. Although one critic complained that his later
works were heavy on ideals and light on ideas, claiming that Wells "sold
his birthright for a pot of message," modern readers can overlook his
later preaching and perhaps agree with Isaac Asimov, himself a prolific and
brilliant writer in Wells' own field. Asimov
called Wells "the Shakespeare of science fiction." Considering Shakespeare as an artist of both
character and plot, equally fluent in comedy and tragedy, with a genius for
natural dialogue in both upper- and lower-class characters, one must conclude that
this praise is entirely apt.
Related Works of Interest
Fortunately, we have no worries this month about
translations. There are, however,
several editions of WotW available.
The Barnes and Noble paperback is inexpensive
and quite good. The introduction is
brief but thorough, and the endnotes are admirable.
In 1960, Edward Gorey was commissioned to illustrate a new
edition of WotW. Admirers of
Gorey's work will rejoice that this volume has finally been brought back into
print. It is one of the
many admirable titles in the New York Review of Books (NYRB) Classics series,
which I will discuss at greater length in another time and place; suffice it to
say that I have found these to be of the highest quality in every respect. This particular title, a wonderfully compact
hot-pink hardcover, is at once elegant and durable. I know, I know, I sound like a fashion
editor. But for someone who goes through
withdrawals if she doesn't have her current read with her at all times, it's a
relief to find a hardcover that's attractive but doesn't have a paper cover to
get torn or beaten. There are,
regrettably, no footnotes or other supplementary materials; but for a
comparatively modern book such as this one, that sort of thing is enjoyable
rather than crucial. A
little expensive for the size, but not bad for a hardcover.
For those who believe that no book is complete without more
explanatory material than text, there is the Indiana University Press A
Critical Edition of the War of the Worlds, with introduction and footnotes
by David Y. Hughes and Harry M. Geduld. This puppy doesn't even get around to the
actual novel until page fifty or so, and there are ten footnotes in the first
two paragraphs of Wells' text, taking up a total of three pages of teeny
type. Then you can frolic through
appendices including such divertimenti as previously unpublished fragments of
first drafts of the book, a description of unauthorized serializations that
took place (much to Wells' chagrin), an essay by Wells himself about what the
human of the distant future will look like if evolutionary trends as Wells say
them continued, and two essays, also by Wells, on the possibility of life on
Mars -- one written before WotW, one after. Yummy.
For anyone interested in learning more about the Martians of
WotW, Wells wrote a short story, "The Crystal Egg," that is
essentially a prequel to the novel. It
can be found in Selected Stories of H. G. Wells, edited and with an
introduction by Ursula K. Le Guin.
This collection also includes other first-rate stories by Wells such as
"The Country of the Blind" and "The Man Who Could Work
Miracles."
The War of the Worlds spawned many adaptations. Most famous, of course, is Orson Welles' radio show version.
As it was stated at the beginning of the program and several times
throughout that it was a dramatic production, it is incorrect to title this
1938 broadcast a hoax, as so many do. It
is a very powerful work, however, and those who tuned in midway can be forgiven
for believing they were listening to a news broadcast. An amusing and informative little book, The Night the Martians Landed: Just the Facts (Plus the Rumors) About Invaders from Mars by Kathleen Krull, is an enjoyable read on the subject of the public's response to
the show and what the consequences were for Welles' career (hint: positive).
It was written for young readers, but this old one enjoyed it.
There was also the 1953 movie, which takes
place in then-contemporary America rather than nineteenth-century England, but
keeps the basic premise of the novel, especially the ending. I haven't watched it in a while, but I do
remember it being an enjoyable way to spend an evening.
Of course, speaking of movies, there is Independence Day. If you haven't already
seen it, don't bother. If you have, I'm
sure you're trying to forget. Forgive me
for bringing it up.
A less well-known spin-off of WotW is Alan Moore and
Kevin O'Neill's second collection of their comic, The League of
Extraordinary Gentlemen.
