#87 = Volume 29, Part 2 = July 2002
Patrick A. McCarthy
New Editions of H.G. Wells: A Mixed Bag
H.G. Wells. The
Time Machine: An Invention. Ed.
Nicholas Ruddick. Orchard Park, NY: Broadview, 2001. 294 pp. $7.95 pbk.
H.G. Wells.
The War of the Worlds. Ed. Leon Stover. THE ANNOTATED H.G.
WELLS. Vol. 4. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2001. xi + 321 pp. $55 hc.
H.G. Wells. The
Sea Lady: A Tissue of Moonshine. Ed.
Leon Stover. THE ANNOTATED H.G. WELLS. Vol. 7. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2001.
xi + 170 pp. $49.50 hc.
H.G. Wells.
The Last War: A World Set Free. Ed. Greg Bear. Bison Books
Edition. Lincoln: U Nebraska P, 2001. [Originally The World Set Free: A Story
of Mankind.] xxiv + 166 pp. $13.95 pbk.
There has been for some years a boom in new editions of H.G.
Wells’s novels, both of his sf classics and of other books less well known and
less often read. Those under review here include two from each category: The
Time Machine (1895) and The War of the Worlds (1898) among the
standards; The Sea Lady (1902) and The World Set Free (1914; here
retitled The Last War) among the generally neglected works. In this
review I will deal separately with the editions in the order of the novels’
original publication dates.
Nicholas Ruddick’s edition of The Time Machine for
the Broadview Literary Texts series begins with a superb introduction that takes
up, in sequence, Wells’s life and the history of the book’s composition, its
scientific and literary contexts, a survey of early reviews, and an overview of
the novel’s narrative structure and themes. The front matter also includes a
basic chronology of Wells’s life and a note on the text (Ruddick uses the 1895
Heinemann edition rather than the Atlantic edition, a reasonable decision even
if it is not the one I would have made). The text itself is annotated, and all
the notes appear both reliable and helpful. There follow a series of appendices
containing material (usually excerpted) that students are likely to find useful:
Appendix A, for example, focuses on nineteenth-century writings on evolution by
Charles Darwin, E. Ray Lankester, T.H. Huxley, and especially Wells. Other
appendices include writings on social, cultural, and scientific issues that are
taken up in the novel, as well as selections from Wells’s correspondence, his
prefaces to various editions of The Time Machine, and early reviews of
the book. The volume concludes with a selective bibliography that is itself
divided into several sections, including one devoted to "Time Travel
Studies in Physics and Science Fiction."
The text of The Time Machine, complete with footnoted
annotations, occupies only about a third of this 294-page volume. The remaining
two thirds consist of interpretive and contextual material intended to assist
readers— probably for the most part undergraduate college students—in
reading the novel. In some respects this might be regarded as a casebook, and
the risk that the editor of a casebook runs is that he or she will do too much
work for the students by selecting and excerpting the most relevant sources.
Would it not be better, we might ask, to require that all students read Huxley’s
70-page Romanes lecture "Evolution and Ethics" rather than just the
four pages of excerpts and summary provided here? To my mind, however, there is
a practical advantage in assigning a little contextual material as a basis for
class discussion, leaving it to students who plan to write papers on the novel’s
evolutionary theme to read all of Huxley’s essay. In any case, the book
contains no recent criticism other than the introduction itself, so there is
still reason for students to head to the library (or at least to a computer
terminal).
