Science fiction tale by H. G. Wells which
represents one of his darkest evolutionary visions and was to have a powerful
effect on public conceptions of alien life.1 It was originally
serialized in Pearson's Magazine, from April to December 1897, before
being published as a book in 1898. The title of the opening section, "The Coming
of the Martians," the title of the opening chapter, "The Eve of War," and the
very first sentence foreshadow the horror that is about to descend:
No one would have believed, in the last years of the
nineteenth century, that human affairs were being watched keenly and closely
by intelligences greater than man's ... Cleverly, Wells
weaves scientific fact into his tale so that the reader is left wondering where
the real world ends and glimpses of another possible truth begin. Some familiar
names make their appearance:
Men like Schiaparelli watched the red planet - it is
odd, by the by, that for countless centuries Mars has been the star of war—but
failed to interpret the fluctuating appearances of the markings they mapped so
well. All the time the Martians must have been getting ready. During the
opposition of 1894 a great light was seen on the illuminated part of the disc,
first at the Lick Observatory, then by Perrotin of Nice . . . I am inclined to
think that the appearance may have been the casting of the huge gun [a
borrowing from Verne] ... from which their shots were fired at us.
Swept aside here is the heroic, isolated, near-human race of Lowell. In
its place is a truly alien species with an intellect "vast and cool and
unsympathetic." As for the anatomy of this other-world creature, Wells had
already warned in an earlier article to expect a nasty shock. Now the thing was
revealed:
A big, greyish rounded bulk, the size, perhaps of a
bear, was rising slowly and painfully out of the cylinder. As it bulged up and
caught the light, it glistened like wet leather. Two large dark-coloured eyes
were regarding me steadfastly. The mass that framed them, the head of the
thing, it was rounded, and had, one might say, a face. There was a mouth under
the eyes, the lipless brim of which quivered and panted, and dropped saliva.
The whole creature heaved and pulsated convulsively. A lank tentacular
appendage gripped the edge of the cylinder, another swayed in the air.
With his appreciation of how living things were shaped and
selected by their circumstances, Wells realized that where life arose on other
planets it would develop to suit the local conditions, such as gravitational
pull and atmospheric make-up. Therefore it would not be easy for a creature that
had evolved in one place to adjust to the environment elsewhere:
Those who have never seen a living Martian can
scarcely imagine the strange horror of their appearance. The peculiar V-shaped
mouth with its pointed upper lip, the absence of brow ridges, the absence of a
chin beneath the wedge-like lower lip, the incessant quivering of this mouth,
the Gorgon groups of tentacles, the tumultuous breathing of the lungs in a
strange atmosphere, the evident heaviness and painfulness of movement, due to
the greater gravitational energy of the earth—above all, the extraordinary
intensity of the immense eyes —culminated in an effect akin to nausea. There
was something fungoid in the oily brown skin ... Even at this first encounter,
this first glimpse, I was overcome with disgust and dread.
Thus
was spawned the nightmare of the pulsating brain, of the malicious anatomy—the
alien from hell—and the nightmare, too, that might follow were it to transpire
that humankind was far from being near the pinnacle of cerebral development.
Elsewhere in space, there could be, as Wells put it, species with "minds that
are to our minds as ours are to the beasts that perish." And what if those minds
meant us no good? How could we possibly stand against them? This is the fear
that Wells so skillfully implanted: an alien race, alien in appearance and with
an intelligence and technology frighteningly superior to our own. Wells had not
had to look far for a precedent for his usurping aliens. In the final decades of
the nineteenth century, "technologically-advanced" European powers such as
Britain and France had been busily carving up Africa, invading territories at
will and trampling on the rights of the indigenous folk whom, in true
imperialist style, they considered culturally and intellectually inferior to
themselves. As Wells points out in the prelude to the Martian mayhem: "Are we
such apostles of mercy as to complain if the Martians warred in the same
spirit?"
Partly this urge to grab new resources and strategic
land around the world was a response to instabilities within Europe itself. And
so Wells was able to touch another raw nerve. Throughout the latter part of the
nineteenth century, the continent was in a perpetual state of tension, its major
powers playing a dangerous game of shifting alliances and rivalries. War never
seemed more than a careless gunshot away. It might even come from the air given
that gas balloons had been used by the Germans during the siege of Paris in
1870. So, just as Lowell's concept of a worldwide canal network and giant
pumping stations had seemed all the more credible (and was conceived) against a
backdrop of rapid engineering and industrial progress, it was to a public all
too familiar with news of international unrest and threats of invasion that
Wells directed his menacing tale.
Until The War of the Worlds,
stories of visitors to Earth had generally portrayed the outsiders as gentle,
peace-lovers, interested only in watching us, perhaps with mild amusement or
concern (see Micromegas).
But in Wells's novel, the extraterrestrials are painted suddenly in an
altogether different light: as a terrifying threat, capable of bringing
merciless death and destruction. No human weapon could stand against them, any
more than a spear or shield could provide protection against a gun. Wells showed
how pathetically helpless we would be if a malignant alien race, centuries ahead
of us, did decide to attack the Earth. And in doing this he caused
something to stir that had been buried deep within our animal subconscious—the
naked fear of the prey when confronted by the irresistible predator. To
Technological Man the effect of this sudden exposure to a long-suppressed dread
was devastating. Humankind had begun to imagine it was secure in its role as
master of the planet. But Wells revealed how feeble our tenure might be should
superior beings from elsewhere choose to come and wrest control of the Earth
away from us.
Speculation about the Martian canals and their creators
had titillated public interest. But the idea of invasion from space had an
altogether more serious and long-lasting effect. It buried itself like a barbed
sting beneath the surface of popular culture, so that it would be felt in future
whenever there came a hint of the possibility of alien incursion.
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