"Say, from whence you owe this strange intelligence?
Or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way with such prophetic greeting?"
—from William Shakespeare, Macbeth
—from William Shakespeare, Macbeth
The Arrhenius Horror (1931) is a ‘blasted heath’
story similar in some respects to H.P. Lovecraft’s The Colour Out of Space (1927) and the much older tale by Ralph
Adams Cram, The Dead Valley (1895). All three stories have as their setting a
weird and remote district inhabited by a strange ecology. Either the location is rendered nearly
lifeless (The Dead Valley) or is
filled with the mutated versions of ordinary life forms. In either case, the local flora and fauna are
different and hazardous as a result
of a strange emanation.
In
H.P. Lovecraft’s well known The Colour
Out of Space, an alien entity arrives by meteorite and soon imbues an
entire valley with strange coloration, genetic mutation, and death. Though a meteorite is not specifically
mentioned in The Dead Valley, the
description of the setting suggests an old meteorite crater. In the center are a single dead tree, and a
curious pile of little animal bones at its base. This one is well worth reading for its
ominous locale and sense of all encompassing nightmare. The
Arrhenius Horror tops both of these places with indigenous weirdness—a
marshy valley containing a huge deposit of glowing radium—which is then seeded
with an alien life form.
P.
Schuyler Miller’s novella is ambitious but a bit unwieldy. It contains a number of big ideas, in
particular, that of panspermia, a
notion that originated with the Greeks.
This is the belief that life has spread throughout the universe by way
of tiny seeds or spores that drifted from world to world seeking optimal
conditions for growth and colonization.
Nineteenth century scientists like Hermann von Helmholtz and Svante
Arrhenius—hence the story’s name—revived this idea. Arrhenius was a renowned chemist at the turn
of the 20th century, and there is a lot of chemistry in this story.
Like
many pulp science fiction stories of the time, The Arrhenius Horror is essentially a thought experiment, and
entertaining primarily for that reason.
Miller wants to dramatize the panspermia hypothesis as well as speculate
on the nature of life forms that may be based on silica instead of carbon. This is theoretical
science fiction, so characters, plot and credibility are nonessential. By the end of the story readers may be
tempted to say “Gee whiz!” but not “Oh my God!”
The
story begins with the narrator talking to his psychoanalyst. Presumably, he is seeing the doctor in order
to recover from a terrible emotional trauma.
He has recently seen his friend mortally wounded in a titanic struggle
with a giant silicon life form, somewhere in Africa. But the tone of his narrative is too
speculative and hypothetical for this scene to be credible. It is the author’s contrivance to have
someone hear the man’s tale. The
Freudian word association test that opens the story is priceless:
“Kelvin.”—“Absolute.”
“Sleep.”—“Tired.”
“Earth.”—“Doom.” (emphasis, mine)
“Ground.”—“Soil.”
“Arrhenius.”—(4.5
seconds elapse)—“Ion.”
Ordinarily,
a pattern of verbal responses may point to hidden or repressed memories and
strong feelings that the patient may be unaware of which influence day to day
behavior. These can then be brought into
consciousness through therapeutic discussion.
But the narrator has no problem at all discussing the traumatic events
in great detail, and then offering pseudo-scientific theories to account for
the data. The psychoanalyst is one of
only three human beings in the story besides the narrator and the doomed friend. (Some stereotypical African laborers serve mainly
as a prop.) Again, characterization,
plot, conflict, dialogue and other elements of a typical story are completely
subservient to ideas and speculation in a work like The Arrhenius Horror. Stories
like this are strangely depopulated, like a low budget ‘B’ movie. Where is everyone?
Bill,
the narrator, and his friend Tom are both young chemists. Their goal is to strike it rich by mining and
purifying radium in “Hell’s Garden”, an old crater somewhere in the deserts of
Africa. A massive deposit of radium
underlies the marshy bottom of this crater, giving all of the native plant life
an eerie phosphorescent glow at night. They
set up a primitive refinery near the edge of the crater, and employ some of the
natives to do the hard labor.
Contemporary
readers will be horrified by the overt, arrogant racism that appears casually
here and there in the story:
“The blacks feared us as they feared the luminescence of the crater—with much awe of the white demi-gods who played with light and life. For once, Tom had cured a tumor for their headman, in the days of the first expedition, and the man had stolen the white chief’s medicine and died horribly of burns from the radium, tucked, in its little quartz capsule, into his loin cloth.”
What
is dismaying is that material like this was quite common in the pulp fiction of
the time, was probably taken for granted by many of its initial readers as
normative, and was not written all that
long ago—within the lifespan of a single human being. What do we take for granted in today’s cultural products that will
later—perhaps only a generation later—be viewed as appalling or ignorant or
hurtful?
In The Arrhenius Horror there are explicit
directions for extracting radium from uranium when one is out in the wilderness—these
occupy numerous paragraphs. Later on
there is an explanation of how to grow spectacular crystal formations by
seeding a media that contains all the right chemical materials in the correct
proportions. (“Write what you know,” as
Mark Twain and others have advised.) All
of this takes a back seat to a thorough review of the implications of Arrhenius’
theory of panspermia.
Radium,
crystal formations, basic chemistry, panspermia. Sure enough, one night the two men observe a
super nova overhead, and not long afterwards what appears to be a speck of
light drifting down from the sky into the marsh. Readers will expect that something will start
growing among the weirdly glowing reeds of the swamp, and won’t be
disappointed. Because the crater
containing Hell’s Garden—perhaps a riff on the notion of a Garden of Eden—is surrounded
by desert sand, conditions are ideal for the cultivation of a gigantic
intelligent crystal composed of silica.
The monster is reminiscent of The
Monolith Monsters, a 1957 film about Earth being invaded by giant crystals
that arrive via meteorite.
Radium saves the day, but not before Bill’s friend Tom is
crushed beneath a pile of the alien crystals. Not
being a chemistry major, the explanation for all this was incomprehensible and unpersuasive.
The
story can be read as an adventure tale.
The description of Hell’s Garden is the strongest, most affecting part
of the story—the setting is unearthly and moody. Readers who enjoy a certain amount of theory
or speculation will find a lot of it in The
Arrhenius Horror. P. Schuyler Miller
was a chemist and amateur archaeologist, and worked as a technical writer for
General Electric in the 1940s. Most of
his fiction was published in the 1930s and 1940s, in such magazines as Amazing Stories, Astounding, The Magazine of
Fantasy and Science Fiction, and Weird
Tales, among others.
P.Schuyler Miller wrote a fantastic vampire tale from the point of view of the vampire -- and what a vampire! No Dracula this; it is more a clever, conniving animal than a thinking creature. The story is called OVER THE RIVER and it's a gem. Seek it out.
ReplyDeleteThank you JBL for this recommendation--I'll see if I can find it. Miller and other contemporaries of the big three, (Lovecraft, Howard, Smith) wrote a number of "gems" that are a pleasure to discover. Takes some digging though...
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