Avid
readers know it matters greatly when
in life one encounters a certain work, whether the particular piece of
literature is considered a classic or something much less enduring or
edifying. The biblical Book of
Ecclesiastes has little interest or resonance for an adolescent, who expects to
live forever, but can be excruciating to read for someone in middle age. Words, stories, and “teaching moments” of all
kinds often seem to find us precisely at that time in our life when we are most
open to receiving and appreciating them.
When in
my early teens I first attempted to read H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine (1895), I had difficulty making sense of it, and
found the ending disappointingly inconclusive.
Far in the future, the Eloi were depicted as the innocent, peaceful, sunlight-dwelling
victims of the vile, predacious, subterranean Morlocks. Good and evil were clearly defined, so why
was the clever time traveler unable to help the Eloi vanquish the bestial
Morlocks at the end? Why did he just hop
back into his time machine and…leave them
behind?
I hope
that Wells’ novella is still required reading somewhere, because it obviously
has had enormous influence on subsequent speculation about the fate of the human
race. There have been at least two movie
versions of the story that I am aware of, one produced in 1960 and the other in
2002. Both are interesting to compare,
given that over four decades of pop culture development separate the two films.
In
scenery, special effects, costumes and tone the earlier version closely
resembles an episode from the original Star
Trek, as well as then current science fiction entertainment like Forbidden Planet (1956). Wells’ original ideas were reworked to include
mid-twentieth century anxiety about nuclear annihilation, and the story ends on
a more positive note than the original:
the Eloi have been taught by the time traveler to defend themselves
against the Morlocks, and it is implied that the time traveler intends to
return to the Eloi with three important books, (unidentified), in order to
alter their future in a more hopeful
direction. (Sort of a temporal violation
of the “Prime Directive”, but with good intentions.)
The
2002 film is predictably much darker, more cynical, and more complex. The motivation for the creation of a time
machine is a doomed romance, recalling Captain Kirk’s anguish in the first
season Star Trek episode “The City on
the Edge of Forever” (1967). There is
more thoughtful consideration of theoretical problems with time travel, (e.g., temporal
paradox), and both the Eloi and the Morlocks are depicted as more socially
complex, hierarchical and intelligent.
The Morlocks are ruled by telepaths who control and organize their more ferocious
underlings in their raids on the Eloi.
Interestingly,
the 1960 version involves the salvation of the Eloi through education and group
effort, (i.e. social change), whereas
the 2002 film emphasizes individual
struggle and escape. The time traveler and one of the Eloi women manage to
destroy the Morlock city almost single handedly by causing a kind of temporal explosion
with the time machine. The two then
start a new life in a relatively Morlock-free world of the future.
Wells’ The Time Machine is a much darker vision
of the future than either of these two film versions. His mournful notions about the future of
humanity and of the earth have strongly influenced subsequent speculation about
the future of our cities, our politics and economics, even our physical
appearance. He was evidently very
impressed with both Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution as well as Karl Marx’s
ideas about class struggle. The
influence of both of these nineteenth century gentlemen is evident throughout
Wells’ novella.
To
paraphrase Marx, Wells’ “big idea” is that a highly successful human society—one
that effectively provides for every need and avoids all struggle and conflict—contains
the seeds of its own destruction. Which
destruction is essentially a genetic devolution to either imbecility (the Eloi)
or bestiality (the Morlocks). But Wells
cleverly up-ends Marx: the Morlocks, the
subterranean descendants of the working class that once provided their labor
and service to the bourgeois Eloi, now keep the literally “upper” classes alive—as
a food source. Socialism, of course, is
to blame:
Social
triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw
mankind housed in splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found
them engaged in no toil. There were no
signs of struggle, neither social nor economical struggle. The shop, the
advertisement, traffic, all that commerce which constitutes the body of our
world, was gone. It was natural on that
golden evening that I should jump at the idea of a social paradise…
Under
the new conditions of perfect comfort and security, that restless energy, that
with us is strength, would become weakness…No doubt the exquisite beauty of the
buildings I saw was the outcome of the last surging of the now purposeless energy
of mankind before it settled down into perfect harmony with the conditions
under which it lived…This has ever been the fate of energy in security; it
takes to art and to eroticism, and then come languor and decay.
After
recovering his stolen time machine from the Morlocks, Wells’ narrator sets his
machine to go even further into the future where the sun has dimmed to a red
giant, and the Earth’s flora and fauna have reverted to a primordial level. The haunting scene recalls Clark Ashton Smith’s
Zothique cycle of stories, which involve a decadent society in decline beneath an
aging, dwindling red sun, (see also Forbidden
Tree and Forbidden Fruit in Zothique).
It may also remind readers of the last few chapters of William Hope Hodgson’s
The House on the Borderland, (1908). However, the time traveler is visiting an era
still further into the future, when the sun is about to wink out and leave the
Earth a dark, icy world. (H.P. Lovecraft
has also explored this theme of vast expanses of time and change, in his
marvelous 1936 story The Shadow Out of
Time, also well worth perusing.)
The
overall tone of Wells’ The Time Machine is
remarkably sad and resigned. There is a
wonderful episode when the time traveler and his female acquaintance, Weena of the
Eloi, are exploring an ancient museum—essentially a ruin featuring still earlier ruins: fossils, statuary, antiquated
technology. It is a nice touch,
encapsulating the image of time as a destroyer.
The narrator discovers the remains of a library, surveys the “decaying
vestiges of books” and has an Ecclesiastes moment:
But
as it was, the thing that struck me with keenest force was the enormous waste
of labour to which this somber wilderness of rotting paper testified. At the time I will confess that I thought
chiefly of the Philosophical Transactions,
and my own seventeen papers upon physical optics.
Bloggers
and aspiring writers may experience a twinge of dismay when reading these
lines. As an aside, I am currently
reading Damon Knight’s In Search of
Wonder (1956), a fascinating—and now historical, though not ancient—collection of essays and
reviews about the science fiction field circa the 1950s. Knight’s reviews are clever and insightful;
he is covering the genre at the tail end of the Golden Age, just before its
translation into television series and popular movies. But except for a small handful of authors,
among them Asimov, Bradbury and Heinlein, most of his colleagues have since
crumpled and disintegrated into obscurity—and within the span of a single human
life.
As
Ecclesiastes would say—and avoid reading this if you are three decades or younger:
Is
there anything of which one can say “Look!
This is something new”? It was
here already, long ago; it was here before our time. There is not remembrance of men of old, and
even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow.
Which may not always be a bad thing…
It's been years since I read the book, but I still remember the visions of the far, far future under the light of the red star to be the most haunting aspect of the story. Perhaps it is time to re-read this one.
ReplyDeleteI agree--the scene on the shore where the huge red sun is setting on an eerily calm ocean is very powerful; so is the later scene when a dimmer sun is eclipsed above a cold darkening earth. I also like part where the time traveler explores the ruins of a library.
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting to compare the two movie versions of the story, done decades apart. They are very much a product of their times.
Thanks for visiting!