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David Wilson's Literary Quiz
A new literary quiz each week or so, usually with a theme. This week: In response to the whimpered pleadings of BossLady,
ten extracts from the works of one of the most remarkable of English writers, H.G. Wells (1866-1946). He had more phases in
his career than most writers have had books, and wrote more books than most writers have had cheques: no time even to begin
to describe them all. But these extracts will be drawn from the best phases - his early years as the creator of modern
Science Fiction, and the brief period in his middle years when he wrote a few “social” novels of high quality
and interest. As always, betraying names have been encoded. To Infinity - and Beyond!
The quotations in these quizzes reflect my own tastes - Dead White Males, for the most part (Jane Austen,
of course, counts as an honorary DWM). There will never be anything wilfully obscure. If you're the sort of person who sneers
at the naïveté of the reviewers in the TLS and New York Review of Books, you'll recognize them at once.
I welcome suggestions and insults. You'll find an e-mail tag lying around somewhere. Please put QUIZ in the subject line.
David J Wilson.
Quiz No. 95
1)
His eyes began to scrutinise the great curtain of the mountains with a keener inquiry.
For example; if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney there, then one might come out high
among those stunted pines that ran round in a sort of shelf and rose still higher and higher as it passed above the gorge.
And then? That talus might be managed. Thence perhaps a climb might be found to take him up to the precipice that came below
the snow; and if that chimney failed, then another farther to the east might serve his purpose better. And then? Then one
would be out upon the amber-lit snow there, and half-way up to the crest of those beautiful desolations. And suppose one had
good fortune!
He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and regarded it with folded arms.
He thought of Zolah, and she had become small and remote.
He turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day had come to him.
Then very circumspectly he began his climb.
Answer
2)
“Confound you!” said Patton. “Why the devil don't you get out of the way?”
The black-faced man started aside without a word. I went on up the companion, staring at him instinctively
as I did so. Patton stayed at the foot for a moment. “You have no business here, you know,” he said in a deliberate
tone. “Your place is forward.”
The black-faced man cowered. “They - won't have me forward.” He spoke slowly, with a queer,
hoarse quality in his voice.
“Won't have you forward!” said Patton, in a menacing voice. “But I tell you to go!”
He was on the brink of saying something further, then looked up at me suddenly and followed me up the ladder.
I had paused half way through the hatchway, looking back, still astonished beyond measure at the grotesque
ugliness of this black-faced creature. I had never beheld such a repulsive and extraordinary face before, and yet - if the
contradiction is credible - I experienced at the same time an odd feeling that in some way I had already encountered
exactly the features and gestures that now amazed me. Afterwards it occurred to me that probably I had seen him as I was lifted
aboard; and yet that scarcely satisfied my suspicion of a previous acquaintance. Yet how one could have set eyes on so singular
a face and yet have forgotten the precise occasion, passed my imagination.
Answer
3)
The book-borrowing raid was one of extraordinary dash and danger.
One came down the main service stairs - that was legal, and illegality began in a little landing when,
very cautiously, one went through a red baize door. A little passage led to the hall, and here one reconnoitered for Ann,
the old head-housemaid - the younger housemaids were friendly and did not count. Ann located, came a dash across the open
space at the foot of that great staircase that has never been properly descended since powder went out of fashion, and so
to the saloon door. A beast of an oscillating Chinaman in china, as large as life, grimaced and quivered to one's lightest
steps. That door was the perilous place; it was double with the thickness of the wall between, so that one could not listen
beforehand for the whisk of the feather-brush on the other side. Oddly rat-like, is it not, this darting into enormous places
in pursuit of the abandoned crumbs of thought?
Answer
4)
When he returned he was in a state of mild excitement. He had made a purchase. It was rare that he
could make up his mind quickly enough to buy, but this time he had done so.
