In some
respects, Stanley G. Weinbaum’s The Lotus
Eaters (1935) is similar to his first published science fiction story, A Martian Odyssey (1934).
However, the later story shows increasing sophistication in terms of
alien biology, planetary setting and characterization. Conceivably, The Lotus Eaters could have been called “A Venusian Odyssey”, though the author’s intent is more ambitious
than in the earlier adventure. This is a
story of big ideas as well as interesting characters, two important qualities
in the best science fiction.
The Lotus Eaters was originally published in the
April 1935 issue of Wonder Stories,
which also included work by Frank Belknap Long, John W. Campbell, Jr., Donald
Wandrei and Paul Ernst. To put this in a
Lovecraftian context, Weinbaum’s story was published the same year as Lovecraft’s
dreadful The Quest of Iranon and his interesting
contribution to the “round robin” tale The
Challenge from Beyond, (see also Help, I’m
a Centipede!) It was also around
this time that Lovecraft completed a draft of one of his best stories, The Shadow Out of Time.
In The Lotus Eaters, a husband and wife team
set out to investigate Venusian life forms just beyond the habitable “twilight
zone” of the planet, which separates its fiery sunlit side from the frozen region
eternally shrouded in darkness. In terms
of geo-psychology, the duo’s
exploration of the dark half of Venus, (of love?) dimly illumined by the light of their flickering head lamps, seems to depict on a planetary scale the
exploration of the conscious and the unconscious mind. (Freudian ideas about consciousness were
popular in Weinbaum’s time.)
The
author describes the planet Venus as having an orbit and rotational pattern
similar to that of Mercury: one side of the planet always facing the sun while
the other half remains in shadow. It is
now known that Venus does rotate on its axis, though very slowly, completing
one revolution in about 240 Earth days.
Its orbit and rotation are synchronized with the Earth’s in such a way
that when their respective positions are closest, Venus always presents the
same face to Earth.
Weinbaum
imagines that the atmosphere is breathable and that temperatures are tolerable
in the narrow twilight zone separating dark and light halves. Though Venus and Earth are similar in size, composition,
and gravitational force, the air pressure on Venus is actually comparable to
being about one mile beneath a terrestrial ocean, and surface temperatures
exceed 870 degrees Fahrenheit. Of
course, if the author had used only the facts as we now know them, The Lotus Eaters would not be as
interesting a story, nor as long.
The
notion of a habitable zone on an otherwise climatically hostile planet is
common in science fiction. It seems to
represent the supernatural equivalent of a “thin place”, a transitional zone
where unknown and unexplained phenomena can occur within an arm’s reach of what
is perceived as familiar and stable.
“Ham”
Hammond and his wife Patricia Burlingame venture out into the Venusian dark side,
and soon encounter its exotic ecology.
Along the way they speculate about the evolution of Venusian life forms
and their adaptation to this cold dark environment. What is interesting about their relationship—at
least for the times—is that Burlingame is clearly the leader, a brilliant
biologist and courageous to a fault.
Hammond, who apparently has married well above his social class, is
essentially a follower, mostly useful in getting the two out of occasional scrapes
with the more aggressive fauna.
This is
a recurring image in Weinbaum’s fiction, that of an empowered, intelligent and
ambitious woman. This depiction of
competent and independent women sets Weinbaum’s stories apart from the work of
his colleagues. (See also Maladaptations).
The
couple discover a race of creatures “…like inverted bushel baskets, about the
size and contour, veined, flabby and featureless save for a complete circle of
eye spots.” Burlingame speculates that
the creatures are actually warm-blooded plants, capable of mobility, and imbued
with a strange but powerful intelligence.
A
conversation begins with one of the creatures the couple has named “Oscar”. The creature is highly echolalic, repeating
portions of what Hammond and Burlingame say.
However, it is not merely imitating them. Oscar is rapidly acquiring their vocabulary
so that it can communicate its thoughts to the Earthlings. Weinbaum is invoking the Whorfian Hypothesis
here—the notion that language structures thought, that words and linguistic
categories must first exist before certain ideas or thoughts can occur. He plays with this idea in several of his
stories.
Other interesting
notions are considered. What sort of
intelligence or psychology would evolve in an advanced form of vegetation? What would motivate a highly intelligent
plant? Burlingame hypothesizes that
vegetable life is motivated by necessity
whereas animal life is motivated by desire. Awareness and individuality are shared by
Oscar and his kind, (“We are all Oscar.”), who reproduce asexually via aerial
spores.
Tragically,
Oscar and his kind are doomed by their passivity to extinction at the hands of
the local predator, Triops noctivivans,
a kind of three eyed hyena-like creature that hates light. These monsters circle the two humans just
outside the glare of their headlamps, getting ready to attack them as well. They
provide the element of suspense.
Besides
the presence of a strong female character, other images and themes that recur
in Weinbaum’s work are present in The
Lotus Eaters. Oscar’s physique and
habit of repeating human speech calls to mind the incomprehensible drum shaped
creatures in A Martian Odyssey as
well as “Oliver” the echolalic parcat who is Grant Calthorpe’s annoying pet in The Mad Moon. One of the pleasures of reading a horror or
science fiction author in some depth is to see how favorite ideas are developed
over time. For example, in H.P.
Lovecraft’s fiction, the entity known has Nyarlathotep evolves in interesting
ways across such stories as Nyarlathotep
(1920), The Haunter of the Dark
(1936) and The Dream Quest of Unknown
Kadath (1943).
Some
form of narcosis, hypnosis or hallucination is often present in Weinbaum’s
work. Readers familiar with A Martian Odyssey will recall the “dream
beast” that nearly eats the narrator. In
The Mad Moon, the indigenous blancha fever causes reality bending
hallucinations in its victims. In The Lotus Eaters, the soporific clouds
of spores that Oscar and his kind are constantly ejecting produce both physical
and philosophical resignation, the principle Venusian hazard for Hammond and
Burlingame. (Hallucinogenic imagery also appears often in the work of Clark Ashton Smith.)
There
is no reference to hopeful remedies for human illnesses in this story—a preoccupation
of the author, who may have realized at the time that he was dying of cancer. Does Oscar’s intellectual acquiescence to
certain doom reflect his creator’s? At
one point there is this grim discussion of how Oscar and his kind reproduce:
“Yes. The spores lodge against our bodies and there
is a—” Again the voice died.
“A fertilization?” suggested the
girl.
“No.”
“Well, a—I know! An irritation!”
“Yes.”
“That causes a tumorous growth?”
“Yes. When the growth is complete,
we split.”
“Ugh!” Snorted Ham. “A tumor!”
“Shut
up!” snapped the girl. “That’s all a
baby is—a normal tumor.”
In his
short career, Stanley Weinbaum was enormously influential as a science fiction
author, both for the quality of his writing and his provocative ideas. He should be more widely read, if only to appreciate
his enduring contributions to the field.
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