Selected Stories of H. G. Wells (Modern Library Classics) (Paperback)

~ H.G. Wells (Author), Ursula K. Le Guin (Editor) "Outside the laboratory windows was a watery-grey fog, and within a close warmth and the yellow light of the green-shaded gas lamps that stood two..." (more)
Key Phrases: big dynamo, land ironclads, silver bridle, Country of the Blind, Miss Haysman, Lord God (more...)

Editorial Reviews

Product Description

From the back cover: Le Guin's selection of twenty-six stories showcases Well's genius and reintroduces readers to his singular talent for making the unbelievable seem utterly plausible. --This text refers to the Kindle Edition edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

A Slip Under the Microscope Outside the laboratory windows was a watery-grey fog, and within a close warmth and the yellow light of the green-shaded gas lamps that stood two to each table down its narrow length. On each table stood a couple of glass jars containing the mangled vestiges of the crayfish, mussels, frogs, and guineapigs upon which the students had been working, and down the side of the room, facing the windows, were shelves bearing bleached dissections of spirits, surmounted by a row of beautifully executed anatomical drawings in whitewood frames and overhanging a row of cubical lockers. All the doors of the laboratory were panelled with blackboard, and on these were the half-erased diagrams of the previous day's work. The laboratory was empty, save for the demonstrator, who sat near the preparation-room door, and silent, save for a low, continuous murmur, and the clicking of the rocker microtome at which he was working. But scattered about the room were traces of numerous students: hand-bags, polished boxes of instruments, in one place a large drawing covered by newspaper, and in another a prettily bound copy of News from Nowhere, a book oddly at variance with its surroundings. These things had been put down hastily as the students had arrived and hurried at once to secure their seats in the adjacent lecture theatre. Deadened by the closed door, the measured accents of the professor sounded as a featureless muttering. Presently, faint through the closed windows came the sound of the Oratory clock striking the hour of eleven. The clicking of the microtome ceased, and the demonstrator looked at his watch, rose, thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked slowly down the laboratory towards the lecture theatre door. He stood listening for a moment, and then his eye fell on the little volume by William Morris. He picked it up, glanced at the title, smiled, opened it, looked at the name on the fly-leaf, ran the leaves through with his hand, and put it down. Almost immediately the even murmur of the lecturer ceased, there was a sudden burst of pencils rattling on the desks in the lecture theatre, stirring, a scraping of feet, and a number of voices speaking together. Then a firm footfall approached the door, which began to open, and stood ajar as some indistinctly heard question arrested the newcomer. The demonstrator turned, walked slowly back past the microtome, and left the laboratory by the preparation-room door. As he did so, first one, and then several students carrying notebooks entered the laboratory from the lecture theatre, and distributed themselves among the little tables, or stood in a group about the doorway. They were an exceptionally heterogeneous assembly, for while Oxford and Cambridge still recoil from the blushing prospect of mixed classes, the College of Science anticipated America in the matter years ago-mixed socially too, for the prestige of the College is high, and its scholarships, free of any age limit, dredge deeper even than do those of the Scotch universities. The class numbered one-and-twenty, but some remained in the theatre questioning the professor, copying the blackboard diagrams before they were washed off, or examining the special specimens he had produced to illustrate the day's teaching. Of the nine who had come into the laboratory three were girls, one of whom, a little fair woman wearing spectacles and dressed in greyish-green, was peering out of the window at the fog, while the other two, both wholesome-looking, plain-faced schoolgirls, unrolled and put on the brown holland aprons they wore while dissecting. Of the men, two went down the laboratory to their places, one a pallid, dark-bearded man, who had once been a tailor; the other a pleasant-featured, ruddy young man of twenty, dressed in a well-fitting brown suit; young Wedderburn, the son of Wedderburn the eye specialist. The others formed a little knot near the theatre door. One of these, a dwarfed, spectacled figure with a hunch back, sat on a bent wood stool; two others, one a short, dark youngster and the other a flaxen-haired, reddish-complexioned young man, stood leaning side by side against the slate sink, while the fourth stood facing them, and maintained the largest share of the conversation. This last person was named Hill. He was a sturdily built young fellow, of the same age as Wedderburn; he had a white face, dark grey eyes, hair of an indeterminate colour, and prominent, irregular features. He talked rather louder than was needful, and thrust his hands deeply into his pockets. His collar was frayed and blue with the starch of a careless laundress, his clothes were evidently ready-made, and there was a patch on the side of his boot near the toe. And as he talked or listened to the others, he glanced now and again towards the lecture theatre door. They were discussing the depressing peroration of the lecture they had just heard, the last lecture