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Vril: The Power of the Coming Race
This early science fiction novel offers a fascinating vision of a shadowy underworld populated by strange and beautiful creatures who closely resemble the angels described in Christian lore. These beings, known as Vril-ya, live underground, but are planning soon to claim the surface of the earth as their own -- destroying humankind in the process.
181 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1871
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About the author
Edward Bulwer-Lytton
4,470 books224 followersEdward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton PC, was an English novelist, poet, playwright, and politician. Lord Lytton was a florid, popular writer of his day, who coined such phrases as "the great unwashed", "pursuit of the almighty dollar", "the pen is mightier than the sword", and the infamous incipit "It was a dark and stormy night."
He was the youngest son of General William Earle Bulwer of Heydon Hall and Wood Dalling, Norfolk and Elizabeth Barbara Lytton, daughter of Richard Warburton Lytton of Knebworth, Hertfordshire. He had two brothers, William Earle Lytton Bulwer (1799–1877) and Henry Bulwer, 1st Baron Dalling and Bulwer.
Lord Lytton's original surname was Bulwer, the names 'Earle' and 'Lytton' were middle names. On 20 February 1844 he assumed the name and arms of Lytton by royal licence and his surname then became 'Bulwer-Lytton'. His widowed mother had done the same in 1811. His brothers were always simply surnamed 'Bulwer'.
He was the youngest son of General William Earle Bulwer of Heydon Hall and Wood Dalling, Norfolk and Elizabeth Barbara Lytton, daughter of Richard Warburton Lytton of Knebworth, Hertfordshire. He had two brothers, William Earle Lytton Bulwer (1799–1877) and Henry Bulwer, 1st Baron Dalling and Bulwer.
Lord Lytton's original surname was Bulwer, the names 'Earle' and 'Lytton' were middle names. On 20 February 1844 he assumed the name and arms of Lytton by royal licence and his surname then became 'Bulwer-Lytton'. His widowed mother had done the same in 1811. His brothers were always simply surnamed 'Bulwer'.
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January 4, 2017
*Read for school*
I don't know what it is but I just found this to be so dull and boring. Maybe analyzing it in class will encourage me to up the star rating but for now it remains at a 1 because it was torturous to get through
I don't know what it is but I just found this to be so dull and boring. Maybe analyzing it in class will encourage me to up the star rating but for now it remains at a 1 because it was torturous to get through
December 12, 2021
If you live in the UK, you may have tasted Bovril, a popular yeast and beef extract paste used as cooking stock. Obviously, part of the name comes from "bovine" or the Latin word for beef, which is "bos," but I didn't know that "vril" originated entirely from a work of science fiction--namely from this book we are reviewing today.
"The Coming Race," otherwise known as "Vril--The Power of the Coming Race," was originally published anonymously in 1871. It was only later that the author was discovered to be Lord Lytton, who we may know today as the guy who coined the phrase "the pen is mightier than the sword," and other cliches. He was also quite a controversial and strange character.
He married against his mommy's wishes, which caused him to be disinherited so that he had to work for a living, poor baby. I guess he took it out on his wife, for the honeymoon didn't last long. When his marriage broke up, his wife's children were taken from her. Later, when he was running for parliamentary office, she publicly denounced him as a putz, so he had her wrongfully thrown in an insane asylum. I guess this action proved her point, because it pissed off a lot of people, resulting in her release several weeks later, and her story became the basis of "Woman in White" by Wilkie Collins.
The other bizarre thing about Lytton was his dabbling in the magic arts, and because of his reputation, many occultists and esoterisists believed that the contents of "The Coming Race" were real.
In this novel, a wealthy traveler visits a mine and gets cornered by a reptilian monster, but is saved by the arrival of citizens from an underground tribe of supermen called the Vril-ya who have the appearance of winged angels. The traveler is shown around their city, and learns about their history and utopian society. They have learned to master an energy force called Vril, which is used as their light source for their underground dwellings, as well as to power their technology. Vril also has the power to heal as well as to cause utter destruction. Because all of the Vril-ya know how to harness Vril, even a small child can lay waste to an entire city, so this has served as a deterrent to war in their society. However, this doesn't mean they are all peaceful angels. The Vril-ya are running out of space in their caves, and now they know about the world above. Is mankind in danger?
Like many of Lytton's works, this novel was very popular in it's day, so much so that numerous products and snake oils marketed as "elixirs" had the root "Vril" in their names, as in Bovril. And like I said, some folks believed that Lytton had based this book on some advanced knowledge of the secrets of the universe, and began a search to harness the power of this elusive fluid of life. Evidently, Weimar Germany was the home for a lot of Vril believers, and many secret societies and conspiracy theories developed as a result. In fact, one such theory is that the Nazis, who were trying to perfect rocketry, had developed what we know as UFOs, which are propelled by Vril engines. But before you start going down this rabbit hole, it is pretty clear from historical documents and preserved correspondence that Lytton made up Vril and everything else in the book. In one letter to a friend, it is clear from Lytton's explanation that he didn't care whether we called Vril electricity or if anyone could think of some better name.
Still, it makes for a good backstory to this novel. But is it worth reading?
Unfortunately, I found this to be too dull and dry to answer affirmatively. But first, let's talk about the interesting bits. Lytton spends a lot of time building a sense of realism around this ancient underground civilization, such as a whole chapter analyzing the philology and phonetics of the Vril-ya language. I'd be curious to hear what people like Stephen Pinker would think of this section.
Speaking of their language, the Vril-ya do not have much in the way of literature, because they have developed a system of governance and a lifestyle in which they are all content. Therefore, nobody has the need to write books about alternative theories or to advocate for social change or to distract people from everyday life with fictional entertainment. Because they have no wars or strife, they have nothing of historical import to chronicle. They simply exist every day to be happy, not for the excitement of a fleeting moment.
Therefore, the inhabitants of this sublime subterranean world live like hipsters at a Northern California hot springs spa. In every room are "mechanical contrivances" to make continuous soft sounds simply for reflection and meditation when alone or for soothing ambience in a group. They don't use drugs or alcohol. Their days are scheduled with dedicated silent hours for meditation, earnest hours for work, and easy hours for play. The gender roles are largely reversed, with women being larger and stronger than the men, and their laws of decorum require the females to be the sexual aggressor.
The level of detail is surely impressive, though does make your eyes glaze over often. I can understand how general audiences could believe that the book was describing a real and heretofore unknown society that had been secretly sharing our world with us for millennia beneath our feet.
But sometimes the descriptions are noticeable light or absent. Just how high are the ceilings of their cavernous abodes for them to be able to fly around? And why did they develop flight to get around in the first place? Seems like Vril-powered shuttles, trains, or even personal scooters would be a more reasonable form of transportation when living within the confines of underground mines.
Where Lytton barely puts any effort is into making this an actual novel with a plot. The whole story about the traveler who gets trapped in this alien utopia is just a loose framing device to set up what is essentially a monograph of Lytton's political ideas--or at least, a list of what he DIDN'T believe in. His aim was largely social satire, but I've read much more clever examples that still manage to entertain rather than lull you to sleep. Perhaps part of the problem was that the dry narrative is told to us from the POV of one of the most obnoxious and idiotic characters in all of literature.
For example, the traveler is being treated with respect and shown a great deal of hospitality by the angels, yet he can be quite rude to them. Out of the blue, he attacks his host. The angel had done nothing but remove his mechanical wings to show him how they worked, but for some reason this frightens our simpleton narrator. But trying to strangle your host just because he is showing off one of his gadgets doesn't seem like a realistic reaction. I was cheering when the angel zaps him with a blast of Vril so that the character basically stays asleep for a few weeks.
We are also supposed to believe that this absolute block of wood is some sort of hunk-a-man, as it seems the Amazonian angels all want him as a mate. This puts some serious delusions of grandeur in his head. But what is even dumber about this "plot" is that the women know this is a death sentence for our traveler, as the Vril-ya could not allow them to mate with a male of another human species and thus taint the gene pool. So why are they so vocal to their daddies about having the hots for, what amounts to, their little pet? This seems to fly in the face of everything the author previously said about the females being so superior in this culture, considering they behave like horny Victorian hysterics without a lick of common sense to me.
I also didn't particularly care for Lytton's conclusion about how the angels achieved equality in their society, which was essentially to eradicate the envy of wealth by getting rid of the working class. Industry is the product of child labor or machines. When the children grow up, they graduate from manual labor. And because the gene pool is so refined, all the Vril-ya are splendid specimens of intelligence and physical prowess, so that there are no brutes who are capable of doing nothing more with their lives than that which automata are capable. I find this kind of talk in utopian fiction to be elitist and dangerous, the kind of stuff that made Hitler's atrocities possible. I guess Lytton was at least partially self-aware of these implications, as his main character rightfully becomes concerned that the genetically pure Vril-ya may feel justified in exterminating humanity should they ever venture to the surface.
But overall, I had trouble understanding the points that Lytton was making with this clunky, inconsistent, and dull novel. It's a shame really, because this author also wrote one of the more memorable ghost stories I have read, "The Haunted and the Haunters." I therefore fully expected a much more quality experience from "The Coming Race," which is the kind of book normally right up my alley. Unfortunately, I really cannot recommend this one very highly in good conscience. It's not the worst of it's ilk, but it certainly doesn't stand the test of time. Some of you science fiction fans out there will likely still want to see what it is all about, but as for the rest of you, I'm quite sure you would rather just eat a spoonful of Bovril than digest this serving of bovine... well, you-know-what.
For students of the career of Edward Bulwer-Lytton and hardcore lovers of vintage science fiction and utopian literature.
"The Coming Race," otherwise known as "Vril--The Power of the Coming Race," was originally published anonymously in 1871. It was only later that the author was discovered to be Lord Lytton, who we may know today as the guy who coined the phrase "the pen is mightier than the sword," and other cliches. He was also quite a controversial and strange character.
He married against his mommy's wishes, which caused him to be disinherited so that he had to work for a living, poor baby. I guess he took it out on his wife, for the honeymoon didn't last long. When his marriage broke up, his wife's children were taken from her. Later, when he was running for parliamentary office, she publicly denounced him as a putz, so he had her wrongfully thrown in an insane asylum. I guess this action proved her point, because it pissed off a lot of people, resulting in her release several weeks later, and her story became the basis of "Woman in White" by Wilkie Collins.
The other bizarre thing about Lytton was his dabbling in the magic arts, and because of his reputation, many occultists and esoterisists believed that the contents of "The Coming Race" were real.
In this novel, a wealthy traveler visits a mine and gets cornered by a reptilian monster, but is saved by the arrival of citizens from an underground tribe of supermen called the Vril-ya who have the appearance of winged angels. The traveler is shown around their city, and learns about their history and utopian society. They have learned to master an energy force called Vril, which is used as their light source for their underground dwellings, as well as to power their technology. Vril also has the power to heal as well as to cause utter destruction. Because all of the Vril-ya know how to harness Vril, even a small child can lay waste to an entire city, so this has served as a deterrent to war in their society. However, this doesn't mean they are all peaceful angels. The Vril-ya are running out of space in their caves, and now they know about the world above. Is mankind in danger?
