Deborah
ENGL 3850-02N
Sci-Fi Lit
Dr. Coats
4 February, 1997
The War Of The Worlds
The War Of The Worlds, by H.G.Wells, was written in 1898. It took me a while to get into the hundred year old rhythm of this book, but once I achieved it, the story became much more interesting. Wells' narrator had a unique perspective of the story: He was lucky enough to survive the initial attack, and his luck bore him through the following catastrophe. I was struck by his mood swings- first he was calm and patient in his explanations of the events, but then he would lose his control and show his terror.
The way that the aliens were portrayed-"sluggish lumps", "octopuses"- combined with the complete fear of the narrator suggests that he, as well as the rest of the people, were afraid of the Martians as not only an 'alien' species , but also as an alien species-something never before encountered and therefore something to be feared. Wells writes of ponderous machines that the Martians use as transport ("Boilers on legs") that clank and hiss and billow steam. These Martians are noisy and apparently care nothing for stealth: They have the advantage and know it. To these Martians, as the narrator discovers, humans are nothing but "edible ants" in the way at their picnic- something to be squashed and forgotten. When the Martians are finally stopped, it is not due to carelessness on their part or carefulness on the humans', it is God's Angel of Death- disease- that brings them down. The humans would never have been able to stand against them if it had not been for humanity's dirtiness.
One passage that I remember quite clearly is the passage titled, "The Death of The Curate." Our narrator and his companion in hiding have been "imprisoned" in the scullery of a house for six days. The curate begins to believe that the Martians are a scourge from God sent to cleanse humanity of its sinfulness. He begins to pray and beg forgiveness, loudly, for the next three days. Our narrator loses his patience and tries to hush the ever-growing fervency of the Curate's prayers. In desperation, he swings a meat cleaver at the Curate: "With one last touch of Humanity I turned the blade back and struck him with the butt." The fear of being discovered allows our narrator to forget his human nature and allow his survival drive to take over, killing the Curate. He becomes as thoughtless a killer as the Martians he so loathes.
The War of the Worlds may certainly begin with slow, albeit informative, passages, but once started, the novel rolls into a pace like that of a runaway train. And like a runaway train, (with noise and steam) it comes through a grisly series of events to a screeching, though hoped for, end. I may not like Wells' style of writing completely, but once I got past his explanations and cracked his "code", the book became much more enjoyable to me.