If you're one of the many people who assume that "comic" is
synonymous with "cute kid stuff," please do not buy this book or your
brain will explode. This work, like the
previous collection (which I would definitely read first, since
the back-story is significant), is extremely adult, if by adult you mean
chock full of violence, sex, more violence, brilliantly complicated storylines,
some more sex just to keep things interesting, tons of literary references (at
least one of which so obscure that I was stumped by it, and I'm decently
well-acquainted with nineteenth-century novels), a constant and convincing
cynicism regarding government bureaucracy, and of course some sex and
violence. For people who like that kind
of thing, this is the kind of thing they like.
I own both books, and am eagerly awaiting the third collection.
My husband surprised me with a wonderful book when he found
out the group was reading WotW.
It's called The War of the Worlds:
Fresh Perspectives and includes the complete text of
the book plus several essays by various authors. Fred Saberhagen's "Wells, Welles, Well!, or Who Called the Martians Down?" discusses the
radio show that the eight-year-old Saberhagen unfortunately didn't get to hear
(though his Aunt Mabel did, and believed the "Martian invasion" to be
a genuine one). Pamela Sargent discusses
the advantages and disadvantages of reading WotW at a very young age. Mercedes Lackey vividly illustrates the
difference between the 21st century reader of WotW and Wells' original
readers of the late nineteenth century.
Mike Resnick analyzes Wells' "tiniest assassins." Every essay sheds light on a different aspect
of the work.
There is a great deal of biographical material available
about Wells on the Internet, but two books about him are deserving of some
attention. One is the biography of him
written by his son, Anthony West -- H. G. Wells: Aspects of a Life. I'd been looking for a plain and simple
biography of Wells when I came across this one at the library. I checked it out with reluctance. It would be impossible for the child of
anyone to write an unbiased biography of that person; my concern was that this
particular author didn't know that. But
West's work never pretends that its creator is some distant, lofty figure. He refers to Wells as "my father"
throughout, and the book is exactly the sort of work its subtitle implies. Not a complete or an impersonal, scholarly
biography by any means, but definitely of interest.
The Spinster and the Prophet: H. G. Wells, Florence Deeks, and the Case of the Plagiarized Text is also a look at a particular
"aspect" of Wells' life -- in this case, a detailed account of the
accusation of plagiarism leveled against him by a woman who spent years
researching an ambitious work of history, only to have it rejected by
Macmillan, who published Wells' massive Outline of History not long
after they sent her manuscript back to her with obvious signs of wear and
tear. Deeks insisted that not only was
the structure and scope of Wells' work the same as
hers, but whole passages were identical, even down to the factual errors. I haven't read this book yet, so my jury is
still out as to whether or not Deeks really had a case. She insisted, for instance, that it would
have been almost physically impossible for Wells to have written such a long
work in such a short period of time as he claimed to have done -- just a couple
of years for a work of over a thousand pages.
This sounds compelling until we remember how prolific Wells was -- he
did write his big four in as many years, and they weren't the only writing he
did during that time. And that was when
he was just beginning. As to making the
same mistakes in his text that Deeks did in hers, I would have to know what the
errors were. Were they commonly-held
misconceptions that any non-specialist would be apt to fall into? Even the claim that whole passages were the
same -- obviously that doesn't mean much if, say, those passages were
quotations. I would like to read this
book just the same, if only to get a better look at this "aspect of a
life." Ultimately, it sounds as if
the trial came down to a battle of personalities, and Wells, the wealthy,
influential, and charismatic, won more on account of those traits than on the
merits of his defense.
But reading about Wells can never be as enjoyable as reading
him. Read the big three, especially The
Invisible Man. (The movie,
in spite of some differences in plot -- the inevitable injection of a love
interest -- is also extremely enjoyable.)
Read his short stories. It's fun
to curl up with some first-rate science fiction that can also be waved loftily
about as classic literature.
Happy reading.
Got a question or comment?
Write to the Book Lady.
If you found this essay helpful,
please visit the Filthy Lucre page