Like many of Lytton's works, this novel was very popular in it's day, so much so that numerous products and snake oils marketed as "elixirs" had the root "Vril" in their names, as in Bovril. And like I said, some folks believed that Lytton had based this book on some advanced knowledge of the secrets of the universe, and began a search to harness the power of this elusive fluid of life. Evidently, Weimar Germany was the home for a lot of Vril believers, and many secret societies and conspiracy theories developed as a result. In fact, one such theory is that the Nazis, who were trying to perfect rocketry, had developed what we know as UFOs, which are propelled by Vril engines. But before you start going down this rabbit hole, it is pretty clear from historical documents and preserved correspondence that Lytton made up Vril and everything else in the book. In one letter to a friend, it is clear from Lytton's explanation that he didn't care whether we called Vril electricity or if anyone could think of some better name.
Still, it makes for a good backstory to this novel. But is it worth reading?
Unfortunately, I found this to be too dull and dry to answer affirmatively. But first, let's talk about the interesting bits. Lytton spends a lot of time building a sense of realism around this ancient underground civilization, such as a whole chapter analyzing the philology and phonetics of the Vril-ya language. I'd be curious to hear what people like Stephen Pinker would think of this section.
Speaking of their language, the Vril-ya do not have much in the way of literature, because they have developed a system of governance and a lifestyle in which they are all content. Therefore, nobody has the need to write books about alternative theories or to advocate for social change or to distract people from everyday life with fictional entertainment. Because they have no wars or strife, they have nothing of historical import to chronicle. They simply exist every day to be happy, not for the excitement of a fleeting moment.
Therefore, the inhabitants of this sublime subterranean world live like hipsters at a Northern California hot springs spa. In every room are "mechanical contrivances" to make continuous soft sounds simply for reflection and meditation when alone or for soothing ambience in a group. They don't use drugs or alcohol. Their days are scheduled with dedicated silent hours for meditation, earnest hours for work, and easy hours for play. The gender roles are largely reversed, with women being larger and stronger than the men, and their laws of decorum require the females to be the sexual aggressor.
The level of detail is surely impressive, though does make your eyes glaze over often. I can understand how general audiences could believe that the book was describing a real and heretofore unknown society that had been secretly sharing our world with us for millennia beneath our feet.
But sometimes the descriptions are noticeable light or absent. Just how high are the ceilings of their cavernous abodes for them to be able to fly around? And why did they develop flight to get around in the first place? Seems like Vril-powered shuttles, trains, or even personal scooters would be a more reasonable form of transportation when living within the confines of underground mines.
Where Lytton barely puts any effort is into making this an actual novel with a plot. The whole story about the traveler who gets trapped in this alien utopia is just a loose framing device to set up what is essentially a monograph of Lytton's political ideas--or at least, a list of what he DIDN'T believe in. His aim was largely social satire, but I've read much more clever examples that still manage to entertain rather than lull you to sleep. Perhaps part of the problem was that the dry narrative is told to us from the POV of one of the most obnoxious and idiotic characters in all of literature.
For example, the traveler is being treated with respect and shown a great deal of hospitality by the angels, yet he can be quite rude to them. Out of the blue, he attacks his host. The angel had done nothing but remove his mechanical wings to show him how they worked, but for some reason this frightens our simpleton narrator. But trying to strangle your host just because he is showing off one of his gadgets doesn't seem like a realistic reaction. I was cheering when the angel zaps him with a blast of Vril so that the character basically stays asleep for a few weeks.
We are also supposed to believe that this absolute block of wood is some sort of hunk-a-man, as it seems the Amazonian angels all want him as a mate. This puts some serious delusions of grandeur in his head. But what is even dumber about this "plot" is that the women know this is a death sentence for our traveler, as the Vril-ya could not allow them to mate with a male of another human species and thus taint the gene pool. So why are they so vocal to their daddies about having the hots for, what amounts to, their little pet? This seems to fly in the face of everything the author previously said about the females being so superior in this culture, considering they behave like horny Victorian hysterics without a lick of common sense to me.
I also didn't particularly care for Lytton's conclusion about how the angels achieved equality in their society, which was essentially to eradicate the envy of wealth by getting rid of the working class. Industry is the product of child labor or machines. When the children grow up, they graduate from manual labor. And because the gene pool is so refined, all the Vril-ya are splendid specimens of intelligence and physical prowess, so that there are no brutes who are capable of doing nothing more with their lives than that which automata are capable. I find this kind of talk in utopian fiction to be elitist and dangerous, the kind of stuff that made Hitler's atrocities possible. I guess Lytton was at least partially self-aware of these implications, as his main character rightfully becomes concerned that the genetically pure Vril-ya may feel justified in exterminating humanity should they ever venture to the surface.
But overall, I had trouble understanding the points that Lytton was making with this clunky, inconsistent, and dull novel. It's a shame really, because this author also wrote one of the more memorable ghost stories I have read, "The Haunted and the Haunters." I therefore fully expected a much more quality experience from "The Coming Race," which is the kind of book normally right up my alley. Unfortunately, I really cannot recommend this one very highly in good conscience. It's not the worst of it's ilk, but it certainly doesn't stand the test of time. Some of you science fiction fans out there will likely still want to see what it is all about, but as for the rest of you, I'm quite sure you would rather just eat a spoonful of Bovril than digest this serving of bovine... well, you-know-what.
For students of the career of Edward Bulwer-Lytton and hardcore lovers of vintage science fiction and utopian literature.
August 29, 2011
Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton, was one of the big guns of Victorian literature. His books were bestsellers and he garnered considerable critical acclaim as well. And yet today he is not merely mostly unread, he has become a byword by bad writing, with a literary competition for bad writing named after him.
This is partly because he was unwise enough to start one of his stories with the immortal words, “It was a dark and stormy night.” It is also because he was a master of what the painter James McNeill Whistler described as the gentle art of making enemies. He also dabbled in politics, with considerable success, but the fact that he gained election to Parliament on more than one occasion as the representative of more than one party doubtless added to his already impressive list of enemies.
All of this is quite unfair. Bulwer-Lytton was one of the most interesting of all Victorian popular novelists. He attempted a multiplicity of genres, all with considerable success. His horror story The Haunters and the Haunted is rightly regarded by connoisseurs of 19th century horror as a classic. He wrote adventure stories, romances, historical fiction and novels of the occult. And in 1871 he penned one of the classics of 19th century science fiction, The Coming Race.
An American mining engineer exploring a particularly deep shaft discovers an entire world the existence of which had never been suspected. This is the world of the ana.
The ana are human. More or less. They are at the same time both very much like us, and very different.
Bulwer-Lytton has little interest in telling a tale of adventure. His agenda is satire. What makes it interesting is that he satirises both his own world and that of the Ana. It is neither a simple utopia nor a simple dystopia, but a bit of both. The hero grows to both like and fear the Ana.
The Ana have discovered the secret of Vril. Or at least the more highly developed societies of the Ana the Vril-ya, have. Think of Vril as the Holy Grail of both medieval alchemists and 21st century physicists and you’ve got the general drift. The powers of Vril are almost unlimited. Both its useful life-giving properties and its immense destructive potential.
The Vril-ya have progressed far beyond any human society inhabiting the surface of the globe. They have long since abandoned such barbaric practices as democracy. War and social strife are unknown. Class hatred is equally unknown. On the other hand one of the reasons that war is unknown is that the Vril-ya mercilessly destroy anything they perceive as a potential threat to peace and happiness. Including other races that don’t share their enthusiasm for peace and happiness.
The society of the Vril-ya has another special feature. The sex roles are more or less reversed. Women are the dominant gender, and women take the active role in courtship.
Bulwer-Lytton avoids simplistic conclusions. He approves of the much higher status that women enjoy in this subterranean world, but he is aware that a simple reversal of roles will not solve all problems. He paints the Vril-ya as being admirable in many ways, but dangerous in the way that those who are convinced they are right are always dangerous.
This is a fine example of 19th century science fiction used as a vehicle for speculation about the future of social organisation rather than technology. Bulwer-Lytton is too interesting an author to be allowed to be forgotten.
This is partly because he was unwise enough to start one of his stories with the immortal words, “It was a dark and stormy night.” It is also because he was a master of what the painter James McNeill Whistler described as the gentle art of making enemies. He also dabbled in politics, with considerable success, but the fact that he gained election to Parliament on more than one occasion as the representative of more than one party doubtless added to his already impressive list of enemies.
All of this is quite unfair. Bulwer-Lytton was one of the most interesting of all Victorian popular novelists. He attempted a multiplicity of genres, all with considerable success. His horror story The Haunters and the Haunted is rightly regarded by connoisseurs of 19th century horror as a classic. He wrote adventure stories, romances, historical fiction and novels of the occult. And in 1871 he penned one of the classics of 19th century science fiction, The Coming Race.
An American mining engineer exploring a particularly deep shaft discovers an entire world the existence of which had never been suspected. This is the world of the ana.
The ana are human. More or less. They are at the same time both very much like us, and very different.
Bulwer-Lytton has little interest in telling a tale of adventure. His agenda is satire. What makes it interesting is that he satirises both his own world and that of the Ana. It is neither a simple utopia nor a simple dystopia, but a bit of both. The hero grows to both like and fear the Ana.
The Ana have discovered the secret of Vril. Or at least the more highly developed societies of the Ana the Vril-ya, have. Think of Vril as the Holy Grail of both medieval alchemists and 21st century physicists and you’ve got the general drift. The powers of Vril are almost unlimited. Both its useful life-giving properties and its immense destructive potential.
The Vril-ya have progressed far beyond any human society inhabiting the surface of the globe. They have long since abandoned such barbaric practices as democracy. War and social strife are unknown. Class hatred is equally unknown. On the other hand one of the reasons that war is unknown is that the Vril-ya mercilessly destroy anything they perceive as a potential threat to peace and happiness. Including other races that don’t share their enthusiasm for peace and happiness.
The society of the Vril-ya has another special feature. The sex roles are more or less reversed. Women are the dominant gender, and women take the active role in courtship.
Bulwer-Lytton avoids simplistic conclusions. He approves of the much higher status that women enjoy in this subterranean world, but he is aware that a simple reversal of roles will not solve all problems. He paints the Vril-ya as being admirable in many ways, but dangerous in the way that those who are convinced they are right are always dangerous.
This is a fine example of 19th century science fiction used as a vehicle for speculation about the future of social organisation rather than technology. Bulwer-Lytton is too interesting an author to be allowed to be forgotten.
February 24, 2020
Written in the 1870s its easy to see how this was such a big influence on science fiction, fantasy, hollow earth theorists, utopiaists, occultists and Eugenicists. Two men go exploring underground in a mining area, one dies in a fall and the other happens upon an underground civilization and it goes from there. This civilization is nearly a utopia, they are in control of a seemingly "magic" substance known to them as Vril which be used for destructive or healing purposes. The story loses me for a short time in a few spots when he goes into some of the intricies of the society he has discovered in the subterranean world but overall this was a good yarn.
