Vintage Book Review: “The Time Machine” by H.G. Wells (1895)

“The Time Machine” (1895) was written at the latter end of the Victorian age, a time during which great scientific discoveries and leaps in progress were made. The concept of time travel was most likely fueled  by the discovery of, and the advances of, electrical energy, which then would have prompted an imagining of unparalleled potential, if harnessed effectively – in this case, the potential to travel through time.

H.G. Wells was then, and is known today, as a keen science fiction author, having touched upon the subject of science fiction many times before. The Time Machine tells the tale of a keen scientist who claims, to a room full of scarcely-believing friends, that he has just returned from a journey into the distant future, where many erstwhile unbelievable things he has experienced and seen, w ho then begins to recount his adventure.

Told from a third-person perspective, the narrator is relaying the time traveler’s tale, who jump started his time machine to embark upon a distinctly uncomfortable, but incredible, journey through the fabric of space and time, to end up in the year 802, 701 AD, a time when the the “society” of Earth has become virtually unrecognizable.

The first “people” he encounters are the “Eloi”, a race of barely-human people who have evolved over time to become impossibly ethereal and delicate, both physically and mentally, the implication being that they signify the “elite” society of the contemporary age, who have evolved to a point where intellect and strong feeling are no longer conducive to their surviving. The time traveler soon forges a bond with a female Eloi called Weena, a relationship which is hinted as being potentially romantic, but the “woman” is far too childlike and simple for this  to legitimately be the case.

He observes the Eloi, and their way of life, with a relatively dispassionate, but intellectually keen, narrative voice. However before long his time machine is mysteriously stolen by a dark and primitive underground-dwelling race called the Morlocks, who abhor sunlight and have evolved from the working class of the contemporary age to become what they now are. Worse, it turns out that every so often, they emerge during the night to feed on the Eloi, who in turn live in fear of them constantly.

This could be construed quite easily as the reverse of the upper class looking down upon, and suppressing, the working class, whom they deem to be inferior and exist only to serve the elite. The sheer extent of the division between the two races of people has resulted in both evolving to become extreme examples of “predator” and “prey”, in a brutal and inevitable “return to nature”.

After one night raid, in which the forest catches fire, engulfing Weena along with many of the Eloi (as is the implication), the time traveler casts himself into his time machine, just in time, to propel himself even further into the future, almost to the “end of time”, when the Sun is dying and on Earth there is a permanent sunset/sunrise, and there is virtually no trace of recognizable life.

There is a strong influence of a “Dying Earth Subgenre”, in which the ultimate end of the world, and of civilization, would inevitably form in the minds of the more imaginative and forward-thinking people of the age. Most remarkable here is the prompting of a mental projection into a future in which civilization, and society, disappear completely, and where humanity has left little to no trace.

After marveling at the unique glimpse of the future granted to him alone, the time traveler eventually manages to return to the late nineteenth century from where he came, just a few hours before his initial departure, and in good time to tell his friends of his adventure, once more.

Perhaps it is in the very fact that the entire tale is told as a “tale within a tale”, by a listener to the time traveler’s story, which shows that his tale is not doubted at all by at least one person, so fully and intricately has he related the experience. Given that time travel is still an endeavor which humanity is striving towards in the present day, and may still remain within the realms of “science fiction”, “The Time Machine” still manages to retain the same sense of speculative possibility today – over a century into the future – as it did at the time of writing.

 

COMRADE FOX: Low-living in Revolutionary Russia (The Life and Times of Archibald Brinsley Fox) by Stewart Hennessey

“I never gave a monkeys for Marxism or Monarchism or Liberalism or Conservatism or Socialism or any ism. I’ve always been leery of anyone brandishing an ism – an excuse to howl at the moon if you ask me. And they’re all moralists too, always got it in for someone else, usually someone like me.” – Archibald Brinsley Fox.
Written in the style of a diary, ‘Low-Living in Revolutionary Russia’ is Archie Fox’s story of his time spent in Revolutionary Russia. He spent his time cosying up to Lenin, trying to seduce his mistress and hunting for a Faberge egg, but all that is just the surface level of this book. He marks the difference between bolsheviks and Mensheviks, describes the call to arms in Petrograd and even prisoners of war going on strike. With a large collection of well researched endnotes adding to the story, this is one for those with an interest in The October Revolution and those with a liking for adventure and intrigue.