Ruddick does not use his introduction to set forth a fully
formed interpretation of The Time Machine; his intent is to provide
materials that will lead students to do that for themselves. Even so, the last
section of the introduction, entitled "The Time Machine: Structure
and Theme" ( 40-45), contains one of the sharpest and most sensible
readings of the novel that I have seen. Arguing that "the unusual structure
of The Time Machine offers the chief clue to understanding Wells’s
approach to his grand temporal theme," Ruddick draws out the implications
of the book’s three time scales: the historical time of 1894-97 in which the
frame narrator’s story takes place; the evolutionary or geological time that
forms the backdrop for the Time Traveler’s narrative of his trip to the world
of the Eloi and Morlocks; and the astronomical time that we glimpse when the
Time Traveler voyages thirty million years into the future, offering us "a
vision of universal extinction."1 Although each larger
perspective might seem to negate those that preceded it, Ruddick argues that the
novel is not as pessimistic as it might seem: the world of the Eloi and Morlocks
might yet be averted through a more enlightened social structure, and even if
the death of the sun thirty million years hence is inescapable, that amount of
time is "far longer than that promised mankind by most religions"
(44). In place of the immortality promised by most religious versions of
apocalypse, Wells gives his readers a sort of "poetic consolation" in
the inevitability of extinction that we share with other species and with the
stars themselves.
Leon Stover’s edition of The War of the Worlds
promotes a very different view of Wells. Its format is, on the surface, not very
different from Ruddick’s: the volume consists of a lengthy introduction, an
annotated text of the novel based on the first edition, and a series of
appendices. Yet there are vast differences between these two editions. Stover’s
wide-ranging, often digressive, insistently polemical introduction is
confusingly written and, insofar as I can follow it, propounds a fundamentally
flawed interpretation of the novel; his annotations are not restricted to the
clarification of passages but are extensions of his argument; and the appendices
include not only Wells’s 1893 Pall Mall Gazette article "The Man
of the Year Million" (to which the narrator alludes), Wells’s preface to
the Atlantic Edition of the novel, and the conclusion of Percival Lowell’s Mars
(1896)—all helpful adjuncts to the novel’s text—but also three pieces
of less obvious relevance.
Stover’s interpretation of The War of the Worlds is,
basically, that while the Martians might appear to be evil, they are "by no
means monstrous in the eyes of their creator. They are rather agents of his ‘Religion
of Progress’ (1927:32) in his vindictive ‘War with Tradition’" (3).
The parenthetical "(1927:32)," referring us to Wells’s 1927 book Democracy
Under Revision, is typical of Stover’s citations: there is no further
contextualization of the passage from the 1927 book, which we are to assume is
directly relevant to a reading of an 1898 novel. Indeed, Stover draws much of
his evidence from later writings, especially from The Shape of Things to Come
(1933), using quotations from those works to demonstrate that Wells was
throughout his career a staunch advocate of state capitalism with strong
leanings toward authoritarianism and even fascism. The sort of future for which
Wells longs, Stover argues, is a dictatorship such as the one portrayed in When
the Sleeper Wakes (1899), a book that I have always read as an attack on a
capitalist totalitarian state but that Stover views as a utopian work.
It is difficult to summarize how he makes that case, since
Stover’s method of argument is digressive and associative rather than
straightforward. Yet the reading of When the Sleeper Wakes is crucial,
since Stover regards it as the "sequel" to The War of the Worlds,
apparently on the basis of a brief passage from chapter 2 of Sleeper in
which two men discuss what has happened in the twenty years since Graham has
fallen into a deep sleep:
Wurming turned. "And I have grown old too. I played
cricket with him [Graham] when I was still only a lad. And he looks a young
man still. Yellow perhaps. But that is a young man nevertheless."
"And there’s been the War," said Isbister.
"From beginning to end."
"And these Martians."2
In the epilogue to The War of the Worlds the narrator
tells us that "It may be that in the larger design of the universe this
invasion from Mars is not without its ultimate benefit for men; it has robbed us
of that serene confidence in the future which is the most fruitful source of
decadence, the gifts to human science it has brought are enormous, and it has
done much to promote the conception of the commonweal of mankind" (252).
Stover’s note connects the world portrayed in Sleeper to the second and
third of these "benefits": "the ‘gifts’ of Martian science,
which make possible the advanced technology of A.D. 2100 in Sleeper"
and the "world state" that Stover believes is implied by the phrase
"commonweal of mankind." It is the last that he finds "most
important": "This is the principal legacy of the Martians, fulfilled
in the world state of 2100: a future willed into being by wilful intellectuals
who won their own war of the worlds—progressives vs. reactionaries" (252
n.180). The "progressives," apparently, are Ostrog and the others who
have consigned the working class to a hopeless, cheerless existence; the
"reactionaries" are those who support Graham, the Sleeper, in his
crusade against oppression.
