Tag Archives: horror

Classics You’ve Never Read, Part 4- So Wrong, They’re Right

Classic: a book people praise and never read.

-Mark Twain

This one took me forever. Not to read, but to figure out. How to classify this classic work?- and yeah, no shot you’ve read it, dear reader, none- that question puzzled me until, to steal the words of The Grinch, my puzzler was sore. The movies clearly ranked it science-fiction: of course, because they wanted to play with the special effects. A horror tale? I really thought so, because the main character is such a threat- but I found myself chuckling so loud and often as I read, I knew it wouldn’t be honest to say so. The  author’s opinion on the flyleaf subtitle calls it “A Grotesque Romance”, but being written in 1897, I knew full well that was only going to confuse people. Back then, neither word meant what it does today. The synopsis definitely doesn’t go “ugly-boy-meets-girl, etc.” In fact, for most of the last half of the book. no one meets the main character at all! Hence the chuckling, amidst which a realization fell on me like a bolt. This story is really all about the crowd– the others, the bit characters and how incredibly wrong they get it (while still being right).

That’s the theme that runs throughout The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells.

I’m not going to pretend there’s a vast trove of unknown lore you need to catch up on by reading this book. The plot would fit on the back of an airmail stamp.

Now you see him...
Now you see him…

Obsessed amoral scientist turns himself invisible, tries to get back to normal, can’t, hurts people and causes chaos, dies. With that title, there’s no whopper of a mystery going on! But that’s where the thread picks up. As with some of his other works, Wells chooses to describe and judge his main character to you through the eyes of everyone else in the story. A mysterious man wrapped from head to toe arrives at a small town inn, and never comes out of his room. So it’s not his thoughts, but those of the tavern-crowd we are treated to. Mrs. Hall the innkeep’s wife is thrilled to have a “gentleman” boarder, but of course insatiably curious, henpecking her indifferent husband to invent excuses for knocking on the door. The regulars at the bar look on, as the guest’s increasingly aberrant behavior comes out onto the landing or is shouted through the walls.

And what do they guess? These sleepy village folk, simple rustics with that classic stolid sense of “what’s right”, do they come close to figuring out what the title character is up to? Not by a country mile: an ‘arful accident, p’raps some nasty disease, that’s what brung him into those wrappings, surely. The story continues- the mystery guest becomes ever more combative and erratic. Windows open and close by themselves, the local prior is robbed, nosy landlords appear to eject themselves from the second-floor guest room. Still no one can make heads or tails of it- you’re screaming “INVISIBLE MAN, IDIOTS!” but it does no good. The crowd continues to bumble and guess wrong- yet somehow, they manage to flush out the IM, brilliant scientist or no. Because

Not this one!
Not this one!

he’s the bad guy- treats people arrogantly, never pays up (“put it on the bill!”), loses his temper. T’isn’t right- and while the full population of the village can’t assemble one clue between them, yet there’s a kind of righteous tide, simple questions pile up and the villain is unmasked, forced from his rooms with some of his criminal intent exposed.

Wells is not faithful to any particular individual in the crowd- your PoV jumps from one stubbornly inane opinion to another, sometimes for the length of one line and never to return. A fair bit of time is spent with an unfortunate hobo, a poor fellow accosted as the IM roamed “naked” through the countryside (what are the odds?) and beaten, petrified into helping him along for a while. In the final third of the story, we settle in the house of IM’s former school-mate, another scientist fortuitously living in the vicinity, to whom he can at last begin to explain his progress.

Here the veil of humor drops away, and I must say the story of his experiments are not appropriate for all audiences. The IM coolly describes how, from his London apartment, he first tried his experimental process on the landlady’s cat- and only later discovered how agonizingly painful it was. “So that was why it meowed so awfully all those hours”- this more than anything coming before or after shows me what a beast he always was. It’s a dreadful scene: perhaps even his fellow scientist is affected by IM’s ruthless, sociopathic attitude. An attempt at betrayal leads to another rampage from the IM, who without clothes always has the advantage (or seems to). The ending is unimportant except for how it reinforces some of the themes I’ve been harping on- the many in the crowd, the entire district roused to action by the threat of an invisible menace who has declared war on mankind, and eventually they get him. In the process, they don’t do much that’s right, and some make horrible mistakes as usual (the laughter is gone from the tale by now- and I STILL don’t know what genre this really should be called). In the end, the IM reappears, which is to say, he dies.

