Monthly Archives: September 2012

A Preface from H.G. Wells

The following is a preface by a famous author. A preface is defined as: “a preliminary statement in a book by the book’s author or editor, setting forth its purpose and scope, expressing acknowledgment of assistance from others, etc. “ (Dictionary.com) This is more detailed than an Acknowledgement in modern works where the author uses that space to thank the persons responsible in the creation of their book, plus friends and family. They’re not used much anymore in this 21st Century world of social media, but prefaces gave you an insight on what the author had in mind when he or she developed their work, and opinions relating to it.

H.G. Wells, author of the following classics (you might have read or seen adaptations of his books on the big screen). He’s also known as “The Father of Science Fiction”. (Wikipedia)

The Time Machine
The Island of Dr. Moreau
The Invisible Man
The War of the Worlds
The First Men in the Moon
The Food of the Gods
In The Days of the Comet

So here is a lengthy preface from Mr. Wells in his book Seven Famous Novels (Alfred A. Knopf, publisher) describing his written style of fantasy (earlier he had been compared to Jules Verne) and near the end reveals a few things on his mind that may surprise you. Please keep in mind this was written back in 1934. (Editor’s note: the usage of a certain word is not the same as it is used today. Just an FYI)

PREFACE
(From H.G. Wells)

Mr. KNOPF has asked me to write a preface to this collection of my fantastic stories. They are put in chronological order, but let me say here right at the beginning of the book, that for anyone who does not as yet know anything of my work it will probably be more agreeable to begin with The Invisible Man or The War of the Worlds. The Time Machine is a little bit stiff about the fourth dimension and The Island of Dr. Moreau rather painful.

These tales have been compared with the work of Jules Verne and there was a disposition on the part of literary journalists at one time to call me the English Jules Verne. As a matter of fact there is no literary resemblance whatever between the anticipatory inventions of the great Frenchman and these fantasies. His work dealt almost always with actual possibilities of invention and discovery, and he made some remarkable forecasts. The interest he invoked was a practical one: he wrote and believed and told that this or that thing could be done, which was not at that time done. He helped his reader to imagine it done and to realise what fun, excitement or mischief would ensue. Many of his inventions have “come true.” But these stories of mine collected here do not pretend to deal with possible things; they are exercises of the imagination in a quite different field. They belong to a class of writing which includes the Golden Ass of Apuleius, the True Histories of Lucian, Peter Schlemil and the story of Frankenstein. It includes too some admirable inventions by Mr. David Garnett, Lady into Fox for instance.  They are all fantasies; they do not aim to project a serious possibility; they aim indeed only at the same amount of conviction as one gets in a good gripping dream. They have to hold the reader to the end by art and illusion and not by proof and argument, and the moment he closes the cover and reflects he wakes up to their impossibility.

In all this type of story the living interest lies in their non-fantastic elements and not in the invention itself. They are appeals for human sympathy quite as much as any “sympathetic” novel, and the fantastic element, the strange property or the strange world, is used only to throw up and intensify our natural reactions of wonder, fear or perplexity. The invention is nothing in itself and when this kind of thing is attempted by clumsy writers who do not understand this elementary principle nothing could be conceived more silly and extravagant. Anyone can invent human beings inside out or worlds like dumbbells or a gravitation that repels. The thing that makes such imaginations interesting is their transition into commonplace terms and a rigid exclusion of other marvels from the story. Then it becomes human. “How would you feel and what might not happen to you,” is the typical question, if for instance pigs could fly and one came rocketing over a hedge at you. How would you feel and what might not happen to you if suddenly you were changed into an ass and couldn’t tell anyone about it? Or if you became invisible? But no one would think twice about the answer if hedges and houses also began to fly, or if people changed into lions, tigers, cats and dogs left and right, or if everyone could vanish anyhow. Nothing remains interesting where anything could happen.