Personally, I’ve never been a huge fan of historical novels, although I always feel like I should be, but Archie Fox’s adventures are genuinely captivating; so much so that I found myself reaching for the endnotes to learn more. Archie is headstrong, with loose morals and yet you can’t help but like him. You might not want to spend any time in his company, but as a character in a book he offers the perfect balance of intrigue and despicable behaviour. Simply put, it’s a love-hate scenario.

The writing style is what really makes this novel captivating, as it has an upbeat rhythm which ensures that you can’t stop reading. Combine that with Fox’s escapades and you very quickly become swept along with the story and forget that it is rooted in historical accuracy; until the name Lenin pops up. Hearing about a man trying to seduce Lenin’s mistress catches your interest like nothing else. It simply isn’t the type of thing you learn at school or college and for anyone who doesn’t have a firm knowledge of revolutionary Russia, this is one of the most effective ways of learning about it.

I imagine that this could be a book to divide the audience, as those who are particularly sensitive to political correctness might not see the humour in it, but in my experience anything that doesn’t beg to be accepted by the masses is usually worth a read and a little controversy never did anyone any harm.

Woeful and Roses by M.K. Aston: A Review

Collections of short stories are a difficult thing to get right without coming across as pretentious and trying to bridge the gap between poetry and novels, but I’m happy to say that M. K. Aston has certainly cured my usual aversion to them. Each story offers a different take on the ‘twist’, which is a style that I have always loved although, once again, they are difficult to get right. As a reader it is like a form of abuse, eagerly awaiting the twist and knowing that it is going to shock and appall you, but wanting it anyway; Aston delivers this beautifully.

Each story is quite different and some even feel like they are written by a completely different author, but what they all have in common is that final twist and the subtle study of human nature. This is a subject that I could read an unlimited amount of books on, because it is so varied and so captivating and through the different styles of writing Aston really taps into this, offering a very realistic collection of stories.

Woeful and Roses opens with a story that sweeps you off your feet and into your imagination from the word go. Written through the eyes of an elderly man who we can all relate to – although we might not admit to it – End of the Line offers a realistic portrayal of the inner workings of the mind and the final, jaw-dropping twist at the end prepares readers for this style of writing. Simply put, don’t take the narrative for granted; all is not what it seems.

As with any short story collection there are always some I love and some I could take or leave. Portrait of an Angel is definitely the former and utterly heartbreaking. Although there were some seemingly unnecessary details that didn’t really add anything to the story, ultimately it all adds to the build-up and this is a very difficult thing to create. There were also some moments in other stories where the style didn’t match the rest of the story, but these were such small details that they don’t affect the overall telling of the story. I couldn’t pinpoint my absolute favourite story as they all offer so much, but Finders Weepers, Déjà Clue and Greetings from Saint Christopher were the three that truly resonated with me because they tapped into realistic fears and were told in such a personable manner.

The overall style of the book is difficult to pin down as some stories, such as Queasy Like Sunday Morning are quite different to the others, but this story in particular offered a nice break from the more serious or heartbreaking narratives and that is really needed in this type of collection. It is always difficult to review this type of book without giving away too much and ruining it for future readers. Suffice to say: it is well worth a read, but prepare for some wide-eyed-hand-over-mouth moments!

Modern Book Review: “Bright Young Things” by Scarlett Thomas (2001)

Bright Young Things is the high concept story of a group of young people who respond to an ad for “bright young things” who are wanted “for a big project”, and who all mysteriously wake up in a house on a remote island, with no recollection as to how, or why, they are there.

In Part One we are introduced to the characters one by one. They are – Anne, a girl of a nervous disposition with a sheltered life and not sure of what to do next in life; Jamie, a mathematician who is haunted by numbers and looking for his next challenge (What’s the square root of everything? Nothing.”; Thea, who works in a nursing home and is also become tired with her lot in life; Bryn, a petty drug dealer who does freelance photography; Emily, a “bright young thing” who is conventionally attractive and ends up working for an escort agency; Paul, a vegetarian workaholic who is on the verge of quitting, and for the sheer thrill, is planning on releasing a virus in the near future.

A little is said about how each person came to the point of travelling all the way to Edinburgh for an interview for a job about which they know nothing. At least on the surface, they seem to have little in common, which makes their discovering themselves trapped together in the middle of nowhere all the more bewildering.

Of course, their first instinct is to wonder what could possibly have happened to them, the general consensus being that the interview people drugged them, for whatever reason, and dropped them off here. But as they explore, the house is well stocked with supplies and a sign saying “PLEASE. MAKE YOURSELVES AT HOME”.

