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deckardcanineThe author of these novellas was J.-H. Rosny aîné, the last word meaning "Sr." to distinguish him from his writing brother -- which is odd, as both were using pen names. Anyway, Rosny was a contemporary of H.G. Wells and Jules Verne and very successful in the francophone world but, like Ludovico Ariosto, hasn't been very accessible in English until recently. Danièle Chatelain and George Seusser produced a new translation this year, quite suitable if also devoted to maintaining Rosny's grammatical awkwardness (e.g., separating verbs with a comma and no conjunction). Unfortunately, their introduction is longer than two of the novellas combined, so I lost interest even in skimming it. But I did find a second bookmark for the endnotes worthwhile.
The Xipéhuz. Despite wasting little time setting up the premises and conflict, this story took a while to gain my interest. I suppose it comes of such early sci-fi not doing much that I haven't seen many times. The titular creatures, a.k.a. the Forms, may or may not come from Earth, but they show no interest in sharing the Earth with the humans circa 5000 BC. Enter the first methodical human scientist, who also proves a capable general after winning the trust of many tribes united in fear. Once the narration switched to his allegedly recovered journal and took time for intimate details, I got more of a kick out of the story. Ironically, this man would have been killed by his own clan for his unusual ways if not for his kinship with a high priest. On that note...
Another World. I recommend this to any reader who marches to the beat of a different drum, who has ever been widely dismissed as an idiot but merely had trouble getting smarts across, who perceives the world in a uniquely wonderful way, or who knows someone like the above. The first-person narrator has a diverse set of extraordinary mutations, the more positive of which tend to get ignored. He has to try hard not to speak too fast to be understood even by his own family, so the village thinks it's just gibberish. Rosny was highly attuned to the science of his day, so the recent invention of the phonograph did not escape his notice as the hero's means of slowing down for a fascinated professor. Yet the prof hasn't learned the half: Thanks to vision outside the normal human color spectrum, the hero knows of various organisms who seem no more aware of us than vice versa. Will his link between the "worlds" serve well?
The Death of the Earth. Sadly, the longest story chronicles the most fruitless efforts. Humans have killed almost all other animals in order to eradicate all known diseases, which worked; but in Rosny's pessimism, the void got filled by a new life form called ferromagnetics, destined to take over. (He sure was obsessed with making up life that defies comparison to any in existence.) Unlike in most end-of-humanity stories, our decline takes millennia as drinkable water becomes scarce. The last of us make an odd combination: cavemen with futuristic technology and a strong belief in euthanasia -- except for the protagonist, much to his dismay.
In short, only the middle novella really enchanted me, but the others are impressive in their own rights. The third even made some guesses that are uncannily familiar after a century of scientific advancement.
I got lots of new books for Christmas, but I didn't take long to decide on what to read next: The Color of Magic. People in my circles talk about Discworld too often for me to settle on Truckers as my only exposure to Terry Pratchett.
The Xipéhuz. Despite wasting little time setting up the premises and conflict, this story took a while to gain my interest. I suppose it comes of such early sci-fi not doing much that I haven't seen many times. The titular creatures, a.k.a. the Forms, may or may not come from Earth, but they show no interest in sharing the Earth with the humans circa 5000 BC. Enter the first methodical human scientist, who also proves a capable general after winning the trust of many tribes united in fear. Once the narration switched to his allegedly recovered journal and took time for intimate details, I got more of a kick out of the story. Ironically, this man would have been killed by his own clan for his unusual ways if not for his kinship with a high priest. On that note...
Another World. I recommend this to any reader who marches to the beat of a different drum, who has ever been widely dismissed as an idiot but merely had trouble getting smarts across, who perceives the world in a uniquely wonderful way, or who knows someone like the above. The first-person narrator has a diverse set of extraordinary mutations, the more positive of which tend to get ignored. He has to try hard not to speak too fast to be understood even by his own family, so the village thinks it's just gibberish. Rosny was highly attuned to the science of his day, so the recent invention of the phonograph did not escape his notice as the hero's means of slowing down for a fascinated professor. Yet the prof hasn't learned the half: Thanks to vision outside the normal human color spectrum, the hero knows of various organisms who seem no more aware of us than vice versa. Will his link between the "worlds" serve well?
The Death of the Earth. Sadly, the longest story chronicles the most fruitless efforts. Humans have killed almost all other animals in order to eradicate all known diseases, which worked; but in Rosny's pessimism, the void got filled by a new life form called ferromagnetics, destined to take over. (He sure was obsessed with making up life that defies comparison to any in existence.) Unlike in most end-of-humanity stories, our decline takes millennia as drinkable water becomes scarce. The last of us make an odd combination: cavemen with futuristic technology and a strong belief in euthanasia -- except for the protagonist, much to his dismay.
In short, only the middle novella really enchanted me, but the others are impressive in their own rights. The third even made some guesses that are uncannily familiar after a century of scientific advancement.
I got lots of new books for Christmas, but I didn't take long to decide on what to read next: The Color of Magic. People in my circles talk about Discworld too often for me to settle on Truckers as my only exposure to Terry Pratchett.
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"The Colour of Magic" is Pratchett's earliest Discworld book, before he really found his voice. It's fresh and enjoyable for what it is, but it lacks the grandeur of his later works. If you like it, I heartily recommend continuing the series; if not, I'd say read "Hogfather" before giving up on him for good.