4.5 out of 5 stars
4.5 out of 5 stars
November 1, 2023
A travel guide to realms we can never visit, a vehicle for some truly unsubtle sort of satire. Very little in terms of characterization or actual story.
There weren't a lot of science fiction stories way back when, I guess, but now that we have a lot to choose from, I can't say this one has aged too well.
There weren't a lot of science fiction stories way back when, I guess, but now that we have a lot to choose from, I can't say this one has aged too well.
May 21, 2022
I picked this one up on a whim at my library adventure earlier today. A science fictions from 1800 something sounded way to cool not to try. I must say I ended up enjoying it a lot more than I thought. I was completely hooked on Edward Bulwer-Lyttons writing style and my curiosity to learn more about the Viril people never faded. However the reason why I didn't end up giving it 5 stars and even thought of knocking it off an extra star was the after word from a another author who said that this novel was just by Nazis in someways. The tie on with Nazis and littrature and so on is never a good thing. But this book was written long time before so at least the author or story originally don't have any ties to that
May 6, 2023
Elements of this book were used to create a nazi cult to which most of the top nazis's were members. But thats not the authors fault, except that he wrote something way ahead of its time. I mean consider the fact that it was written in 1871 and at times i felt like i was watching an episode of startrek. I'd break it down into 3 parts, the start is decent the middle drags a bit as the author goes into too much detail concerning languages and other boring stuff but the last third is great. The main character starts having delusions of grandeur which are quite funny, then finds himself in a deadly if also somewhat amusing state of peril.
August 29, 2023
Another book I read (sort of) on our vacation was The Coming Race by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, published anonymously in 1871. If I had written it I also would have published it anonymously and preferably sometime after I died. It has also been published as Vril, the Power of the Coming Race. It ought to be called Vril, they talk about it enough. Something interesting and puzzling was the book Erewhon, which was also published anonymously in March 1872, was first thought to be a Coming Race sequel by Bulwer-Lytton. When it was revealed that Samuel Butler was the author sales dropped by 90 percent. I wasn't thrilled with Erewhon from what I remember, but at least I made it through the book. I read somewhere - I can't remember where - that some people believe the book is actually true. They believe it's true? They believe that there is a whole other world beneath us, and if we are lucky enough to find a hole in the earth we can go down to see what the glowing light is, to find there are people, and buildings, and strange animals, and birds, and that reminds me. The people living down there, knowing nothing of us and we knowing nothing of them, have wings. Why. I want to know what people living underground need with wings. Is their "sky" really so high, and wide, and whatever, that the people need wings? Do they ever hit the top of the sky and realize there is something above them? Wouldn't it be better if they developed eyes that could see in the dark, after all it's not like they have the sun to give them light.
Now keep in mind I did NOT read the entire book, so maybe wonderful things happen that I'm missing out on, but I don't care I'm not going into the world of Vril, or whatever it is. I made it past the two men finding the hole in the earth, exploring it the narrator reaches the bottom safely, but the rope breaks and the first guy, the guy who found the thing, falls to the earth, the second earth, and dies. And a big ugly giant creature with large teeth shows up and drags the dead guy away and it's never mentioned again. Not while I'm reading it anyway.
These people, the Vril-ya, come from the surface of the earth, but they fled underground thousands of years ago to escape a massive flood. I have a problem with people who trying to avoid a flood go down. This makes no sense, the next time there is a flood around here I am not going into the basement. But it worked for them, and now they have their own civilization, and they live in caverns, and they have this "all-permeating fluid" called "Vril" which as far as I can tell can do anything. You can heal with Vril, you can kill with Vril, you can change things and destroy things, make things, anything you want. Vril can be in charge over all type of matter, it rends ways through solid matter, it gives softer and healthier light. It is a power source for animating mechanisms. Anything you can think of, Vril can do, or be made to do. So I was reading along, getting rather tired of Vril and every other little move any of these people make being told to me, and I came to Chapter 12:
we have, in the language of the Vril-ya, still “clinging with its roots to the underlying stratum,” the evidences of the original isolation. It abounds in monosyllables, which are the foundations of the language. The transition into the agglutinative form marks an epoch that must have gradually extended through ages, the written literature of which has only survived in a few fragments of symbolical mythology and certain pithy sentences which have passed into popular proverbs. With the extant literature of the Vril-ya the inflectional stratum commences. No doubt at that time there must have operated concurrent causes, in the fusion of races by some dominant people, and the rise of some great literary phenomena by which the form of language became arrested and fixed. As the inflectional stage prevailed over the agglutinative, it is surprising to see how much more boldly the original roots of the language project from the surface that conceals them. In the old fragments and proverbs of the preceding stage the monosyllables which compose those roots vanish amidst words of enormous length, comprehending whole sentences from which no one part can be disentangled from the other and employed separately. But when the inflectional form of language became so far advanced as to have its scholars and grammarians, they seem to have united in extirpating all such polysynthetical or polysyllabic monsters, as devouring invaders of the aboriginal forms. Words beyond three syllables became proscribed as barbarous and in proportion as the language grew thus simplified it increased in strength, in dignity, and in sweetness. Though now very compressed in sound, it gains in clearness by that compression. By a single letter, according to its position, they contrive to express all that with civilised nations in our upper world it takes the waste, sometimes of syllables, sometimes of sentences, to express. Let me here cite one or two instances: An (which I will translate man), Ana (men); the letter ‘s’ is with them a letter implying multitude, according to where it is placed; Sana means mankind; Ansa, a multitude of men. The prefix of certain letters in their alphabet invariably denotes compound significations. For instance, Gl (which with them is a single letter, as ‘th’ is a single letter with the Greeks) at the commencement of a word infers an assemblage or union of things, sometimes kindred, sometimes dissimilar—as Oon, a house; Gloon, a town (i. e., an assemblage of houses). Ata is sorrow; Glata, a public calamity. Aur-an is the health or wellbeing of a man; Glauran, the wellbeing of the state, the good of the community; and a word constantly in ther mouths is A-glauran, which denotes their political creed—viz., that “the first principle of a community is the good of all.” Aub is invention; Sila, a tone in music. Glaubsila, as uniting the ideas of invention and of musical intonation, is the classical word for poetry—abbreviated, in ordinary conversation, to Glaubs. Na, which with them is, like Gl, but a single letter, always, when an initial, implies something antagonistic to life or joy or comfort, resembling in this the Aryan root Nak, expressive of perishing or destruction. Nax is darkness; Narl, death; Naria, sin or evil. Nas—an uttermost condition of sin and evil—corruption. In writing, they deem it irreverent to express the Supreme Being by any special name. He is symbolized by what may be termed the heiroglyphic of a pyramid, /\. In prayer they address Him by a name which they deem too sacred to confide to a stranger, and I know it not. In conversation they generally use a periphrastic epithet, such as the All-Good. The letter V, symbolical of the inverted pyramid, where it is an initial, nearly always denotes excellence of power; as Vril, of which I have said so much; Veed, an immortal spirit; Veed-ya, immortality; Koom, pronounced like the Welsh Cwm, denotes something of hollowness. Koom itself is a cave; Koom-in, a hole; Zi-koom, a valley; Koom-zi, vacancy or void; Bodh-koom, ignorance (literally, knowledge-void). Koom-posh is their name for the government of the many, or the ascendancy of the most ignorant or hollow. Posh is an almost untranslatable idiom, implying, as the reader will see later, contempt. The closest rendering I can give to it is our slang term, “bosh;” and this Koom-Posh may be loosely rendered “Hollow-Bosh.” But when Democracy or Koom-Posh degenerates from popular ignorance into that popular passion or ferocity which precedes its decease, as (to cite illustrations from the upper world) during the French Reign of Terror, or for the fifty years of the Roman Republic preceding the ascendancy of Augustus, their name for that state of things is Glek-Nas. Ek is strife—Glek, the universal strife. Nas, as I before said, is corruption or rot; thus, Glek-Nas may be construed, “the universal strife-rot.” Their compounds are very expressive; thus, Bodh being knowledge, and Too a participle that implies the action of cautiously approaching,—Too-bodh is their word for Philosophy; Pah is a contemptuous exclamation analogous to our idiom, “stuff and nonsense;” Pah-bodh (literally stuff and nonsense-knowledge) is their term for futile and false philosophy, and applied to a species of metaphysical or speculative ratiocination formerly in vogue, which consisted in making inquiries that could not be answered, and were not worth making; such, for instance, as “Why does an An have five toes to his feet instead of four or six? Did the first An, created by the All-Good, have the same number of toes as his descendants? In the form by which an An will be recognised by his friends in the future state of being, will he retain any toes at all, and, if so, will they be material toes or spiritual toes?” I take these illustrations of Pahbodh, not in irony or jest, but because the very inquiries I name formed the subject of controversy by the latest cultivators of that ‘science,’—4000 years ago.
In the declension of nouns I was informed that anciently there were eight cases (one more than in the Sanskrit Grammar); but the effect of time has been to reduce these cases, and multiply, instead of these varying terminations, explanatory propositions. At present, in the Grammar submitted to my study, there were four cases to nouns, three having varying terminations, and the fourth a differing prefix.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
Nom. An, Man, | Nom. Ana, Men.
Dat. Ano, to Man, | Dat. Anoi, to Men.
Ac. Anan, Man, | Ac. Ananda, Men.
Voc. Hil-an, O Man, | Voc. Hil-Ananda, O Men.
In the elder inflectional literature the dual form existed—it has long been obsolete.
The genitive case with them is also obsolete; the dative supplies its place: they say the House ‘to’ a Man, instead of the House ‘of’ a Man. When used (sometimes in poetry), the genitive in the termination is the same as the nominative; so is the ablative, the preposition that marks it being a prefix or suffix at option, and generally decided by ear, according to the sound of the noun. It will be observed that the prefix Hil marks the vocative case. It is always retained in addressing another, except in the most intimate domestic relations; its omission would be considered rude: just as in our of forms of speech in addressing a king it would have been deemed disrespectful to say “King,” and reverential to say “O King.” In fact, as they have no titles of honour, the vocative adjuration supplies the place of a title, and is given impartially to all. The prefix Hil enters into the composition of words that imply distant communications, as Hil-ya, to travel.