I totally see Kevin Bacon
I totally see Kevin Bacon. You?

Good.

Hollywood seems to have followed the same general idea, both in the 1930s version with Claude Rains and the usual steroid-pumped remake (“The Hollow Man”) with Kevin Bacon. I haven’t seen all of either one, but it seems clear this theme of the common folk is preserved in the first, lost in the second. Without these untrustworthy narrators, without the gaggle of wrong-footed yokels to stare and puzzle and go off on tangents when they theorize, the tale loses a vital something.

This is something you see in epic fantasy all the time- on either side of the village’s only street as the strangers arrive, in battles and at church, and ESPECIALLY of course inside the tavern. They drink, they argue, and most of all they get it comically, horrendously wrong. Through their beloved bigotry and hackneyed catch-phrases I learned a lot about the world, the problems facing the heroes. One tavern scene I chronicled in The Ring and the Flag had so much going on, I visited it again on the same night in Fencing Reputation. {All different material, all still wrong!} And the famous Mark’s Inn of Wanlock sees repeated action in The Plane of Dreams. Some of the greatest heroes the Lands will ever know passed through its door and the regulars hardly noticed, yakking on about adventurers, crime, and the ever popular what’s-wrong-with-the-world-today. They’re totally off about who the heroes and who the villains are, much more often than not. But they get it right in the end. Things ARE going all sideways, and those adventurers (wherever they are), they don’t belong here.InvMan33

More than that; I realized from reading The Invisible Man that Wells was really double-casting the entire process of reading a great adventure. Get this, it’s brilliant. The main character isn’t really there, right? Because he’s YOU. The writer: struggling, trying for genius, losing it- and desperate to keep people from finding out your story until it’s done. And the crowd? The inn-folk, the villagers standing around and apparently too silly to guess what two and two add up to- they’re the readers of your tale. You WANT the reader to be just like them- not catching the whole thread, but very curious and grimly determined to find out more. They press you, they don’t get it, annoying yet persistent. They’re good people. And in the end, both crowds inside and out get it right. That famous saying about how often the customer is not wrong? It applies.

Whenever you hear from the crowd in a fantasy tale, you can see the readers right in their place- it’s a wonderful way to draw them in, make them feel as if they’re standing by the bar, or in the second row. None of them understand your main character, but they’re getting interested in finding out. The Invisible Man teaches a lot about people, the common character of what you might call human nature. And that’s really good news- unless of course you’re a bad person like IM himself, trying to spread chaos and evil with your tale. Then they’ll hunt you down and kill you. But that’s not your problem, unless you’re George R. R. Martin…

Where is the crowd in your story? Are you pulling readers into the book by using the masses?

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/76068681178215277/?lp=true

Classics You’ve Never Read: Only Human

Classic: a book that people praise and no one reads.

-Mark Twain

Welcome back to the series for the half-honest cheaters among us, those who always say “oh yeah, great story” whenever the classics are mentioned, but have only experienced them in front of the TV set. Few have called me out to date, so I dare to continue by looking at the classic book which most directly confronts a central fantasy theme, the question of humanity in a genre filled with other races, extraordinary beings, monsters, creatures and life in all its forms. Writers of epic and heroic fantasy have choices. What makes a being human? Why do we sympathize with a character of a different race? What defines us as humans?

Incoming
Incoming

This is a theme that’s almost the exclusive preserve of fantasy and science fiction (not counting those soap operas where someone cries out metaphorically “you’re an inhuman monster!”). A big advantage of epic fantasy is you can have a race that’s incorrigibly, irreversibly evil- Orcs, Trolls, shades, zombies, however you see it the heroes don’t have to exercise restraint. Just rear back and wail on them: they aren’t “human”.

By the same token, you can have people three feet tall destined to live 150 years hobnobbing with a race twice their height of immortal stature. Yet, we get it- they’re on the right side and we can see the story through their eyes. But what is it that makes them this way? Where is that line drawn? Here’s your guide book: The Island of Doctor Moreau.

