I’ve read statements claiming H. G. Wells is the father of science
fiction, and there does appear a degree truth in it. Certainly other writers had taken steps, most
notably Jules Verne with his voyages
extraordinaires, but it was Wells who latched onto the ideological potential
of the genre and began writing stories.
Seeming to spawn a sub-genre with each book published, The War of the Worlds looks at
humanity’s reaction to an alien invasion; The
Invisible Man deals with identity problems; The Island of Dr. Moreau tackles biological modification; and The First Men in the Moon is a very
early look at lunar life. Each book a
vehicle for his political agenda, these and other of the author’s works employ
what are now standard sci-fi motifs to expound upon sociopolitical concepts. Wells’ debut in long form, the 1898 novella The Time Machine, is one such book.
The Time Machine
is a foremost frame story. It opens from
the point of view of an unnamed narrator at a dinner party hosted by a person
called simply the Time Traveler. Amongst
the group sit men of learning—a medical doctor, psychologist, and others—who listen
as the Time Traveler expounds upon dimensional physics, interest and discord arising
in the discussion’s wake. After demonstrating
with a small time machine to the disbelief of some and amazement of others, the
Time Traveler invites the group to return the following week, hoping to be able
to report on a larger machine he has been constructing. When the guests return, they find the Time
Traveler strangely absent from his home.
But soon enough he emerges from the shop. Weary in body, clothes in rags, and feet
bloody through the socks, he begins the narrative of his adventure in time.