In the conjugation of their verbs, which is much too lengthy a subject to enter on here, the auxiliary verb Ya, “to go,” which plays so considerable part in the Sanskrit, appears and performs a kindred office, as if it were a radical in some language from which both had descended. But another auxiliary or opposite signification also accompanies it and shares its labours—viz., Zi, to stay or repose. Thus Ya enters into the future tense, and Zi in the preterite of all verbs requiring auxiliaries. Yam, I shall go—Yiam, I may go—Yani-ya, I shall go (literally, I go to go), Zam-poo-yan, I have gone (literally, I rest from gone). Ya, as a termination, implies by analogy, progress, movement, efflorescence. Zi, as a terminal, denotes fixity, sometimes in a good sense, sometimes in a bad, according to the word with which it is coupled. Iva-zi, eternal goodness; Nan-zi, eternal evil. Poo (from) enters as a prefix to words that denote repugnance, or things from which we ought to be averse. Poo-pra, disgust; Poo-naria, falsehood, the vilest kind of evil. Poosh or Posh I have already confessed to be untranslatable literally. It is an expression of contempt not unmixed with pity. This radical seems to have originated from inherent sympathy between the labial effort and the sentiment that impelled it, Poo being an utterance in which the breath is exploded from the lips with more or less vehemence. On the other hand, Z, when an initial, is with them a sound in which the breath is sucked inward, and thus Zu, pronounced Zoo (which in their language is one letter), is the ordinary prefix to words that signify something that attracts, pleases, touches the heart—as Zummer, lover; Zutze, love; Zuzulia, delight. This indrawn sound of Z seems indeed naturally appropriate to fondness. Thus, even in our language, mothers say to their babies, in defiance of grammar, “Zoo darling;” and I have heard a learned professor at Boston call his wife (he had been only married a month) “Zoo little pet.”
And with that I stopped reading. I have almost no idea of what he is rambling on about and I don't want to. What happens after that I have no idea. Maybe once they are done having classes on nouns, verbs, prefixes, conjugations, future tense, whatever, they can move on to math classes, a few science courses and the book will be finished. I don't know, I'm not staying around for it. I'm moving on to another book. Any other book. Maybe I'll go and polysynthetical or polysyllabic monsters first. Happy reading.
Now keep in mind I did NOT read the entire book, so maybe wonderful things happen that I'm missing out on, but I don't care I'm not going into the world of Vril, or whatever it is. I made it past the two men finding the hole in the earth, exploring it the narrator reaches the bottom safely, but the rope breaks and the first guy, the guy who found the thing, falls to the earth, the second earth, and dies. And a big ugly giant creature with large teeth shows up and drags the dead guy away and it's never mentioned again. Not while I'm reading it anyway.
These people, the Vril-ya, come from the surface of the earth, but they fled underground thousands of years ago to escape a massive flood. I have a problem with people who trying to avoid a flood go down. This makes no sense, the next time there is a flood around here I am not going into the basement. But it worked for them, and now they have their own civilization, and they live in caverns, and they have this "all-permeating fluid" called "Vril" which as far as I can tell can do anything. You can heal with Vril, you can kill with Vril, you can change things and destroy things, make things, anything you want. Vril can be in charge over all type of matter, it rends ways through solid matter, it gives softer and healthier light. It is a power source for animating mechanisms. Anything you can think of, Vril can do, or be made to do. So I was reading along, getting rather tired of Vril and every other little move any of these people make being told to me, and I came to Chapter 12:
we have, in the language of the Vril-ya, still “clinging with its roots to the underlying stratum,” the evidences of the original isolation. It abounds in monosyllables, which are the foundations of the language. The transition into the agglutinative form marks an epoch that must have gradually extended through ages, the written literature of which has only survived in a few fragments of symbolical mythology and certain pithy sentences which have passed into popular proverbs. With the extant literature of the Vril-ya the inflectional stratum commences. No doubt at that time there must have operated concurrent causes, in the fusion of races by some dominant people, and the rise of some great literary phenomena by which the form of language became arrested and fixed. As the inflectional stage prevailed over the agglutinative, it is surprising to see how much more boldly the original roots of the language project from the surface that conceals them. In the old fragments and proverbs of the preceding stage the monosyllables which compose those roots vanish amidst words of enormous length, comprehending whole sentences from which no one part can be disentangled from the other and employed separately. But when the inflectional form of language became so far advanced as to have its scholars and grammarians, they seem to have united in extirpating all such polysynthetical or polysyllabic monsters, as devouring invaders of the aboriginal forms. Words beyond three syllables became proscribed as barbarous and in proportion as the language grew thus simplified it increased in strength, in dignity, and in sweetness. Though now very compressed in sound, it gains in clearness by that compression. By a single letter, according to its position, they contrive to express all that with civilised nations in our upper world it takes the waste, sometimes of syllables, sometimes of sentences, to express. Let me here cite one or two instances: An (which I will translate man), Ana (men); the letter ‘s’ is with them a letter implying multitude, according to where it is placed; Sana means mankind; Ansa, a multitude of men. The prefix of certain letters in their alphabet invariably denotes compound significations. For instance, Gl (which with them is a single letter, as ‘th’ is a single letter with the Greeks) at the commencement of a word infers an assemblage or union of things, sometimes kindred, sometimes dissimilar—as Oon, a house; Gloon, a town (i. e., an assemblage of houses). Ata is sorrow; Glata, a public calamity. Aur-an is the health or wellbeing of a man; Glauran, the wellbeing of the state, the good of the community; and a word constantly in ther mouths is A-glauran, which denotes their political creed—viz., that “the first principle of a community is the good of all.” Aub is invention; Sila, a tone in music. Glaubsila, as uniting the ideas of invention and of musical intonation, is the classical word for poetry—abbreviated, in ordinary conversation, to Glaubs. Na, which with them is, like Gl, but a single letter, always, when an initial, implies something antagonistic to life or joy or comfort, resembling in this the Aryan root Nak, expressive of perishing or destruction. Nax is darkness; Narl, death; Naria, sin or evil. Nas—an uttermost condition of sin and evil—corruption. In writing, they deem it irreverent to express the Supreme Being by any special name. He is symbolized by what may be termed the heiroglyphic of a pyramid, /\. In prayer they address Him by a name which they deem too sacred to confide to a stranger, and I know it not. In conversation they generally use a periphrastic epithet, such as the All-Good. The letter V, symbolical of the inverted pyramid, where it is an initial, nearly always denotes excellence of power; as Vril, of which I have said so much; Veed, an immortal spirit; Veed-ya, immortality; Koom, pronounced like the Welsh Cwm, denotes something of hollowness. Koom itself is a cave; Koom-in, a hole; Zi-koom, a valley; Koom-zi, vacancy or void; Bodh-koom, ignorance (literally, knowledge-void). Koom-posh is their name for the government of the many, or the ascendancy of the most ignorant or hollow. Posh is an almost untranslatable idiom, implying, as the reader will see later, contempt. The closest rendering I can give to it is our slang term, “bosh;” and this Koom-Posh may be loosely rendered “Hollow-Bosh.” But when Democracy or Koom-Posh degenerates from popular ignorance into that popular passion or ferocity which precedes its decease, as (to cite illustrations from the upper world) during the French Reign of Terror, or for the fifty years of the Roman Republic preceding the ascendancy of Augustus, their name for that state of things is Glek-Nas. Ek is strife—Glek, the universal strife. Nas, as I before said, is corruption or rot; thus, Glek-Nas may be construed, “the universal strife-rot.” Their compounds are very expressive; thus, Bodh being knowledge, and Too a participle that implies the action of cautiously approaching,—Too-bodh is their word for Philosophy; Pah is a contemptuous exclamation analogous to our idiom, “stuff and nonsense;” Pah-bodh (literally stuff and nonsense-knowledge) is their term for futile and false philosophy, and applied to a species of metaphysical or speculative ratiocination formerly in vogue, which consisted in making inquiries that could not be answered, and were not worth making; such, for instance, as “Why does an An have five toes to his feet instead of four or six? Did the first An, created by the All-Good, have the same number of toes as his descendants? In the form by which an An will be recognised by his friends in the future state of being, will he retain any toes at all, and, if so, will they be material toes or spiritual toes?” I take these illustrations of Pahbodh, not in irony or jest, but because the very inquiries I name formed the subject of controversy by the latest cultivators of that ‘science,’—4000 years ago.
In the declension of nouns I was informed that anciently there were eight cases (one more than in the Sanskrit Grammar); but the effect of time has been to reduce these cases, and multiply, instead of these varying terminations, explanatory propositions. At present, in the Grammar submitted to my study, there were four cases to nouns, three having varying terminations, and the fourth a differing prefix.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
Nom. An, Man, | Nom. Ana, Men.
Dat. Ano, to Man, | Dat. Anoi, to Men.
Ac. Anan, Man, | Ac. Ananda, Men.
Voc. Hil-an, O Man, | Voc. Hil-Ananda, O Men.
In the elder inflectional literature the dual form existed—it has long been obsolete.
The genitive case with them is also obsolete; the dative supplies its place: they say the House ‘to’ a Man, instead of the House ‘of’ a Man. When used (sometimes in poetry), the genitive in the termination is the same as the nominative; so is the ablative, the preposition that marks it being a prefix or suffix at option, and generally decided by ear, according to the sound of the noun. It will be observed that the prefix Hil marks the vocative case. It is always retained in addressing another, except in the most intimate domestic relations; its omission would be considered rude: just as in our of forms of speech in addressing a king it would have been deemed disrespectful to say “King,” and reverential to say “O King.” In fact, as they have no titles of honour, the vocative adjuration supplies the place of a title, and is given impartially to all. The prefix Hil enters into the composition of words that imply distant communications, as Hil-ya, to travel.
In the conjugation of their verbs, which is much too lengthy a subject to enter on here, the auxiliary verb Ya, “to go,” which plays so considerable part in the Sanskrit, appears and performs a kindred office, as if it were a radical in some language from which both had descended. But another auxiliary or opposite signification also accompanies it and shares its labours—viz., Zi, to stay or repose. Thus Ya enters into the future tense, and Zi in the preterite of all verbs requiring auxiliaries. Yam, I shall go—Yiam, I may go—Yani-ya, I shall go (literally, I go to go), Zam-poo-yan, I have gone (literally, I rest from gone). Ya, as a termination, implies by analogy, progress, movement, efflorescence. Zi, as a terminal, denotes fixity, sometimes in a good sense, sometimes in a bad, according to the word with which it is coupled. Iva-zi, eternal goodness; Nan-zi, eternal evil. Poo (from) enters as a prefix to words that denote repugnance, or things from which we ought to be averse. Poo-pra, disgust; Poo-naria, falsehood, the vilest kind of evil. Poosh or Posh I have already confessed to be untranslatable literally. It is an expression of contempt not unmixed with pity. This radical seems to have originated from inherent sympathy between the labial effort and the sentiment that impelled it, Poo being an utterance in which the breath is exploded from the lips with more or less vehemence. On the other hand, Z, when an initial, is with them a sound in which the breath is sucked inward, and thus Zu, pronounced Zoo (which in their language is one letter), is the ordinary prefix to words that signify something that attracts, pleases, touches the heart—as Zummer, lover; Zutze, love; Zuzulia, delight. This indrawn sound of Z seems indeed naturally appropriate to fondness. Thus, even in our language, mothers say to their babies, in defiance of grammar, “Zoo darling;” and I have heard a learned professor at Boston call his wife (he had been only married a month) “Zoo little pet.”