For the writer of fantastic stories to help the reader to play the game properly, he must help him in every possible unobtrusive way to domesticate the impossible hypothesis. He must trick him into an unwary concession to some plausible assumption and get on with his story while the illusion holds. And that is where there was a certain slight novelty in my stories where first they appeared. Hitherto, except in exploration fantasies, the fantastic element was brought in by magic. Frankenstein even, used some jiggery-pokery magic to animate his artificial monster. There was trouble about the thing’s soul. But by the end of last century it had become difficult to squeeze even an momentary belief out of magic any longer. It occurred to me that instead of the usual interview with the devil or a magician, an ingenious use of scientific patter might with advantage be substituted. That was no great discovery. I simply brought the fetish stuff up to date, and made it as near actual theory as possible.

As soon as the magic trick has been done the whole business of the fantasy writer is to keep everything else human and real. Touches of prosaic detail are imperative and a rigorous adherence to the hypothesis. Any extra fantasy outside the cardinal assumption immediately gives a touch of irresponsible silliness to the invention. So soon as the hypothesis is launched the whole interest becomes the interest of looking at human feelings and human ways, from the new angle that has been acquired. One can keep the story within the bounds of a few individual experiences of Chamisso does in Peter Schlemil, or one can expand it to a broad criticism of human institutions and limitations as in Gulliver’s Travels. My early, profound and lifelong admiration for Swift, appears again and again in this collection, and it is particularly evident in a predisposition to make the stories reflect upon contemporary political and social discussions. It is an incurable habit with literary critics to lament some lost artistry and innocence in my early work and to accuse me of having become polemical in my later years. That habit is of such old standing that the late Mr. Zangwill in a review in 1895 complained that my first book, The Time Machine concerned itself with “our present discontents” The Time Machine is indeed quite as philosophical and polemical and critical of life and so forth, as Men like Gods written twenty-eight years later. No more and no less. I have never been able to get away from life in the mass and life in general as disinterested from life in the individual experience, in any book I have ever written. I differ from contemporary criticism in finding them inseparable.

For some years I produced one or more of these “scientific fantasies” as they were called, every year. In my student days we were much exercised by talk about a possible fourth dimension of space; the fairly obvious idea that events could be presented in a rigid four dimensional space time framework had occurred to me, and this is used as the magic trick for a glimpse of the future that ran counter to the placid assumption of that time that Evolution was a pro-human force making things better and better for mankind. The Island of Dr. Moreau is an exercise in youthful blasphemy. Now and then, though I rarely admit it, the universe projects itself towards me in a hideous grimace. It grimaced that time, and I did my best to express my vision of the aimless torture in creation. The War of the Worlds like The Time Machine was another assault on human self-satisfaction.

All these three books are consciously grim, under the influence of Swift’s tradition. But I am neither a pessimist nor an optimist at bottom. This is an entirely different world in which willful wisdom seems to have a perfectly fair chance. It is after all rather cheap to get force of presentation by loading the scales on the sinister side. Horror stories are easier to write than gay and exalting stories. In The First Men in the Moon I tried an improvement on Jules Verne’s shot, in order to look at mankind from a distance and burlesque the effects of specialization. Verne never landed on the moon because he never knew of radio and of the possibility of sending back a message. So it was his shot that came back. But equipped with radio, which had just come out then, I was able to land and even see something of the planet.

The two later book are distinctly on the optimistic side. The Food of the Gods is a fantasia on the change of scale in human affairs. Everybody nowadays realises that change of scale; we see the whole world in disorder through it; but in 1904 it was not a very prevalent idea. I had hit upon it while working out the possibilities of the near future in a book of speculations called Anticipations (1901). The last story is Utopian. The world is gassed and cleaned up morally by the benevolent tail of a comet.

Men like Gods, written seventeen years after In the Days of the Comet, and not included in this volume, was almost last of my scientific fantasies. It did not horrify or frighten, was not much of a success, and by that time I had tired of talking in playful parables to a world engaged in destroying itself. I was becoming too convinced of the strong probability of very strenuous and painful human experiences in the near future to play about with them much more. But I did two other sarcastic fantasies, not included here, Mr. Blettsworthy on Rampole Island and The Autocracy of Mr. Parham, in which there I think a certain gay bitterness, before I desisted altogether.