This makes little sense to me. Then again, I am at a loss to
understand the argument that the Martians have come in peace and that they use
violence only for our own good. Stover begins with the fact that the space
cannon in Jules Verne’s From the Earth to the Moon (1865) was cast from
melted pieces of artillery—an sf version of beating swords into plowshares—and
then observes that the same method of interplanetary propulsion is used by the
Martians in The War of the Worlds and by Oswald Cabal, head of the World
Council, in the film Things to Come (1936). In that film, Stover says,
The Wellsian space gun ... is oddly decorated with a vestigial
gunsight, suggesting a ... conversion of military technology to civilian
industry in the Modern State. That colonists from the Red Planet shoot
themselves from Mars by means of a Vernian space cannon further suggests the
same conversion. The Martians, in their history, must also have evolved
toward the peaceful Wellsian world-state they presage here on earth. That they
bring war machines with them is no contradiction, since these are meant to fight
against human aggression from lower beings, whose few brave artillerymen
have the temerity to attempt resistance. Nothing can withstand a superior
technology and the superior (socialist) moral idea behind it. (21-22; italics
mine)
I am reminded of the scene in Mars Attacks! (1996) in
which Martians walk through Congress declaring "We come in peace"
while blasting people right and left. Apparently, a contradiction between such
words and acts is lost on Stover.
One problem is that Stover works by a process of association
so unrelenting that he cannot see that Wells might come back to the same idea,
the same image, the same situation from more than one angle. Likewise, in
tracing Wells’s sources, he argues for so tight a fit that Wells almost
becomes identified with the source. His constant emphasis on Saint-Simon’s
influence on Wells’s version of socialism, for example, means that virtually
any political idea in any of Wells’s novels may be explained by reference to
Saint-Simon. The fact that Wells wrote a favorable review of Elie Metchnikoff’s
The Nature of Man (1903) and later wrote an obituary of Metchnikoff might
well mean that he was familiar with the "Metchnikoffing procedure"
(removing the large intestine to rid the body of harmful bacteria and
introducing good bacteria into the small intestine by eating yogurt) when he
wrote The War of the Worlds, as Stover believes, but it does not follow
that this is the procedure through which the Martians eliminated bacteria from
their planet. For one thing, the novel’s narrator says that either Mars never
had any micro-organisms or they were all eliminated long ago through
"Martian sanitary science" (193), but Metchnikoff assumed that good
bacteria would continue to be necessary for human life; moreover, he did not
propose to eliminate all bacteria in the world, only those in individual bodies.
As to the annotations, they are so intrusive as to be a
hindrance rather than an aid to readers. The effect is something like trying to
watch a movie while in the next row a fellow who has seen the film before, and
who has formulated a complete (although implausible) interpretation of the film,
insists on telling his companion what will happen next and what everything
means. Even worse, the notes are simply obsessive, often involving tangential
readings that have no place on the same page as the novel that we are presumably
attempting to read. Note 4 (52-54), for example, begins sensibly enough with a
reference to the "magnificent poetic diction" of the novel’s opening
paragraph, but then wanders off into a discussion so rambling that I would be
hard pressed to characterize it except to say that it has little to do with the
novel at hand. It does repeat, insistently, Stover’s recurrent critique of
Wells, but in my view this is not a judicious criticism of the novel; rather, it
is the critical equivalent of saturation bombing.
One final observation and then I’ll turn to the remaining
editions. In note 71 (126), Stover begins by quoting the reference to "the
earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago" and finds in this a sign of
the narrator’s unreliability:
The great Lisbon earthquake occurred in 1775, "a century
ago." If the Martian invasion happened in 1900, the narrator is off by 25
years. Wells cannot be that ignorant; from student days he kept notebooks on
historical chronology ... that led on to The Outline of History (1920).
So the narrator is unreliable on this point, which hints at a characterological
flaw.