And with that I stopped reading. I have almost no idea of what he is rambling on about and I don't want to. What happens after that I have no idea. Maybe once they are done having classes on nouns, verbs, prefixes, conjugations, future tense, whatever, they can move on to math classes, a few science courses and the book will be finished. I don't know, I'm not staying around for it. I'm moving on to another book. Any other book. Maybe I'll go and polysynthetical or polysyllabic monsters first. Happy reading.
June 8, 2021
An important book in the history of Science Fiction
If you are interested in the development of Science Fiction this mid-Victorian novel is essential reading. Everyone else may find it less enthralling. Bulwer-Lytton is notorious for his convoluted prose but this book is written in quite simple language, perhaps because the unnamed narrator is meant to be a young American. `Vril' starts off quite dramatically when our hero falls into an underground world while exploring a deep mine and is captured by its not quite human inhabitants. The plot then comes to a halt and the bulk of the book is taken up with the narrator explaining what he learns while living amongst the Vril-ya - highly evolved humans who have discovered how to manipulate the invisible but powerful force known as Vril. The action only resumes in the last few chapters when it becomes imperative for the narrator to escape back to his own world.
Bulwer-Lytton was writing in a Utopian tradition that goes back to Plato's Atlantis myth. He held up a mirror to his own society by creating one that was its opposite and clearly enjoyed describing role-reversals. Among the Vril-ya, women are the stronger and more intellectual sex and children do all the work while adults are free to play. I think that `Vril' counts as genuine Science Fiction because Bulwer-Lytton incorporates major scientific ideas of his period including Darwin's Theory of Evolution and Faraday's work on electricity. In his invented world, machines have replaced most human labour but the lack of conflict and struggle means that there are no works of artistic genius. Sounds familiar from a lot of much later Science Fiction doesn't it?
The reputation of this book has suffered because some dubious esoteric movements took it as a blueprint for the rise of a `Master Race' and even believed that the power of Vril was real. In fact the novel in no way condones the idea that one group of humans has any right to wipe out races which they regard as less civilised. The narrator is chilled and horrified by the belief among the Vril-ya that they are entitled to destroy `lesser beings' such as himself as if they were vermin. If there was any doubt that the Vril-ya were not meant to be taken too seriously, this should have been dispelled by the chapter describing the long war between those who believed that men were descended from frogs and those who believed that frogs were descended from men. This is clearly the work of a playful author having fun. No wonder `Vril' is still the only Science Fiction novel to have a hot drink named after it (Bovril).
If you are interested in the development of Science Fiction this mid-Victorian novel is essential reading. Everyone else may find it less enthralling. Bulwer-Lytton is notorious for his convoluted prose but this book is written in quite simple language, perhaps because the unnamed narrator is meant to be a young American. `Vril' starts off quite dramatically when our hero falls into an underground world while exploring a deep mine and is captured by its not quite human inhabitants. The plot then comes to a halt and the bulk of the book is taken up with the narrator explaining what he learns while living amongst the Vril-ya - highly evolved humans who have discovered how to manipulate the invisible but powerful force known as Vril. The action only resumes in the last few chapters when it becomes imperative for the narrator to escape back to his own world.
Bulwer-Lytton was writing in a Utopian tradition that goes back to Plato's Atlantis myth. He held up a mirror to his own society by creating one that was its opposite and clearly enjoyed describing role-reversals. Among the Vril-ya, women are the stronger and more intellectual sex and children do all the work while adults are free to play. I think that `Vril' counts as genuine Science Fiction because Bulwer-Lytton incorporates major scientific ideas of his period including Darwin's Theory of Evolution and Faraday's work on electricity. In his invented world, machines have replaced most human labour but the lack of conflict and struggle means that there are no works of artistic genius. Sounds familiar from a lot of much later Science Fiction doesn't it?
The reputation of this book has suffered because some dubious esoteric movements took it as a blueprint for the rise of a `Master Race' and even believed that the power of Vril was real. In fact the novel in no way condones the idea that one group of humans has any right to wipe out races which they regard as less civilised. The narrator is chilled and horrified by the belief among the Vril-ya that they are entitled to destroy `lesser beings' such as himself as if they were vermin. If there was any doubt that the Vril-ya were not meant to be taken too seriously, this should have been dispelled by the chapter describing the long war between those who believed that men were descended from frogs and those who believed that frogs were descended from men. This is clearly the work of a playful author having fun. No wonder `Vril' is still the only Science Fiction novel to have a hot drink named after it (Bovril).
December 19, 2011
In commencement of this recapitulation, it must be documented by he who is myself that the creator of this compendium takes no thrift in the utilization of glosses, and is in fact quite bombastic in literary usage.
Seriously, the guy must've been paid by the number of times the editor had to search the thesaurus. Also he got bonuses for every chapter; there's 29 chapters in these 250 pages! Some chapters are actually only a page long.
But the story, is interesting. Man falls underground, meets the Nazi ideal of the übermensch, with magic wands and wings.
Ok, so the Vril isn't actually magic. Essentially, it's "The Force," but in liquid form. Was the force every material? I never really paid attention to the one Star Wars movie I saw. Well anyway these Nazi angels have the force. And they use it to create a society of universal mutually-assured destruction.
Yes, fascists. Miscegenation being as rare as it was in 1871, our subterranean wonders developed a "pure race," unadulterated by those who don't use the Vril (the "savage races"), and it seems to make sense, Darwinistically. Let's look past the genocide, this is set some thousands of years after. But you look closer at this society. There is no law - only, very stern requests, failure to follow through meaning a social embarrassment so devious as to make it impossible. And those races that still live in the dark? Permitted to live until they pose a threat; to live or lebenstraum. It gets, uncomfortable. Equality is harkened by the narrator - but at the cost of a strange humanity. Arts are nonexistent and cold scientific utility rules all. If anything this novel shows a thought-experiment into what a fascist society would look like in completion (we only have the few failed experiments to look upon), and it's a somewhat unsettling idea.
Ok, and back to the writing. As an early sci-fi novel, I guess it isn't bad. Some interesting landscapes and people. Names like "Zee" and "Täe," and the language of the Vril-ya are, however, as inventive as those found by the amateurs on, say, Deviantart.
Hard to imagine how anyone would find this a true story (it seems like the publishers of my particular edition in fact did). But then again, there are powerfully devout trekkies and the like.
Yes. Interesting read. Still I wouldn't mind a Vril-stick. As long as nobody else had one.
Seriously, the guy must've been paid by the number of times the editor had to search the thesaurus. Also he got bonuses for every chapter; there's 29 chapters in these 250 pages! Some chapters are actually only a page long.
But the story, is interesting. Man falls underground, meets the Nazi ideal of the übermensch, with magic wands and wings.
Ok, so the Vril isn't actually magic. Essentially, it's "The Force," but in liquid form. Was the force every material? I never really paid attention to the one Star Wars movie I saw. Well anyway these Nazi angels have the force. And they use it to create a society of universal mutually-assured destruction.
Yes, fascists. Miscegenation being as rare as it was in 1871, our subterranean wonders developed a "pure race," unadulterated by those who don't use the Vril (the "savage races"), and it seems to make sense, Darwinistically. Let's look past the genocide, this is set some thousands of years after. But you look closer at this society. There is no law - only, very stern requests, failure to follow through meaning a social embarrassment so devious as to make it impossible. And those races that still live in the dark? Permitted to live until they pose a threat; to live or lebenstraum. It gets, uncomfortable. Equality is harkened by the narrator - but at the cost of a strange humanity. Arts are nonexistent and cold scientific utility rules all. If anything this novel shows a thought-experiment into what a fascist society would look like in completion (we only have the few failed experiments to look upon), and it's a somewhat unsettling idea.
Ok, and back to the writing. As an early sci-fi novel, I guess it isn't bad. Some interesting landscapes and people. Names like "Zee" and "Täe," and the language of the Vril-ya are, however, as inventive as those found by the amateurs on, say, Deviantart.
Hard to imagine how anyone would find this a true story (it seems like the publishers of my particular edition in fact did). But then again, there are powerfully devout trekkies and the like.
Yes. Interesting read. Still I wouldn't mind a Vril-stick. As long as nobody else had one.
April 6, 2011
I read this book because of its connections with Esoteric Hitlerism, Ariosophy and Theosophy (vril, hollow earth and such). I know that some Theosophists believe this book is actually true. I cannot agree. It seems obvious to me, for a multitude of reasons, that it is pure fiction. Bulwer-Lytton was probably intrigued by the idea of hollow earth and some other ideas which would end up being connected to Ariosophy and are related to truths but that hardly justifies believing the story is a true account. For an example, the chapter concerning the language of the Vril-ya alone would provide enough suffice for evidence to the contrary.
Now that, that has been established...
The book was alright. Large portions were rather boring, describing the society of the Vril-ya, which I wasn't impressed with on any applicable level. A lot of the assumptions Bulwer-Lytton takes for granted concerning what is "good" and desirable, I do not. He obviously has a fondness for democracy and the book reeks of (English) bourgeois liberalism. That being said, parts of the book were entertaining and it wasn't all bad. Leaving politics, values, ideology, spirituality, etc. aside it really wasn't bad. Especially, when you take the when the book was written into consideration, I can see why it was so popular. Literature of this sort was rare. I also must give some credit for him popularizing ideas and terms which would be used later by noteworthy, influential and even great people.
Now that, that has been established...
The book was alright. Large portions were rather boring, describing the society of the Vril-ya, which I wasn't impressed with on any applicable level. A lot of the assumptions Bulwer-Lytton takes for granted concerning what is "good" and desirable, I do not. He obviously has a fondness for democracy and the book reeks of (English) bourgeois liberalism. That being said, parts of the book were entertaining and it wasn't all bad. Leaving politics, values, ideology, spirituality, etc. aside it really wasn't bad. Especially, when you take the when the book was written into consideration, I can see why it was so popular. Literature of this sort was rare. I also must give some credit for him popularizing ideas and terms which would be used later by noteworthy, influential and even great people.
May 21, 2017
Cool scientific concepts, but ultimately a boring book. I think I only got through it this fast because I was listening to the audio book. I definitely didn't hate it, and I became more interested toward the end, but it didn't have enough of a plot to warrant a higher rating.
March 23, 2021
My prof warned us that this was bad before I started reading and she was right! Inexcusably boring.
May 5, 2012
This is a bit of Victorian nonsense of which one can only be grateful that it is relatively short by the period's standards. It is ostensibly the tale of an apparent utopia deep underground.
Like all such efforts, utopia turns out to be a little more dystopian with every passing intelligent thought and the cause of much didactic heavy duty satire on current conditions (those of the 1870s).
Bulwer-Lytton is not a great writer but he has a dry and detached aristocratic sense of humour that makes this a surprisingly easy read even if nothing much happens.
It stays in the library because of its insights into the mentality of the mid-Victorian upper class male and its subsequent influence in cultural history is well outlined in Matthew Sweet's introduction.
There could be an essay here into that mentality but we would fall into that same didactic trap of the author's - but what we do pick up is suspicion of democracy and a genuine fear of female power.