However, it is not long until it becomes apparent that, rather than trying to escape immediately, the young people start talking about all the various things they’re into when it comes to “pop culture” (taking place in 1999, many of the pop culture references will perhaps be lost on people of a similar age today). Some – Thea particularly – object to resorting to discussing lowbrow entertainment such as pop music and soap operas, and being sarcastic all the time – indeed most of the time, being ironic is more important than being genuine – but with otherwise such contrasting backgrounds, the “bonding” effect of their conversation is surprising.

The superficiality of their conversation – discussing soap plots for pages at a time – is potentially off-putting, but as the “bonding” goes on into their first night there, the superficial eventually leads into the meaningful, with deep and dark secrets coming out into the open, mostly with the help of a drunken game of “Truth or Dare”.

Events soon take a drastic sinister turn, when they decide to call it a night and stumble back to their beds; one of them goes exploring in the attic and there finds a dead body; someone who, presumably only died a short time ago, and who must have brought them all there in the first place. It is only at this point in the story that they all seriously contemplate how to make an escape, and after a few of them have varying degrees of breakdown, along with more soul-searching, they eventually hatch a plan to build a boat and send the dead body away with a note asking for their rescue. After that, their future is, seemingly, left entirely up to fate.

Bright Young Things is largely built upon inner dialogue, where each character contemplates what’s going on, and outer dialogue, which is itself built largely upon the pop culture – and the trend for self-conscious affectation – of the time. The author, Scarlett Thomas, alludes to this in the introduction, saying that “The characters in Bright Young Things don’t know they are in a book, but they do know that they are in a story”.

Basically, the whole unlikely scenario the young people find themselves in is dealt with by treating it like a random occurrence in everyday life, which each character treats like a “story”. Even if many of the references now seem out of date, its use in aiding the “story” of the young people in this bizarre situation seems more appropriate.

Simply substitute any pop culture reference in the story for a more up-to-date one, and the same idea will still apply; this story can be seen as a satire of modern culture, or simply a survival story, most likely, it is probably meant to be both at the same time.

 

 

Book Review: The Mystery of Mercy Close, by Marian Keyes

I am, without a doubt, what can only be described as a die hard Marian Keyes fan.

I have read all of her books multiple times. She is one of a very few authors seen to be in the ‘Chic Lit’ genre I can abide (Jane Green is the only other consistent one). As a result of this, I was more than a little astonished when The Mystery of Mercy Close received such mixed reviews upon release. It came out in hardback first, which meant I had to wait, as all my other Keyes books are in paperback and I cannot tolerate mismatched books. Consequently, by the time I read it myself I was a little apprehensive, horribly worried that one of my favourite authors was slipping.

I’m happy to say that my concerns were completely and utterly groundless. The Mystery of Mercy Close is now by far one of my favourite Keyes books to date, and believe me that takes some doing. It ranks up there with Anybody Out There, and Angels; it has supplanted Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married as my number three. The reason for this is very simple, and is of course the reason I love Keyes so very much: this book is so painfully real.

Following Helen Walsh, the youngest of the Walsh clan and the last daughter of Keyes’ enigmatic, signature family to be given a book of her own, the narrative folds Helen’s money worries, as she struggles as a Private Investigator in the midst of Ireland’s recession, with how she, her friends, and her family handle her bouts of depression, and of course, with the mystery of the eponymous Mercy Close, home of Wayne Diffney, missing member of the fictitious Irish Boy Band, Ladz. At first, you wonder how all this will possibly fit together, but it does, if not quite in the absolutely seamless style to which Keyes fans will be accustomed, certainly in a manner that far surpasses anything a lesser author could pull off, if trying to write this book.

There is the feeling that the two main aspects of the plot—Wayne Diffney’s disappearance and Helen’s depression—clash slightly, and never quite gel in one perfectly plotted book. The book, however, is the better for this fact. Anyone who has suffered depression, or anything similar, will know the devastating effect it has, not only on your life, but also on your capacity to think. Things that used to make sense no longer do. Pieces of your life don’t fit together anymore, and you find yourself wondering how you can possibly be the person everyone is saying you have been for the last lifetime. In this sense, the novel itself is depressed. It doesn’t quite understand how its separate parts are supposed to function as a united whole. That is not to say, in any way, that it isn’t a brilliantly written novel. It is. However, the pervading opinion in many reviews that this ‘isn’t her best’ appears to be based on the misapprehension that this oddity in style is not completely purposeful, and reflective of the deeper meaning of the book.