“There are Vandas,” he said, “and a Dendrobe and some Palaeonophis.” He surveyed
his purchases lovingly as he consumed his soup. They were laid out on the spotless tablecloth before him, and he was telling
his cousin all about them as he slowly meandered through his dinner. It was his custom to live all his visits to London over
again in the evening for her and his own entertainment.
“I knew something would happen to-day. And I have bought all these. Some of them - some of them
- I feel sure, do you know, that some of them will be remarkable. I don't know how it is, but I feel just as sure as if someone
had told me that some of these will turn out remarkable.
“That one” - he pointed to a shrivelled rhizome - “was not identified. It may be
a Palaeonophis - or it may not. It may be a new species, or even a new genus. And it was the last that poor Batten ever collected.”
“I don't like the look of it,” said his housekeeper. “It's such an ugly shape.”
“To me it scarcely seems to have a shape.”
“I don't like those things that stick out,” said his housekeeper.
“It shall be put away in a pot to-morrow.”
“It looks,” said the housekeeper, “like a spider shamming dead.”
Answer
5)
Nearer she came and nearer, her eyes still downcast. He was full of vague, stupid promptings towards
an uncalled-for intercourse. It was curious she did not see him. He began to expect almost painfully the moment when she would
look up, though what there was to expect - ! He thought of what she would see when she discovered him, and wondered where
the tassel of his cap might be hanging - it sometimes occluded one eye. It was of course quite impossible to put up a hand
and investigate. He was near trembling with excitement. His paces, acts which are usually automatic, became uncertain and
difficult. One might have thought he had never passed a human being before. Still nearer, ten yards now, nine, eight. Would
she go past without looking up? ....
Then their eyes met.
She had hazel eyes, but Mr. Tooting, being quite an amateur about eyes, could find no words for them.
She looked demurely into his face. She seemed to find nothing there. She glanced away from him
among the trees, and passed, and nothing remained in front of him but an empty avenue, a sunlit, green-shot void.
The incident was over.
Answer
6)
Edgware had been a scene of confusion, Chalk Farm a riotous tumult, but this was a whole population
in movement. It is hard to imagine that host. It had no character of its own. The figures poured out past the corner, and
receded with their backs to the group in the lane. Along the margin came those who were on foot threatened by the wheels,
stumbling in the ditches, blundering into one another.
The carts and carriages crowded close upon one another, making little way for those swifter and more
impatient vehicles that darted forward every now and then when an opportunity showed itself of doing so, sending the people
scattering against the fences and gates of the villas.
“Push on!” was the cry. “Push on! They are coming!”
In one cart stood a blind man in the uniform of the Salvation Army, gesticulating with his crooked
fingers and bawling, “Eternity! Eternity!” His voice was hoarse and very loud so that my brother could hear him
long after he was lost to sight in the dust. Some of the people who crowded in the carts whipped stupidly at their horses
and quarrelled with other drivers; some sat motionless, staring at nothing with miserable eyes; some gnawed their hands with
thirst, or lay prostrate in the bottoms of their conveyances. The horses' bits were covered with foam, their eyes bloodshot.
There were cabs, carriages, shop cars, waggons, beyond counting; a mail cart, a road-cleaner's cart
marked “Vestry of St. Pancras,” a huge timber waggon crowded with roughs. A brewer's dray rumbled by with its
two near wheels splashed with fresh blood.
“Clear the way!” cried the voices. “Clear the way!”
“Eter-nity! Eter-nity!” came echoing down the road.
Answer
7)
“Don't touch me! Don't touch me!” said Evans in a stifled voice. “Put the gold back
on the coat.”
“Can't I do anything for you?” said Hooker.
“Put the gold back on the coat.”
As Hooker handled the ingots he felt a little prick on the ball of his thumb. He looked at his hand
and saw a slender thorn, perhaps two inches in length.
Evans gave an inarticulate cry and rolled over.
Hooker's jaw dropped. He stared at the thorn for a moment with dilated eyes. Then he looked at Evans,
who was now crumpled together on the ground, his back bending and straightening spasmodically. Then he looked
through the pillars of the trees and net-work of creeper stems, to where in the dim grey shadow the blue-clad body of the
Chinaman was still indistinctly visible. He thought of the little dashes in the corner of the plan, and in a moment he understood.