The attitude to women - indistinguishable as Vril-ya from the sort of angel who surmounted Victorian gravestones - is creepy. The hero's penchant for a sixteen year old 'angel' is duly noted. Hmmmmmmm!
There is even a rather counter-intuitive (to us) view of child labour that may be amusing now but is less so when one considers the undertone of reaction to relatively recent liberal-minded legislation.
Still, Bulwer-Lytton was nearly 70 when he wrote this and his reactionary stance derives from his late transition from Whiggery to Conservatism and a rather obvious suspicion of excitable reformism.
The Vril-ya are so like the ideal of Republican Rome that the book might be regarded as an unconscious manifesto for an aristocratic republicanism threatened with submersion into democracy.
It is certainly one of those books which must be read by anyone interested in the early history of 'speculative fiction' (aka 'science fiction').
Most famously, Bulwer-Lytton raises the political problems and possibilities raised by what would later be our nuclear destructive capacity a full seventy five years before it actually appeared.
Bulwer-Lytton is also the unwitting father of the underground tales of Edgar Rice Burroughs, of tales of apocalyptic threat from superior races and of Nazi UFOS in the hollow earth - so he cannot be all bad.
Like all such efforts, utopia turns out to be a little more dystopian with every passing intelligent thought and the cause of much didactic heavy duty satire on current conditions (those of the 1870s).
Bulwer-Lytton is not a great writer but he has a dry and detached aristocratic sense of humour that makes this a surprisingly easy read even if nothing much happens.
It stays in the library because of its insights into the mentality of the mid-Victorian upper class male and its subsequent influence in cultural history is well outlined in Matthew Sweet's introduction.
There could be an essay here into that mentality but we would fall into that same didactic trap of the author's - but what we do pick up is suspicion of democracy and a genuine fear of female power.
The attitude to women - indistinguishable as Vril-ya from the sort of angel who surmounted Victorian gravestones - is creepy. The hero's penchant for a sixteen year old 'angel' is duly noted. Hmmmmmmm!
There is even a rather counter-intuitive (to us) view of child labour that may be amusing now but is less so when one considers the undertone of reaction to relatively recent liberal-minded legislation.
Still, Bulwer-Lytton was nearly 70 when he wrote this and his reactionary stance derives from his late transition from Whiggery to Conservatism and a rather obvious suspicion of excitable reformism.
The Vril-ya are so like the ideal of Republican Rome that the book might be regarded as an unconscious manifesto for an aristocratic republicanism threatened with submersion into democracy.
It is certainly one of those books which must be read by anyone interested in the early history of 'speculative fiction' (aka 'science fiction').
Most famously, Bulwer-Lytton raises the political problems and possibilities raised by what would later be our nuclear destructive capacity a full seventy five years before it actually appeared.
Bulwer-Lytton is also the unwitting father of the underground tales of Edgar Rice Burroughs, of tales of apocalyptic threat from superior races and of Nazi UFOS in the hollow earth - so he cannot be all bad.
February 2, 2023
This is an excellent book! Once again, Bulwar-Lytton gives the reader so much food for thought. However, one must consider Bulwar-Lytton is the same person who coined the phrase, 'the pen is mightier than the sword.' In his case, indeed, it is. Vril: The Power Of The Coming Race is a quick read, 188 pages, but its contents are impressive and the scope grand. Through the telling of his tale, he invites us to discuss concepts such as equality, socialism vs. capitalism, democracy vs. monarchy, gender, the social strata, wealth (how it is perceived), ethics, the treatment of animals, and vegetarianism, and then to evaluate them with inherent prejudices that often accompany the framework of such dialogue. It is a tricky endeavor that he not only champions but succeeds at. Given our current climate, in which fascism is on the rise, and the threat to democracy, is very real, I cannot think of a more prescient read now.
May 5, 2018
Well that was dull. I had expected an early SF novel about a secret race living underground to be considerably more gripping. I bought it out of curiosity because Bovril is named after it! - Wikipedia - "The first part of the product's name comes from Latin bovīnus, meaning "ox".[2] Johnston took the -vril suffix from Edward Bulwer-Lytton's then-popular novel, The Coming Race (1870), whose plot revolves around a superior race of people, the Vril-ya, who derive their powers from an electromagnetic substance named "Vril". Therefore, Bovril indicates great strength obtained from an ox.[3]". And beacuse Bulwer-Lytton wrote the famous opening "It was a dark and stormy night" - as popularised by Snoopy. I don't think I'll be rushing to read another of his books, it was all a bit of a chore.
July 27, 2011
Amazing read. Glad to see that this is back in print. Very much of it's time, but now becoming a novel of our time. Worth thinking about.
April 26, 2010
The Coming Race is one of those fabulous Victorian stories in which our intrepid explorer discovers an alien race similar enough to humans to bear comparison, but different in at least one major way. We then get a series of dialogues between the explorer and an alien representative arguing over which is better. Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s fictional world is semi-Utopian; the alien way is more “civilised”, more “advanced”. I can see Nietzsche’s race of Übermenschen peering round the corner.
Some of Bulwer-Lytton’s ideas of what is “civilised” tell us more about Victorian presumptions than they do about the aliens. His description of the alien language assumes that languages like Chinese are the most primitive, then languages like Japanese or Turkish, followed (surprise, surprise) by English and other western European languages.
Even more amusing are his assumptions about phrenology, the pseudo-science that claimed to able to detect personality traits and “criminal proclivities” in the bumps on your head.
Bulwer-Lytton’s problem is that the inner Victorian gentleman never quite disappears. The only true god, the leader of the community and the head of the family all resemble the Bulwer-Lytton’s of the day more than their wives and daughters, who gracefully “choose” to delegate their powers to their husbands on marriage.
Some of Bulwer-Lytton’s ideas of what is “civilised” tell us more about Victorian presumptions than they do about the aliens. His description of the alien language assumes that languages like Chinese are the most primitive, then languages like Japanese or Turkish, followed (surprise, surprise) by English and other western European languages.
Even more amusing are his assumptions about phrenology, the pseudo-science that claimed to able to detect personality traits and “criminal proclivities” in the bumps on your head.
It has the same comparative massiveness of forehead, not receding like the Celtic . . . Those which are called the moral organs, such as conscientiousness and benevolence, are amazingly full; amativeness and combativeness are both small.The trick in a good science fiction story of this type is to change as few properties as possible to explain why the aliens are so different from us. Bulwer-Lytton comes up with two: females are slightly taller and stronger than males, and there is a concentrated, portable, freely available source of power called “vril”.
These subterranean philosophers assert that by one operation of vril, which Faraday would perhaps call 'atmospheric magnetism,' they can influence the variations of temperature--in plain words, the weather; that by operations, akin to those ascribed to mesmerism, electro-biology, odic force, &c., but applied scientifically, through vril conductors, they can exercise influence over minds, and bodies animal and vegetable, to an extent not surpassed in the romances of our mystics. To all such agencies they give the common name of vril. – The Coming Race, Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1871)Vril literally puts power in the hands of everybody from small children on. He uses this device to deduce a completely different relationship between governments and the people. With physically stronger females, he deduces a completely different relationship between members of the family. It could happen: cold fusion or something similar is not unimaginable, and physical height and brute strength have more psychological than actual impact.
Bulwer-Lytton’s problem is that the inner Victorian gentleman never quite disappears. The only true god, the leader of the community and the head of the family all resemble the Bulwer-Lytton’s of the day more than their wives and daughters, who gracefully “choose” to delegate their powers to their husbands on marriage.
May 25, 2022
Early science fiction, but to me this feels like More's UTOPIA rewritten by a Victorian and set in a hollow earth. While checking some dates, I found out that the novel is actually subtitled "Or, The New Utopia" which wasn't on my copy, so it looks like I wasn't too far wrong. It feels like the story skips back and forth over the line between social commentary and satire, and, while popular in its day, this novel doesn't do much for me. The writing is often rather wooden and entire chapters are devoted to describing (more telling than showing) the underground civilization that the protagonist discovers. Bonus fact, the British meat paste Bovril is actually a combination of the Latin word for ox and "vril" the semi-mystical energy source that gives Bulwer-Lytton's underground race their powers.
February 11, 2017
Written in the classic Victorian style with plenty of detail and gentlemanly views and standards, this is a great sci-fi tale that follows the narrator as he discovers an ancient civilisation, the Vril-ya, that live in subterranean caves and tunnels after being driven from the surface by floods. The civilisation is somewhat different to the human world above with women equal to men, so much so it is they who do the romantic chasing and who are the physically stronger sex, something which intrigues, mystifies and attracts the narrator. But the more time he spends with the Vril-ya the more he realises that while they are a peaceful race, they are more than capable of reclaiming the surface world from humans and more importantly are obviously considering doing so. This is a good read, it is quite detailed but this is indicative of the style of the era, and it does still flow well and the ending is of course in the typical open ended style, but then this lets you fill in the blanks and add your own twist.
May 21, 2017
So, this was the final book in my quick survey of Victorian classics. Whether the land of the Vril-ya is a utopia or a distopia is up to the individual. Science is revered. Everyone is equal. Everything important is free and prejudice has been eliminated by a homogenous society that turns to ash anyone who threaten its placid existence. It's the kind of book I'd expect college professors to enjoy because they don't realize it was meant as satire. Bulwer-Lytton created the perfect socialist utopia where art and poetry don't exist because people are just too happy to care.
November 9, 2024
ENGLISH: This is the first time I have read this book, one of the classical utopies. Up to the 19th century, utopies and dystopies came to be located in ever more exotic places. Thus, Utopia by Thomas More was placed in South America; The City of the Sun by Tommaso Campanella was placed not far from Taprobana (Sri-Lanka); Erewhon by Samuel Butler was probably placed in New Zealand; The New Atlantis by Francis Bacon was in an island in the Pacific; as our planet was better-known by then, Bulwer-Lytton had to locate his utopia in the underground.
The science in this utopia is at the level of the 19th century (for example, phrenology is used, which was later abandoned), although there are a few science-fiction elements, such as vril, a unified version of electricity and magnetism, with some additional effects. And the generalized use of automata as servants and industry workers.
A curious quote from chapter 16: Every sensible man knows that it is useless to argue with any ordinary female upon matters he comprehends. Another curious particularity of the coming race is the debate between their ancient philosophers on whether they descended from the frog, or the frog descended from them.
I find it incredible that the barbarian who has just arrived from the outside world (the surface of the Earth) should prove irresistible to the women of the superior race from the inner Earth.
ESPAÑOL: Esta es la primera vez que he leído este libro, una de las utopías clásicas. Hasta el siglo XIX, las utopías y distopías se fueron localizando en lugares cada vez más exóticos. Así, Utopia de Thomas More estaba localizada en Sudamérica; La ciudad del sol de Tommaso Campanella fue situada no lejos de Taprobana (Ceilán); Erewhon de Samuel Butler quizá estaba en Nueva Zelanda; La nueva Atlántida de Francis Bacon estaba en una isla del Pacífico; al conocerse mejor nuestro planeta, Bulwer-Lytton tiene que situar su utopía en el subsuelo.