The Autocracy of Mr. Parham is all about dictators, and dictators are all about us, but it has never struggled through to a really cheap edition. Work of this sort gets so stupidly reviewed nowadays that it has little chance of being properly read. People are simply warned that there are ideas in my books and advised not to read them, and so a fatal suspicion has wrapped about the later ones. “Ware stimulants!” It is no good my saying that they are quite as easy to read as the earlier ones and much more timely.

It becomes a bore doing imaginative books that do not touch imaginations, and at length one stops even planning them. I think I am better employed now nearer reality, trying to make a working analysis of our deepening social perplexities in such labours as The Work, Wealth and Happiness of Mankind and After Democracy. The world in the presence of cataclysmal realities has no need for fresh cataclysmal fantasies. That game is over. Who wants the invented humours of Mr. Parham in Whitehall, when day by day we can watch Mr. Hitler in Germany? What human invention can pit itself against the fantastic fun of the Fates? I am wrong in grumbling at reviewers. Reality had taken a leaf from my book and set itself to supersede me.

H.G.W.

From Seven Famous Novels by H.G. Wells

New York

Alfred A. Knopf

First printing June 1, 1934

The Authors We Leave Behind

On December 1, 2001 the day of my first book signing for the release of The Depths of My Soul, one comment that stuck with me was said by my publisher Dr. Rosie Milligan when she mentioned too many people who have not written a book have taken their stories to the grave. Unfortunately, that is true. What we also fail to notice is the flip side, the authors who before us have published books but the masses have not paid attention to for whatever reason.

I operate a mobile and online bookstore and on occasion I receive donations from readers who claim they don’t have enough room for any more books so they wind up having to give them away or it’s a family who’s moving out of town, state, etc. So I store a number of books that fill up my space to hold them and recently, I acquired a number of boxes filled with books from one family who had a lot to hand over to me. When I take used books to sell them to a weekly farmers market, I discovered most of the patrons who support our bookstore have already read the same books or they have a preference for newer, cheaper books. This particular shipment gave me pause for a moment and take a look at what I received.

For example, how many of you have heard of the book By Sun and Star? Okay, how many of you heard of an author named Vanya Oakes? There wasn’t an extensive biography on her on Goodreads, Amazon, and although I did find a short mention on eBay, from White Man’s Folly, I discovered I didn’t have to look very far. I found out who Ms. Oakes was by simply reading her preface. If you allow me to be technical for a minute, the function of a preface as defined by www.patmcnees.com gives the difference between a forward and an introduction. Briefly, a preface’s purpose is: “To talk about how you came to write the book, especially if that will help draw the reader into the book. Perhaps best in the preface.”  and  “To talk about how you got the information — what your main sources were.” The picture below is an example of that.

Besides Ms. Oakes, how many of us have heard of the author Ronald Farquharson? If you haven’t, that’s okay. He was the author of his one and only book, Confessions of a China Hand written in 1951. His publisher was William Morrow & Company, which after changing hands quite a few times, ended up with HarperCollins in 1999.

 
In this stack given to me, I have the old favorites such as Edgar Allen Poe, H.G. Wells and a few favorites like Dumas here and there. It’s the unknown, less recognized author who gets lost in the sea of published books throughout the years. This before the explosion of the internet, self-published and Print on Demand books. The question that everyone of us who writes books has to ask is how do we stand out over time?

It is rare that readers remember an author strictly just for the work. It is known Hemingway served in two World Wars, traveled the world and hunted in Africa, but who’s to say Ms. Oakes (or Mr. Farquharson) didn’t live an extraordinary life of her own? As a journalist in the Orient, she wrote about her experiences in her novels, but it’s not as mentioned or romanticized as we would hear about our classic writers today. The vast universe of books throughout the centuries has its share of good or perhaps not so good stories or tales filled with prose or verse with artists using the written word.

In the year 1900, about 6,000 titles were published. A century later, it’s safe to say that’s the number of books published per week. If your name is not any of the well established names from Hemingway to Patterson, Morrison to Zane, as an author, you will be lost in the shuffle. Perhaps there will be someone in the year 2098 in a swap meet (provided they still exist) plucking out a novel or non-fiction book wondering who the name of the author was, before returning the book back in a pile with several other authors whose books have suffered the same fate.