“God help me!” he said. For the thorns were similar to those the Dyaks poison and use
in their blowing-tubes. He understood now what Chang-hi's assurance of the safety of his treasure meant. He understood that
grin now.
“Evans!” he cried.
But Evans was silent and motionless, save for a horrible spasmodic twitching of his limbs. A profound
silence brooded over the forest.
Then Hooker began to suck furiously at the little pink spot on the ball of his thumb - sucking for
dear life. Presently he felt a strange aching pain in his arms and shoulders, and his fingers seemed difficult to bend. Then
he knew that sucking was no good.
Abruptly he stopped, and sitting down by the pile of ingots, and resting his chin upon his hands and
his elbows upon his knees, stared at the distorted but still quivering body of his companion. Chang-hi's grin came into his
mind again. The dull pain spread towards his throat and grew slowly in intensity. Far above him a faint breeze stirred the
greenery, and the white petals of some unknown flower came floating down through the gloom.
Answer
8)
The window at which I worked looked over the skyline of this crest, and it was from this window that
I first set eyes on Goddard. It was just as I was struggling with my scenario, holding down my mind to the sheer hard work
of it, and naturally enough he arrested my attention.
The sun had set, the sky was a vivid tranquillity of green and yellow, and against that he came out
black - the oddest little figure.
He was a short, round-bodied, thin-legged little man, with a jerky quality in his motions; he had
seen fit to clothe his extraordinary mind in a cricket cap, an overcoat, and cycling knickerbockers and stockings. Why he
did so I do not know, for he never cycled and he never played cricket. It was a fortuitous concurrence of garments, arising
I know not how. He gesticulated with his hands and arms, and jerked his head about and buzzed. He buzzed like something electric.
You never heard such buzzing. And ever and again he cleared his throat with a most extraordinary noise.
There had been rain, and that spasmodic walk of his was enhanced by the extreme slipperiness of the
footpath. Exactly as he came against the sun he stopped, pulled out a watch, hesitated. Then with a sort of convulsive gesture
he turned and retreated with every manifestation of haste, no longer gesticulating, but going with ample strides that showed
the relatively large size of his feet - they were, I remember, grotesquely exaggerated in size by adhesive clay - to the best
possible advantage.
Answer
9)
The lettering on the cylinders puzzled him. At first sight it seemed like Russian. Then he noticed
a suggestion of mutilated English about certain of the words.
oi Man huwdbi Kin
forced itself on him as The Man who would be King. “Phonetic spelling,” he said. He remembered reading
a story with that title, then he recalled the story vividly, one of the best stories in the world. But this thing before him
was not a book as he understood it. He puzzled out the titles of two adjacent cylinders. The Heart of Darkness, he
had never heard of before nor The Madonna of the Future - no doubt if they were indeed stories, they were by post-Victorian
authors.
He puzzled over this peculiar cylinder for some time and replaced it. Then he turned to the square
apparatus and examined that. He opened a sort of lid and found one of the double cylinders within, and on the upper edge a
little stud like the stud of an electric bell. He pressed this and a rapid clicking began and ceased. He became aware of voices
and music, and noticed a play of colour on the smooth front face. He suddenly realised what this might be, and stepped back
to regard it.
On the flat surface was now a little picture, very vividly coloured, and in this picture were figures
that moved. Not only did they move, but they were conversing in clear small voices. It was exactly like reality viewed through
an inverted opera glass and heard through a long tube. His interest was seized at once by the situation, which presented a
man pacing up and down and vociferating angry things to a pretty but petulant woman. Both were in the picturesque costume
that seemed so strange to Graham. “I have worked,” said the man, “but what have you been doing?”
Answer
10)
“Of course,” said Mr. Kipps, and began his egg. He was so agitated that he only realised
its condition when he was half way through it and Annie safely downstairs.