La ciencia de esta utopía está al nivel del siglo XIX (se recurre, por ejemplo, a la frenología, que después fue abandonada), aunque hay algunos elementos de ciencia-ficción, como el vril, una versión unificada de la electricidad y el magnetismo, con algún efecto adicional. Y el uso generalizado de autómatas para realizar labores industriales y de servicio.
Una cita curiosa del capítulo 16: Todo hombre sensato sabe que es inútil discutir con una mujer corriente sobre cuestiones que él comprende. Otra curiosa particularidad de la raza que nos suplantará es el debate entre sus antiguos filósofos sobre si ellos descendían de la rana o la rana descendía de ellos.
Es bastante increíble que el bárbaro recién llegado del mundo exterior (la superficie de la Tierra) resulte irresistible para las mujeres de la raza superior del interior de la Tierra.
The science in this utopia is at the level of the 19th century (for example, phrenology is used, which was later abandoned), although there are a few science-fiction elements, such as vril, a unified version of electricity and magnetism, with some additional effects. And the generalized use of automata as servants and industry workers.
A curious quote from chapter 16: Every sensible man knows that it is useless to argue with any ordinary female upon matters he comprehends. Another curious particularity of the coming race is the debate between their ancient philosophers on whether they descended from the frog, or the frog descended from them.
I find it incredible that the barbarian who has just arrived from the outside world (the surface of the Earth) should prove irresistible to the women of the superior race from the inner Earth.
ESPAÑOL: Esta es la primera vez que he leído este libro, una de las utopías clásicas. Hasta el siglo XIX, las utopías y distopías se fueron localizando en lugares cada vez más exóticos. Así, Utopia de Thomas More estaba localizada en Sudamérica; La ciudad del sol de Tommaso Campanella fue situada no lejos de Taprobana (Ceilán); Erewhon de Samuel Butler quizá estaba en Nueva Zelanda; La nueva Atlántida de Francis Bacon estaba en una isla del Pacífico; al conocerse mejor nuestro planeta, Bulwer-Lytton tiene que situar su utopía en el subsuelo.
La ciencia de esta utopía está al nivel del siglo XIX (se recurre, por ejemplo, a la frenología, que después fue abandonada), aunque hay algunos elementos de ciencia-ficción, como el vril, una versión unificada de la electricidad y el magnetismo, con algún efecto adicional. Y el uso generalizado de autómatas para realizar labores industriales y de servicio.
Una cita curiosa del capítulo 16: Todo hombre sensato sabe que es inútil discutir con una mujer corriente sobre cuestiones que él comprende. Otra curiosa particularidad de la raza que nos suplantará es el debate entre sus antiguos filósofos sobre si ellos descendían de la rana o la rana descendía de ellos.
Es bastante increíble que el bárbaro recién llegado del mundo exterior (la superficie de la Tierra) resulte irresistible para las mujeres de la raza superior del interior de la Tierra.
April 3, 2021
Gefundenes Fressen für Mentalitäts-Archäologen und Quellenkundler
In Sachen langfristige Nachwirkung ist Edward Bulwer-Lytton ein Einbuch-Autor so erfolgreich und gesellschaftlich wirksam der Verfasser der letzten Tage von Pompeji auch zu Lebzeiten gewesen ist. Als Vorlagengeber zu Richard Wagners Rienzi ist der Verfasser historischen Romane den Opernfreunden oder speziellen Anhängern dieses Komponisten ein Begriff, zahlreiche Fans von Snoopy haben in diversen Rezis schon darauf hingewiesen, dass es sich beim ersten Satz des Romans des eigenwilligen Hundes auch um ein BL-Zitat handelt. Als Impulsgeber für Adolf Hitler wurde Bulwer-Lytton gleich zwei mal wirksam, mittelbar über das Erweckungserlebnis durch den Besuch einer Vorstellung von Rienzi unmittelbar durch seine Utopie The Coming Race, in dem die fortgeschrittene Unterwelts-Menschheit den Vegetarismus so sehr pflegt,
Bis zum finalen Bruchpunkt, der die dringende Frage nach einer Fluchtmöglichkeit aus dem vermeintlichen Paradies aufwirft, fungiert der Gast aus einer unterentwickelten Phase der Menschheit als eine Art Haustier für das Töchterlein des Bürgermeisters, wird auch von den Kindern nicht so recht ernst genommen, gerade in seinen Überzeugungen, dass die Demokratie die beste aller Regierungsformen sei. Für die Vril, die ohne Wettbewerb und Ehrgeiz leben, ist die Demokratie nur die Vorstufe zum kompletten Verfall. Es ist leicht vorstellbar, auf welches Echo dergleichen, lange Zeit unwidersprochen reproduzierte Lehren der unterirdischen Übermenschen, im Bewusstsein eines extrem selektiven Lesers wie Adolf Hitler hinterlassen mussten, der Mitglied einer Vril-Gesllschaft gewesen ist.
Die politische Debatte, so etwas wie der Wendepunkt im Drama, zumal der Oberflächenmensch auch bemerken muss, dass ohne Wettbewerb, Auszeichnungen und Ehrgeiz keine neue Kunst gedeiht und der Kulturbetrieb längst zum Museum geworden ist, in dem vortreffliche Werke aus alter Zeit in einer Art Pflichtbewusstsein im Theater angeguckt werden.
Vor diesem letzten Drittel liefert Bulwer-Lytton einen ausführlichen Lobpreis dieser Gesellschaft, ihrer Institutionen und ihrer Grammatik, - im Gegensatz zum zeitlich und unabhängig davon entstandenen Erewhon von Samuel Butler, aber absolut humorfrei und längst nicht so visuell. So gut zur Hälfte war ich schon mal nahe dran, den Roman abzubrechen und mit einem Stern abzuspeisen. Aber dann kam die nächste Nachwirkung in Sicht. In der Evolutionsmythologie der überaus langlebigen Übermenschen ist von der ursprünglichen Höherentwicklung und Degeneration der Frösche die Rede, einen Faden, den Abraham Merritt bei der Ausgestaltung von The Moon Pool aufgenommen hat. Diese prominente Rolle der Amphibien im Fantasy-Klassiker hatte mich schon bei der ersten Lektüre ziemlich verstört und auch vor ein paar Tagen wieder irritiert. Dieses Rätsel ist immerhin gelöst, aber alles in allem ist, - unabhängig davon, was man seinen Lehren hält, Bulwer-Lytton ist mehr Philosoph als Erzähler, da ihm die lebenden Vorbilder aus der Historie oder Archäologie fehlen, wird sein Personal nie plastisch, gerät das Werk zu sehr ins Fahrwasser Platos und nachfolgender Utopisten, wobei Campanellas Sonnenstaat in jeder Hinsicht ein anschaulicheres Bild dieser idealen Welt/Diktatur liefert. In Sachen Gleichberechtigung von Frau und Mann, bzw. umgekehrter Rollenverteilung, ausschließlicher pflanzlicher Ernährung, friedlicher Nutzung einer Naturenergie, die jeglichen Krieg verhindert und sämtliche fossilen Brennstoffe ebenso als Teil einer überholten Barbarei hinstellt wie Wettbewerbsdenken und persönlichen Ehrgeiz, dürfte das Buch mancherlei Wunschträume erfüllen, als Roman ist The Coming Race trotzdem unbefriedigend. Vielleicht aber trotzdem eine Warnung, denn mit einer liberalen, offenen Gesellschaft hat diese krass evolutionsbiologische Übermenschentruppe nichts zu tun.
In Sachen langfristige Nachwirkung ist Edward Bulwer-Lytton ein Einbuch-Autor so erfolgreich und gesellschaftlich wirksam der Verfasser der letzten Tage von Pompeji auch zu Lebzeiten gewesen ist. Als Vorlagengeber zu Richard Wagners Rienzi ist der Verfasser historischen Romane den Opernfreunden oder speziellen Anhängern dieses Komponisten ein Begriff, zahlreiche Fans von Snoopy haben in diversen Rezis schon darauf hingewiesen, dass es sich beim ersten Satz des Romans des eigenwilligen Hundes auch um ein BL-Zitat handelt. Als Impulsgeber für Adolf Hitler wurde Bulwer-Lytton gleich zwei mal wirksam, mittelbar über das Erweckungserlebnis durch den Besuch einer Vorstellung von Rienzi unmittelbar durch seine Utopie The Coming Race, in dem die fortgeschrittene Unterwelts-Menschheit den Vegetarismus so sehr pflegt,
Bis zum finalen Bruchpunkt, der die dringende Frage nach einer Fluchtmöglichkeit aus dem vermeintlichen Paradies aufwirft, fungiert der Gast aus einer unterentwickelten Phase der Menschheit als eine Art Haustier für das Töchterlein des Bürgermeisters, wird auch von den Kindern nicht so recht ernst genommen, gerade in seinen Überzeugungen, dass die Demokratie die beste aller Regierungsformen sei. Für die Vril, die ohne Wettbewerb und Ehrgeiz leben, ist die Demokratie nur die Vorstufe zum kompletten Verfall. Es ist leicht vorstellbar, auf welches Echo dergleichen, lange Zeit unwidersprochen reproduzierte Lehren der unterirdischen Übermenschen, im Bewusstsein eines extrem selektiven Lesers wie Adolf Hitler hinterlassen mussten, der Mitglied einer Vril-Gesllschaft gewesen ist.
Die politische Debatte, so etwas wie der Wendepunkt im Drama, zumal der Oberflächenmensch auch bemerken muss, dass ohne Wettbewerb, Auszeichnungen und Ehrgeiz keine neue Kunst gedeiht und der Kulturbetrieb längst zum Museum geworden ist, in dem vortreffliche Werke aus alter Zeit in einer Art Pflichtbewusstsein im Theater angeguckt werden.
Vor diesem letzten Drittel liefert Bulwer-Lytton einen ausführlichen Lobpreis dieser Gesellschaft, ihrer Institutionen und ihrer Grammatik, - im Gegensatz zum zeitlich und unabhängig davon entstandenen Erewhon von Samuel Butler, aber absolut humorfrei und längst nicht so visuell. So gut zur Hälfte war ich schon mal nahe dran, den Roman abzubrechen und mit einem Stern abzuspeisen. Aber dann kam die nächste Nachwirkung in Sicht. In der Evolutionsmythologie der überaus langlebigen Übermenschen ist von der ursprünglichen Höherentwicklung und Degeneration der Frösche die Rede, einen Faden, den Abraham Merritt bei der Ausgestaltung von The Moon Pool aufgenommen hat. Diese prominente Rolle der Amphibien im Fantasy-Klassiker hatte mich schon bei der ersten Lektüre ziemlich verstört und auch vor ein paar Tagen wieder irritiert. Dieses Rätsel ist immerhin gelöst, aber alles in allem ist, - unabhängig davon, was man seinen Lehren hält, Bulwer-Lytton ist mehr Philosoph als Erzähler, da ihm die lebenden Vorbilder aus der Historie oder Archäologie fehlen, wird sein Personal nie plastisch, gerät das Werk zu sehr ins Fahrwasser Platos und nachfolgender Utopisten, wobei Campanellas Sonnenstaat in jeder Hinsicht ein anschaulicheres Bild dieser idealen Welt/Diktatur liefert. In Sachen Gleichberechtigung von Frau und Mann, bzw. umgekehrter Rollenverteilung, ausschließlicher pflanzlicher Ernährung, friedlicher Nutzung einer Naturenergie, die jeglichen Krieg verhindert und sämtliche fossilen Brennstoffe ebenso als Teil einer überholten Barbarei hinstellt wie Wettbewerbsdenken und persönlichen Ehrgeiz, dürfte das Buch mancherlei Wunschträume erfüllen, als Roman ist The Coming Race trotzdem unbefriedigend. Vielleicht aber trotzdem eine Warnung, denn mit einer liberalen, offenen Gesellschaft hat diese krass evolutionsbiologische Übermenschentruppe nichts zu tun.