As always with Keyes, the plot revolves around characters who are drawn to perfection, the dialogue is both pithy and at times hilarious, and quirks that can only be described as Marianisms about; as with the dreaded ‘Feathery Strokers’ of Rachel’s Holiday, Helen has her own hilarious perspectives and idioms (the most wonderful of which is, without a doubt, the Shovel List). It’s a well paced read, and vanishes in no time, and while it has moments of extreme seriousness and others of total heartbreak, it is also – thanks to the enigma of Helen Walsh – hilariously funny. Genuinely, completely, laugh out loud, borderline-hysterics, funny.

If it has one fault, it is that the Mystery is not as mysterious as it seems. The whereabouts of Diffney is obvious within a few pages, however the nature of the book is such that you actually forget you thought of the answer, as soon as the notion forms; right up to the end, you’re vacillating between one of about four or five possibilities, and just as you think you’re certain you’re right, something else happens that swings you in another direction. So, while the ultimate solution is (in hindsight) very obvious, the journey to it is exceptionally enjoyable.

It’s no secret that Keyes herself suffered a horrendous bout of prolonged depression, between her last fictional release, The Brightest Star in the Sky, and Mercy Close. What is startling however, is reading interviews she has given, and then reading this novel, for you realise that she has literally poured her own experiences into it. She has not simply drawn on the feelings she had, she has recounted life events on the page. Hideous, traumatic, and very personal life events.

Keyes’ desire to share her experiences is heroic. There are parts that can’t have been easy to write, and for many it won’t be easy to read, and this, surely, is another reason for the mixed reviews Mercy Close received. The majority of this book is not ‘feel good’, unlike Keyes’ other offerings which, while always having serious elements, are enjoyable to read the majority of the time. This book, however, is not meant to make people feel good. It is meant to raise awareness, and give people a real, genuine look inside the mind of a person who, for a while, isn’t quite thinking like themselves, or anyone else for that matter. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but necessary, if only so that those who have never experienced depression come to understand that ‘everyone feels down sometimes’ is a perfectly legitimate statement, but has nothing whatsoever to do with depression.

Book Review: The Year of the Food, by Margaret Atwood

You would think that having written so many post-apocalyptic novels over the years, Margaret Atwood’s offerings would have become stale, dull, or at the very least a little repetitive.

Not so.

At once a complex and simple tale of survival at the end of the world, her latest novel is The Year of the Flood, the sequel to the stunning Oryx and Crake.

Ren is an upmarket sex worker, trapped in her place of work.

Toby is a tired member of The Gardeners, a odd, underground, eco-warrior movement which predicted the man-made plague that has all but eradicated human life on the planet.

With peculiar animals created from gene-splicing and human meddling running amok, a growing concern over food, and the ever present question in each woman’s mind of whether they are, in fact, the only human alive on the planet, both tell their own tale of how they came to be where they were when the ‘waterless flood’ hit.

This is not a novel for easy reading, when you can’t really be bothered to pay too much attention to what is going on, and you don’t mind so much if there isn’t much of a plot, as long as it’s a fun read. This is the sort of novel you pick up and literally can’t put down until you know what happens. Atwood, as always, delivers perfect prose and gritty, yet sympathetic characters, who show us all too clearly how easy it would be to end up in a similar situation. From the Ren’s childhood memories of her best friend Amanda, to her more recent musings of life as a dancer in the fully-condoned sex trade, we see a vulnerable and somewhat tragic character, whose only real ambition in life has been to have a place where she belonged. Toby, on the other hand, has a hardness about her, a stubbornness, which allows her to survive as she has, and yet she also possesses – as we see from her earlier life – a similar vulnerability to Ren, and an unfulfilled craving for love.

These are two wonderfully drawn women, in a bizarre world that is falling apart, where morals and standards were turned upside down long before the plague wiped out most of the human population, and the survivors scrabbling for avoid death. As always with Atwood, it is difficult to read this and come away from it having simply read a good novel. Rather, you come away pondering, and continue to do so for some time to come, finding events from the book popping back into your head at strange times, and leaving you considering things you otherwise might never have thought to mull over.

Undoubtedly another splendid achievement for Atwood, leaving us in eager anticipation of MaddAddam’s release in August of this year, The Year of the Flood is a quirky and unique take on the possible fate of man, and the dangers of interfering with nature.