“Lord!” he said, reaching out hastily for the pepper. “One of Trencia's! Management!
I haven't tasted such an egg for five years .... Wonder where she gets them! Picks them out, I suppose!”
He abandoned it for its fellow.
Except for a slight mustiness the second egg was very palatable indeed. He was getting on to the bottom
of it as Trencia came in. He looked up. “Nice afternoon,” he said at her stare, and perceived she knew him at
once by the gesture and the voice. She went white and shut the door behind her. She looked as though she was going to faint.
Mr. Kipps sprang up quickly and handed her a chair. “My God!” she whispered, and crumpled up rather than sat down.
“It's you,” she said.
“No,” said Mr. Kipps very earnestly. “It isn't. It just looks like me. That's all.”
Answer
1)
The Country of the Blind, 1904. One of those stories which seem inevitable. How had no one thought of it before? But
no one had, and Wells handles it with all his old brilliance. Nunez has been invited to have his eyes plucked out as a condition
for marrying the beautiful Medina-sarote .... The wonder is that he considered it even for a moment.
Back to Question 1
2)
The Island of Doctor Moreau, 1896. A book which is “well-known” even to those who have not read it, like
Dracula (Moreau's almost exact contemporary) and Frankenstein. May I say that it is much better-written
than those even more famous chillers? And for this reason, it has worn much better than they have.
Back to Question 2
3)
Tono-Bungay, 1909. Without doubt, Wells's masterpiece. A novel which has everything: it moves at a fantastic
pace, but is always under expert control. It's like being driven round a race-track by Fangio. And yet, only a couple of years
later, while he was still in his forties, his long decline began.
Back to Question 3
4)
The Flowering of the Strange Orchid, 1894. A delightful mix of comedy and horror - I wonder if any reader of this story
has ever doubted that Wedderburn's rash purchase would bite him in the bum if given half a chance .... Three points if you
remembered the title exactly, and three more if you knew Wedderburn's name! One point (and I'm being generous) if you muttered
“Orchids!”
Back to Question 4
5)
Love and Mr Lewisham, 1899. A semi-autobiographical novel of great interest and fair quality, which gives an excellent
depiction of lower-middle-class life in the 1890s. Not read very much today, perhaps: five points if you recognized it.
Back to Question 5
6)
The War of the Worlds, 1898. A brilliant novel, and a highly influential one. Of course, it's not in the same phylum
as Le rouge et le noir, or Madame Bovary, or Ulysses - but I bet as many writers learned their trade
from it as from those three novels put together!
Back to Question 6
7)
The Treasure in the Forest, 1894. No comedy mixed with the horror in this short story, which is classical in
its economy and force. Then he knew that sucking was no good. Ten points if you remembered its ironic title.
Back to Question 7
8)
The First Men in the Moon, 1901. Bedford sees Cavor for the first time. Fifty years ago this was my favourite book
in all the world! I could have chosen far worse, and, four years later (Crime and Punishment), I did.
Back to Question 8
9)
The Sleeper Awakes (aka When the Sleeper Wakes), 1899. Not a book I like very much, but I could hardly leave
out one of Wells's most famous inventions - the DVD player. The delicate compliment to his friends Joseph Conrad and Henry
James is pleasing, too.
Back to Question 9
10)
The History of Mr Polly, 1910. Wells's last really good book, and my favourite of all his books. I can't imagine
anyone who wouldn't be delighted and warmed by it. Among other things it is intensely English. I don't quite know how
to explain Englishness in a novel except by saying: it's the quality of being like The History of Mr Polly.
I hope you enjoyed the Quiz - did anyone score the full twenty-eight points available? I have the deepest affection
for HGW, whose books I have been reading for as long as I can remember. If only he'd had an aesthetic sense! But you
can't have everything.
Back to Question 10
Don't bottle up your contempt and fury. Mail to davidjw@mindspring.com
Return to Start
Last Updated: 15 December 2006
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