March 12, 2024
Really enjoyable but hard book.
This took me a while to read because I was constantly having to reread the paragraphs to understand the what it was saying and searching up the meaning of words. But once you do get used to the words used you see how poetic and how much meaning is hidden behind each sentence.
The story is very well written, whether you believe it’s a fictional utopia or based upon a real story you can’t deny the wealth of cultural and scientific knowledge displayed.
He creates a very convincing detailed account of an alternative society, with very high-culture references to animal magnetism, anthropology and other literature.
There is a lot of information on the operation of the liquid Vril and its use but is still a beautiful story with romance, adventure, and drama. I would recommend this book to both the curious scientist/esotericist and also the avid novel reader.
The only down side is how hard it is to read but it’s not unnecessarily hard, only hard because he is so beautifully good at writing.
This took me a while to read because I was constantly having to reread the paragraphs to understand the what it was saying and searching up the meaning of words. But once you do get used to the words used you see how poetic and how much meaning is hidden behind each sentence.
The story is very well written, whether you believe it’s a fictional utopia or based upon a real story you can’t deny the wealth of cultural and scientific knowledge displayed.
He creates a very convincing detailed account of an alternative society, with very high-culture references to animal magnetism, anthropology and other literature.
There is a lot of information on the operation of the liquid Vril and its use but is still a beautiful story with romance, adventure, and drama. I would recommend this book to both the curious scientist/esotericist and also the avid novel reader.
The only down side is how hard it is to read but it’s not unnecessarily hard, only hard because he is so beautifully good at writing.
March 7, 2025
Le reconozco el mérito al autor de crear ciencia ficción tan prontamente en la historia de la literatura, pero qué aburrimiento...
January 16, 2015
For some reason I no longer remember, I decided to read Edward Bulwer-Lytton's The Coming Race. It's a bit of utopian fiction that came out in 1871. It describes an adventurer stumbling onto an unknown civilization. The protagonist describes the people and society, falls in love with a woman, and attempts to escape when the society endangers him.
Later, I learned of Samuel Butler's Erewhon, published the very next year. It describes an adventurer stumbling onto an unknown civilization. The protagonist describes the people and society, falls in love with a woman, and attempts to escape when the society endangers him.
So, let's say there's some similarity here. Butler, in a later version's forward, assures the reader that his book was written without any knowledge of the other.
If you've ever heard the phrase It was a dark and stormy night then you've heard of Bulwer-Lytton. So, he's known as a bad writer. Despite that reputation, he was a successful writer. This is the only book of his I've read, so my opinion of his writing is based solely on this one example. My opinion? Well, he wasn't very good.
I'll be honest; I didn't finish the book. It just became too tiresome. Bulwer-Lytton drones on and on, describing aspects of the found society. It's a weird twist on society, matriarchal in odd ways, and I suppose it could be a gripping subject. Alas, the descriptions are florid, yet bone-dry. The society is technologically evolved, but in a magical fantastical sort of way that just isn't that interesting. There's no real plot of which to speak, just a long series of essays on aspects of a fictional society. I just couldn't get through it. Others may like it as an early example of this type of fiction, but I wanted something better.
Later, I learned of Samuel Butler's Erewhon, published the very next year. It describes an adventurer stumbling onto an unknown civilization. The protagonist describes the people and society, falls in love with a woman, and attempts to escape when the society endangers him.
So, let's say there's some similarity here. Butler, in a later version's forward, assures the reader that his book was written without any knowledge of the other.
If you've ever heard the phrase It was a dark and stormy night then you've heard of Bulwer-Lytton. So, he's known as a bad writer. Despite that reputation, he was a successful writer. This is the only book of his I've read, so my opinion of his writing is based solely on this one example. My opinion? Well, he wasn't very good.
I'll be honest; I didn't finish the book. It just became too tiresome. Bulwer-Lytton drones on and on, describing aspects of the found society. It's a weird twist on society, matriarchal in odd ways, and I suppose it could be a gripping subject. Alas, the descriptions are florid, yet bone-dry. The society is technologically evolved, but in a magical fantastical sort of way that just isn't that interesting. There's no real plot of which to speak, just a long series of essays on aspects of a fictional society. I just couldn't get through it. Others may like it as an early example of this type of fiction, but I wanted something better.
September 5, 2013
I would recommend this book to those Steampunk aficionados of my acquaintance who wish to emulate the overblown prose of the age of steam. Because DAYUM. This boy never saw a flower but he put some gilding on it.
Enjoyable in its way, it was refreshing for its time, with some nuance - the utopia under the earth is not without price, though I question his reasoning that a peaceful mankind would stop making literature for its own sake, I accept it as I accept that the angelic women of the Vril-ya have slight mustaches.
Oh! The gender role reversal! It's not complete, which makes it more interesting. He has recourse to "try to look pretty" as women compliment him in a society where women are the wooers and men the wooed, though his only descriptions of married women about the Vril-ya are housekeepers who, he continually emphasizes, are the most submissive wives ever. This underground utopia, we are told, had complete gender equality - any job can be done by either sex, but we are never shown a female administrator or engineer. There's volumes that could be written about his nascent feminism and gender-role assumptions. It's downright quaint, honestly, much like the author's repeated references to a wholly incorrect understanding of evolution, wherein parents can acquire traits and pass them on. CUTE. Outdated. But... as valid as our modern science fiction, working within the constraints of knowledge as it stood then. Overall I am glad I read it, though there are a few painfully pedantic parts.
Enjoyable in its way, it was refreshing for its time, with some nuance - the utopia under the earth is not without price, though I question his reasoning that a peaceful mankind would stop making literature for its own sake, I accept it as I accept that the angelic women of the Vril-ya have slight mustaches.
Oh! The gender role reversal! It's not complete, which makes it more interesting. He has recourse to "try to look pretty" as women compliment him in a society where women are the wooers and men the wooed, though his only descriptions of married women about the Vril-ya are housekeepers who, he continually emphasizes, are the most submissive wives ever. This underground utopia, we are told, had complete gender equality - any job can be done by either sex, but we are never shown a female administrator or engineer. There's volumes that could be written about his nascent feminism and gender-role assumptions. It's downright quaint, honestly, much like the author's repeated references to a wholly incorrect understanding of evolution, wherein parents can acquire traits and pass them on. CUTE. Outdated. But... as valid as our modern science fiction, working within the constraints of knowledge as it stood then. Overall I am glad I read it, though there are a few painfully pedantic parts.
February 14, 2021
Edward Bulwer Lytton (1803-1873) es injustamente conocido hoy día únicamente por "Los últimos días de Pompeya" (1834); digo injustamente porque en su larga carrera de 45 años como escritor, publicó obras de todo tipo: históricas, sociales, filosóficas, de fantasia, utópicas, teatrales e incluso estudios sociológicos, todas ellas con gran éxito en su tiempo y una intensa carrera política que le llevó a ser nombrado Ministro de las Colonias en 1858. "La raza venidera" resulta una interesante incursión en el mundo de la novela utópica y donde se tratan cuestiones como la comunicación intercultural entre sociedad con diferente nivel de evolución tecnológica. El protagonista se adentra sin querer en el subsuelo de una mina y descubre una civilización en las profundidades: los Vril, quienes cuentan con una tecnología avanzada que ha terminado con las luchas entre ellos, puesto que usar las armas de las que disponen conduciría sin remedio a la aniquilación mutua. Resulta curioso que se adelantara más de cien años al mismo miedo surgido durante la Guerra Fria. Aunque bien tratado por los Vril, el protagonista pronto se da cuenta que ese pacifismo y tolerancia solo se predica de ellos mismos, pero no en relación a otros habitantes del subsuelo más retrasados ni en relación a los humanos de la superficie.
November 4, 2020
Having enjoyed Bulwer-Lytton's 'The Last Days of Pompeii' as a kid and having heard a bit of the Vril Society from 'Morning of the Magicians', I found a paperback copy entitled 'Vril: The Power of the Coming Race' in a Morningside Heights bookstore in Manhattan with some excitement: A classic of utopian science fiction--oh boy!
What a disappointment it was! Anyone, anywhere who could be taken in by this nonsensical, metaphysical drivel would be stupid enough to start a two-front war in Europe! Vril makes no sense, being everything and therefore nothing. The subterranean civilization makes no sense, having an economy rather like that of Ryder Haggard's 'She'--not the novel version, the film version. There is no characterization to speak of. The writing is mediocre--no, worse than mediocre. I barely got through the whole thing, driven only by a nascent obsessive-compulsive disorder.
What a disappointment it was! Anyone, anywhere who could be taken in by this nonsensical, metaphysical drivel would be stupid enough to start a two-front war in Europe! Vril makes no sense, being everything and therefore nothing. The subterranean civilization makes no sense, having an economy rather like that of Ryder Haggard's 'She'--not the novel version, the film version. There is no characterization to speak of. The writing is mediocre--no, worse than mediocre. I barely got through the whole thing, driven only by a nascent obsessive-compulsive disorder.
October 7, 2018
This book is remarkable and when read from an informational (historical and scientific) perspective it suddenly gains new significance. The problem with most reviews here are that they read it from a fictional and entertainment perspective, but this is CLEARLY not the intention of this author.
I mean seriously, look at this author's track record. He was NOT in the entertainment business - not a fictional writer and this book cannot be considered a fictional work.
If you read this book from the proper perspective you suddenly gain information that can help to understand what we should be aiming for societally. Technology provides a path to peaceful communal living that is structured in such a way as to facilitate proper governance. It really helps one to see with clearer eyes the path to this ultimately much more happy and peaceful life.
I mean seriously, look at this author's track record. He was NOT in the entertainment business - not a fictional writer and this book cannot be considered a fictional work.
If you read this book from the proper perspective you suddenly gain information that can help to understand what we should be aiming for societally. Technology provides a path to peaceful communal living that is structured in such a way as to facilitate proper governance. It really helps one to see with clearer eyes the path to this ultimately much more happy and peaceful life.
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