The note goes on to equate the narrator, who cannot even keep
his dates straight, with Pangloss in Voltaire’s Candide (1759), a
connection also made in several other notes. The evidence for such a reading of
the narrator’s character is thin in any case, but I find it especially telling
that Stover misstates the date of the Lisbon earthquake while criticizing the
narrator for not distinguishing clearly between 100 and 125 years: the Lisbon
earthquake, to which Voltaire refers in Candide (1759), actually occurred
in 1755, not 1775. Perhaps "the narrator is unreliable," but so
is the editor.
The Sea Lady (1902), also edited by Leon Stover, is the
story of a mermaid who enters human society in search of a man named Chatteris,
who becomes infatuated with her and eventually follows her to the sea—and
presumably to his own death. This volume is not so elaborately introduced and
annotated as The War of the Worlds, although there are more annotations,
and longer ones, than this rather slight novel really needs. As in The War of
the Worlds, Stover develops what I think is an untenable interpretation of
the novel, often through fleeting references to other (usually later) works by
Wells. Once again, Stover introduces Saint-Simon as the linchpin of Wells’s
thought, but exactly what he has to do with The Sea Lady is unclear. The
introduction is riddled with marks of carelessness, one glaring instance being
the citation and discussion of a conversation between the Sea Lady herself—who
is given the name Miss Waters—and Chatteris. "At this point Chatteris is
lost," says Stover (8), but Chatteris isn’t the only one: Stover seems
equally lost, having failed to read his own text carefully enough to recognize
that the person conversing with the Sea Lady in this scene is not Chatteris but
his friend Melville. (Indeed, Chatteris is not physically present in this scene:
see chapter 6, section 2, 89-95.)
"The bad sales record of The Sea Lady is a puzzle,
since it no more than endorsed on a metaphysical plane the same horrors explicit
in Anticipations," says Stover, adding "Perhaps now its time
has come" (2). The bad sales record is not a puzzle to me, nor will I hold
my breath waiting for The Sea Lady to become popular: it is a poorly
crafted novel that is worth reading only because the inferior productions of a
writer like Wells have their interest, or at least their uses. A better
contender for critical study is The World Set Free (1913), even if we
have to read it under the title The Last War, whose source is never made
clear: a note at the beginning of Greg Bear’s introduction simply informs us
that "For this Bison Books edition, The World Set Free has been
retitled. In this historical introduction, I’ll continue to use Wells’s
original title." My guess is that someone in the marketing department
changed the title; I can’t imagine a writer like Bear taking such liberties
with another writer’s work. In fact, his use of "Wells’s original
title" throughout the introduction might constitute a mild protest against
the alteration.
There are no annotations or appendices to this edition, but
Bear’s introduction provides readers with all the context they really need. He
focuses on Wells’s relationship to Henry James and the distinction between the
aims and forms of their novels: on one hand we have James’s aestheticism and
his emphasis on character; on the other there is Wells’s anti-aestheticism and
his subordination of character to story, story to idea. The other subject Bear
develops in his introduction is Wells’s use of fictional atomic bombs in a
novel published three decades before real ones fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Indeed, The World Set Free is known today primarily as the first work in
which the term "atomic bomb" was used. It deserves attention, however,
not just for its speculation on atomic warfare and the ensuing world government
but for being a utopian work whose form is that of the future history. Not one
of Wells’s most compelling or coherent fictions (for example, the late scene
in which the role of women is debated seems oddly out of place), it is,
nonetheless, a novel worth reading—under one title or another—as an
installment in the intellectual history of one of the twentieth century’s most
engaging writers.
NOTES
1. Ruddick’s "‘Tell Us All About Little Rosebery’:
Topicality and Temporality in H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine," SFS
#85,
28:3 (Nov. 2001): 337-54, which expands upon the interpretation offered in his
introduction, appeared as I was writing this review-essay.
2. When the Sleeper Wakes, in Three Prophetic Novels
of H.G. Wells, introduction by E.F. Bleiler. New York: Dover, 1960, pp.
12-13.
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