Everybody’s Heard or Seen It, But…

drmoreaucover2Probably the least read of H.G. Wells’s “Big Four” masterworks, the theme of unspeakable experiments on animals to create a race of Beast-Men (in the holy name of science) is about as widely penetrated an idea as modern culture holds. Written in 1896, an age when vivisection on animals was still widely practiced, the tale lays out a near-reality story of animals put through excruciating, constant pain and awarded straighter backs, voice boxes, crude hands and more. They walk erect, they speak and appear to reason, and though they fall far short of the good doctor’s hopes still they follow The Law… for a while…

I can’t speak highly enough of this book. But I warn you not to read it. Well, I mean don’t unless you’re feeling up to some gritty, ugly and effective prose. This is no Time Machine, with suit-wearing scientists debating physics over brandy and cigars. Our main character is marooned, isolated, immediately placed under the highest emotional and physical pressure you could have in a real-world setting… and THEN the evidence of Moreau’s experiments begins. Wells wrote this book early in his science-fiction career, but it’s plain he knows exactly what he’s doing. His were the originals from which so many copies were made, not just in his themes- like time travel, utopian society, forbidden experiments and more- but in prose that sets the tone for so many cliched phrases to come after it. Here’s a sample, from the protagonist’s early emaciated state:

… my eye caught my hand, so thin that it looked like a dirty skin-purse full of loose bones… (p. 4)

A Tale Without Heroes: The Love of Not-Liking

Throughout the work, he uses just enough words to scrape your nerves raw. And he leaves you nowhere to turn sympathetically, because this piece has no heroes in it. The main character Prendick (a simply awful name, maybe Wells’ only misstep) is vacillating and fearful, the assistant Montgomery is an undisciplined, vulgar drunk, and Moreau… Wells really broke through here, with a character who perfectly embodies the sterile, driven, uber-rational and ultimately INhuman scientist. Moreau bitterly regrets the lost hour spent  saving Prendick’s life when he is marooned, shows not one scrap of sympathy for anyone or anything, yet has no real anger, no passion and of course not a drop of love in him.drmoreaucover

I re-read the conversation between Moreau and Prendick when it finally comes to light what the doctor is doing to animals; there’s a heat-wave in my state right now, and I tell you it was better than air conditioning. I have seldom felt such a chill, to read of a man so dispassionately determined to inflict agony on his victims, brushing aside any objection based on mercy, or decency, in order to get one hour further into his personal understanding of the morphing of animal forms to something closer to “human”- as if there was a scrap of real humanity in him to start with. Moreau stabs his own leg with a penknife to demonstrate that he has severed all the pain-endings in his own body. I couldn’t read through it fast enough.

Next thing you know, the MC is among the Beast-Men, and now the creepiness really begins. The tale assumes that the essential intelligence and rationality of a human being are largely locked up inside every kind of animal- Moreau makes a passing reference to changes in the brain that he’s able to add- so they all talk and understand. There’s a constant pull in them, though, back to their beastly natures- they live in a ravine and endlessly recite The Law to keep themselves on track. “Not to walk on all fours- that is The Law” one chants, and the rest respond “Are we not Men?” The parallel to religion is both unmistakable and pretty depressing- as Wells himself called the tale, “youthful blasphemy” indeed. islandofdrmoreau7704

But you can’t help thinking, what is it anyway? Some of the Beast-Men are awful by nature, some more friendly to the MC but not admirable, and a few- the doomed puma-man, for example- want so fiercely to be free you can’t help but sympathize. So, not being human is the closest we can get to being human?  Moreau himself, the Lawgiver, stands in the place of a horrible deity, inflicting pain for sin and trying to uplift the sinners (though hardly meaning to save them). The main character is haunted during his time on the island by the parallels he recalls to  his former society:

I would see one of the clumsy bovine-creatures who worked the launch treading heavily through the undergrowth, and find myself asking, trying hard to recall, how he differed from some really human yokel trudging home from his mechanical labours; or I would meet the Fox-bear woman’s vulpine, shifty face, strangely human in its speculative cunning, and even imagine I had met it before in some city byway. (p. 67)

The Ending You Get, With This Beginning

The boats wrecked, the guns low on bullets, Prendick lives among the Beast-Men as just a less hairy, somewhat more upright and high-talking animal. The Law slowly dissolves and his life is surely forfeit, but Providence intervenes and his journal survives for us to read. Maybe Prendick survives too- I’ll leave it to you to decide.

Time for a true confession from me- I have only seen clips of the movie-versions for this ghastly tale. The 1977 issue with Burt Lancaster and Michael York is as dated as you might expect, and what little I saw of the Marlon Brando-doctor almost made me nostalgic for Jor-El. But here’s a good clip that demonstrates the horror our protagonist (played by York) is supposed to feel, and giving a pretty good sense of the power of The Law.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kONqJoTMlk&w=420&h=315]

But, But, Gotta’ Have a MOVIE!