The American Dream of Authorship is to gain enough publicity for your book for our target audiences, have it made into film or a play and ‘rake’ in the millions and millions flowing in our bank accounts. That’s the ideal situation all authors aspiring, new or established would like to be in. There are authors who succeed in that plan, not everyone does. That’s the reality.

We live in a consumer driven society and books have always been a part of that culture.  Books are written to fulfill a need; to be entertained, to be educated and edified. When one or all of these reasons are replaced by another outlet, they don’t seem to be as important to the masses as we make them out to be. Authors will always try to write in a genre that has broken new ground or has proven to be successful like romance and believing that their book is the one, the book that will ‘break the mold’ and have all eyes looking at it to see which of the three requirements it has.Then again, it might wind up in someone’s basement, garage or attic just sitting there. For how long? Who knows? Maybe until it winds up in a blue bin or in the ‘last chance’ section of a bookstore before it is pulped out of existence.

For authors in the 21st Century, this either serves as a wake-up call or just provokes a shrug. Whatever direction they go in, realizing that one to hundred years from now unless they make a name for themselves, all of the promotion, social media advice and egotism won’t matter. Their hard work will just cease to exist in the minds of the readership. It’s just that simple. Now that the case has been made, one question remains for the literary artists of today:

What will be your legacy?

Charles Chatmon
Authors N Focus Extra

A Matter of Critical Opinion

I received one star out of five for The Depths of My Soul on a popular website for book lovers.

A reader wrote to me about his views on The Voices of South Central, told me bluntly he didn’t think it was ‘real’ enough for him.

Welcome to the world of being an author. I spent the past weekend engrossed in a subject that caught my eye while I was in the middle of researching another subject. Obviously, criticism is a topic that hits close to home and one I can definitely relate to. I posted this link on my Facebook timeline under “When keeping it real on a book review goes wrong..…”. Without giving too much away, it’s the true life story of a bestselling author’s family member responding to a criticism of the author’s novel. It’s considered a no-no in the writing industry to react to criticism of one’s work, but there are examples all over the web of well-known and up-and-coming authors who break this rule. When there is a retort over the criticism, it’s get your popcorn time.

In my earlier days, I would have responded to criticism by feeling my ears perk up and my temperature rise while keeping it professional and carrying a conversation defending my piece. That said, there are a million people with a million interpretations of how a novel, article or poem reaches them. When I spoke with the gentleman who criticized me about the Voices, I didn’t go off the handle at first (although I wanted to), but after a couple of days of reflection, it was expressed to him although I wished for a better result, I totally respected his opinion. That’s what it really is anyway, an opinion of the work, not the person writing it.

Oftentimes on social media, I see my contemporaries call out the ‘haters’, displaying their displeasure if someone has an issue with their book. True, not all reviewers on websites such as Amazon knows the nuances of writing a constructive analysis of a book they just bought and purchased, but they do have the right to express what they thought about it. As artists, we’re the ones writing to the public. We shouldn’t be surprised if the public doesn’t always agree with what we write, or the format of the book, the grammar, etc.

These days, I welcome criticism on the constructive side and if it makes sense. I reserve the right to know whether my technique, style or point of view didn’t catch on so we can discuss it. This is for face to face meetings only. On the online side, I don’t rather bother what responding. Why dispute a negative review only to see it blow up and posted on various websites? Once a copy of The Depths of My Soul or The Voices of South Central is in the hands of a buyer, my involvement with that copy is over. It’s not to say if I read a comment or hear a disparaging remark about the work I won’t react, I prefer to let it simmer for a while and just move on.

Authors who are skilled in handling criticism easily defuse the argument. They refuse to take it further and in the eyes of lurkers to their blog or website, is seen as a professional. In the link I read about this bestselling author, the family member’s retort caused a reviewer to change their rating of the author’s novel. Ouch! On the internet it is true of the statement, ‘the whole world is watching’. Much like the on-screen drama witnessed in chat rooms, reading about authors on the attack is just as interested, but unfortunate. As an author, It’s always best to remain focused on what makes one happy. Responding to a reader’s opinion of the book, definitely won’t and brings on more anguish than it needs to.

Charles Chatmon
Authors N Focus Extra