it was in the introductory course in zoology. "From ovum to ovum is the goal of the higher vertebrata," the lecturer had said in his melancholy tones, and so had neatly rounded off the sketch of comparative anatomy he had been developing. The spectacled hunchback had repeated it with noisy appreciation, had tossed it towards the fair-haired student with an evident provocation, and had started one of those vague, rambling discussions on generalities so unaccountably dear to the student mind all the world over. "That is our goal, perhaps-I admit it, as far as science goes," said the fair-haired student, rising to the challenge. "But there are things above science." "Science," said Hill confidently, "is systematic knowledge. Ideas that don't come into the system-must anyhow-be loose ideas." He was not quite sure whether that was a clever saying or a fatuity until his hearers took it seriously. "The thing I cannot understand," said the hunchback, at large, "is whether Hill is a materialist or not." "There is one thing above matter," said Hill promptly, feeling he made a better point this time, aware, too, of someone in the doorway behind him, and raising his voice a trifle for her benefit, "and that is, the delusion that there is something above matter." "So we have your gospel at last," said the fair student. "It's all a delusion, is it? All our aspirations to lead something more than dogs' lives, all our work for anything beyond ourselves. But see how inconsistent you are. Your socialism, for instance. Why do you trouble about the interests of the race? Why do you concern yourself about the beggar in the gutter? Why are you bothering yourself to lend that book"-he indicated William Morris by a movement of the head-"to everyone in the lab?" "Girl," said the hunchback indistinctly, and glanced guiltily over his shoulder. The girl in brown, with the brown eyes, had come into the laboratory, and stood on the other side of the table behind him, with her rolled-up apron in one hand, looking over her shoulder, listening to the discussion. She did not notice the hunchback, because she was glancing from Hill to his interlocutor. Hill's consciousness of her presence betrayed itself to her only in his studious ignoring of the fact; but she understood that, and it pleased her. "I see no reason," said he, "why a man should live like a brute because he knows of nothing beyond matter, and does not expect to exist a hundred years hence." "Why shouldn't he?" said the fair-haired student. "Why should he?" said Hill. "What inducement has he?" "That's the way with all you religious people. It's all a business of inducements. Cannot a man seek after righteousness for righteousness' sake?" There was a pause. The fair man answered, with a kind of vocal padding, "But-you see-inducement-when I said inducement," to gain time. And then the hunchback came to his rescue and inserted a question. He was a terrible person in the debating society with his questions, and they invariably took one form-a demand for a definition. "What's your definition of righteousness?" said the hunchback at this stage. Hill experienced a sudden loss of complacency at this question, but even as it was asked, relief came in the person of Brooks, the laboratory attendant, who entered by the preparation-room door, carrying a number of freshly killed guineapigs by their hind legs. "This is the last batch of material this session," said the youngster who had not previously spoken. Brooks advanced up the laboratory, smacking down a couple of guineapigs at each table. The rest of the class, scenting the prey from afar, came crowding in by the lecture theatre door, and the discussion perished abruptly as the students who were not already in their places hurried to them to secure the choice of a specimen. There was a noise of keys rattling on split rings as lockers were opened and dissecting instruments taken out. Hill was already standing by his table, and his box of scalpels was sticking out of his pocket. The girl in brown came a step towards him, and leaning over his table said softly, "Did you see that I returned your book, Mr. Hill?" During the whole scene she and the book had been vividly present in his consciousness; but he made a clumsy pretence of looking at the book and seeing it for the first time. "Oh yes," he said, taking it up. "I see. Did you like it?" "I want to ask you some questions about it-some time." "Certainly," said Hill. "I shall be glad." He stopped awkwardly. "You liked it?" he said. "It's a wonderful book. Only some things I don't understand." Then suddenly the laboratory was hushed by a curious braying noise. It was the demonstrator. He was at the blackboard ready to begin the day's instruction, and it was his custom to demand silence by a sound midway between the "Er" of common intercourse and the blast of a trumpet. The girl in brown slipped back to her place: it was immediately in front of Hill's...

Product Details

• Paperback: 432 pages
• Publisher: Modern Library; Modern Library Pbk. Ed edition (July 13, 2004)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0812970756
• ISBN-13: 978-0812970753
• Product Dimensions: 7.9 x 5.2 x 1 inches
• Shipping Weight: 9.9 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 5.0 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (5 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #216,886 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

  Popular in these categories: (What's this?)

  #39 in	Books > Science Fiction & Fantasy > Authors, A-Z > ( L ) > LeGuin, Ursula K.
  #50 in	Books > Science Fiction & Fantasy > Authors, A-Z > ( W ) > Wells, H.G.