Now stretch your mind and try to imagine what major plot element is missing from the original book but which Hollywood producers saw fit to include in both movies. Are you thinking hard? Are you seeing a hot babe and a romantic angle? Yeah, me too. Doctor Moreau has a daughter, of shall we say questionable genetic background but certainly urging you to judge her book by its cover in both flicks. Fairuze Balk played Aissa in the Brando version- trust me, she’s dynamite. Here’s Barbara Carrera as Josephine Moreau with Michael York:

Stirring animal passions- as if the original tale wasn't enough?
Stirring animal passions- as if the original tale wasn’t enough?

By the way, York’s character is Andrew Braddock, a massive improvement over the name Edward Prendick. And Burt Lancaster’s Moreau has some ethics, a noble goal. The original is horribly amoral, makes C.S. Lewis’s Dr. Weston look like the Salvation Army. One nice bit of trivia- in Well’s original story, Prendick spends a fair amount of time suspecting that Moreau is transforming people into animals, rather than the other way around. In the movies, and some other versions seen around pop culture- I think of cartoon episodes like Thundarr the Barbarian and Batman– this is explored. But they only have twenty minutes, so I don’t see that they come to much of a different conclusion than Wells did. It’s better to be dead than a Beast-Man: and it’s better to be a dead Beast-Man than Dr. Moreau.

I downloaded the book from Kindle’s free classics (reference below) and I must say, it’s a steal at that price. You clip along at a race-car pace and my progress was all the faster since I have it on my phone as well as the PC- and they sync whenever I switch from one to the other. I’ve already praised the dictionary feature- “Apia?” one click and now you know what the capital of Samoa is. Some formatting issues and the old habit of not putting new quote marks at the start of each paragraph sometimes confused me as to who was speaking, or whether we had reverted to internal narration. But Wells’ words must be read to fully appreciate his mastery- you can say the same of all the sci-fi classics he’s responsible for, and their constant translation into movies, TV episodes, and other genres testifies to his genius.

Humanity in the Stars?

I don’t see where Wells gives us a clear distinction of what makes a being a human being- he focuses more on the many ways we can be dishonorable and unworthy of the title. The Beast-Men speak, think, laugh, marry… he sets no standard as to what crosses that important line. As the Beast-Men lose their way, they revert to all-fours and their speech becomes horribly softened and slower; but Prendick still sees in their eyes the fear of what is slipping away, and the knowledge they still have locked up inside their mute mouths.

The best Wells can do at the end is urge us to back up, and look up- see the whole picture instead of each person:

There is–though I do not know how there is or why there is–a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven. There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope. I hope, or I could not live. (p.108)lawsayer

The Greeks would have agreed, saying that man is different from the world’s animals because they look down toward the ground, but we look up at the stars.

In the Lands of Hope some remnants of irredeemably evil, inhuman races exist, garruk and undead and others in the distant corners of the kingdoms. Created by Despair’s Lieges, they seek only to destroy and can be resisted with every effort of body and mind: no one believes they have souls, least of all themselves (though some are rational and have speech). Rare indeed would be the sage to argue that a garruk or a grinaki were human.

Then too the Lands once were ruled by evil men and elves, the Children of Despair (centuries earlier, when they occupied the world), who outwardly look like the Land’s Hopeful inhabitants. They were literally born to Despair, raised to believe that the powerful deserve to prosper while the weak suffer, and sought in those days with every breath and plan to put half-beastthemselves above others and receive that comfort or at least inflict that pain. They would not hesitate to experiment as Moreau did- and I can assure you, had Wells’ suppositions been proven out by science, there would have been no shortage of mid-20th century doctors to do so either. But in the more recent history of the Lands  there are others, born to Hope who have turned to evil, albeit on a much more mundane level. Criminals and conspirators, a few- the Law deals with them, following procedure and restraint in recognition of their humanity. Do the Children of Despair give second chances? Do they believe in a soul, or redemption even by their own twisted guides? None have said, at least not to me. But I doubt it. To my mind it is in the ability to forgive, to accord a second chance, that humans can distinguish their efforts from those of the beasts. Animals can show affection, but seldom if ever mercy.

And if I err in this judgment, I hope I may be forgiven by you dear reader. Like Wells, I hope or I could not live. As for my mistakes- I’m only human.

-Wells, H. G. (Herbert George) (2004-10-14). The Island of Doctor Moreau . Public Domain Books. Kindle Edition.