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

16 of 16 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Recently read, and very enjoyable, July 25, 2005

By	Polymath (Ithaca NY USA) - See all my reviews

I recently read all the stories in this book over a period of a week. They are arranged in a nice, thematic way, so that similar stories are grouped together. I was amazed at the breadth of the subject matter of the stories, having previously restricted myself to Wells' speculative short stories such as "The Land Ironclads". But "The Valley of Spiders" is a spooky story of what apparently are cowboys on a chase, and the first story in the book, "A Slip Under the Microscope", is a realistic story of college students, that shows how little has changed in over 100 years. In fact, if one thing struck me about all the stories it is how modern they all are; there were no anachronisms that spoiled any story, though of course you have to put yourself back before airplanes and tanks were invented in "The Argonauts of the Air" and "The Land Ironclads". Rather than reviewing all the stories individually, I will just say that anyone who enjoys imaginative short stories will surely find much to like here.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Master Storyteller--Prophetic Insight, June 14, 2008

By	Micromegas (Ada, OK) - See all my reviews

This is one of the most exciting volumes of Wells' work I've ever come across, not only for the works themselves, but for Le Guin's brilliant introduction, commentary, and overall selection. She truly acts as a guide throughout the volume, and I can think of no greater heir to Wells' vision than the brilliant author of The Dispossessed, Left Hand of Darkness, Lathe of Heaven, etc. Unlike other editors/critics, she is uninterested in matters of political correctness, and instead urges us to read the historical and the universal Wells--in other words, the Wells that revolutionized the science fiction story, and the one who continues to be relevant through his vision and insight.

The stories here are brilliantly written--science fiction could never be written like this today. Wells was a master of style (and as Le Guin points out, of description), and without his voice in the stories, even the most fantastic ideas might seem second rate. Yet all of his stories marry style with vision; Wells understood the dangers of technology and progress as well as its achievements. In a story like "The New Accelerator," we see the moral dilemma of marketing a formula that could create an entirely new class of criminals (and indeed, even the protagonists act a bit criminal and childish under the influence of their accelerator). There are many stories like this, that chart the great promise of science twisted for immediate, selfish ends, and how powerless mankind is to stop it.

Even more exciting are the stories that take us entirely to new dimensions of thought, such as "The Remarkable Case of Davidson's Eyes," where a man exists in two worlds--his physical body in London, while his eyes and perception on a remote Pacific island. The way Wells describes the man's dilemma is both amazing and terrifying in its realism. The same is true for the surreal "Under the Knife," where a patient undergoes a near-death experience and floats through the cosmos to oblivion. Again, the style conjures up a sense of tactile experience and lived terror that is hard to shake off.

We also find stories that hint at the masterpieces to come, such as "The Crystal Egg," which has resonances of The War of the Worlds, as does the frightening "The Star," which ends with a paragraph very similar to the opening of WOTW. And a story like "The Stolen Body" dabble in familiar Stevensonian doppleganger territory, but is in no way derivative. In short, this is a fascinating volume showing Wells' true range not only as a science fiction writer, but as a true literary stylist who exerted a profound influence on an entire century of writers. If you enjoy Wells or works of true fantasy and scientific speculation, this volume should find its way to the top of your wish list.

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Back to the Future, September 23, 2008

By	Philip W. Henry (Rialto, CA) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

Selected Stories of H. G. Wells (Modern Library Classics)

Widely regarded as a founder of science fiction, H.G. Wells predicted, among other things, nuclear and biological warfare ("The War of the World" and "The Island of Dr. Moreau." His longer works are well known, but his short stories deserve critical acclaim as well. In "The Land Ironclads," Wells also accurately predicted the use of tanks in battle, although they did not appear until years later. His description of the gunsights and navigational systems are incredibly accurate... his gunners use a sort of "heads-up display" and a kind of laser sighting. "The sighting was ingeniously contrived. The rifleman stood at the table with a thing like an elaboration of a draughtsman's dividers in his hand, and he opened and closed those dividers, so that they were always at the apparent height --- of it was an ordinary sized man... of the man he wanted to kill."
"Changes in the clearness of the atmosphere, due to changes of moisture, were met by an ingenious use of the meteorologically sensitive substance, catgut and when the land ironclad moved forward the sights got a compensatory deflection in the direction of its motion." His prediction of technology using thermal imaging, laser sighting and gyro-controlled stabilization is amazing.
But it isn't technological innovation, but social analysis that makes his short stories worth reading. Technology is a double-edged sword: it improves man's ability to deal with the environment but diminishes his quality of life.