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191 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1954
Fifteen short stories, five of which appeared originally in magazines like Argosy and Women's Journal, run the gamut of fantasy, nearly all written in a tongue-in-cheek style not usually associated with the author of The Day of the Triffids or The Midwich Cuckoos.
Though jumping from time-travel to artificial intelligence via surreal fantasy, fairytale, legend and myth, these tales nearly always involve individuals caught up in situations beyond their comprehension or control, often to their discomfiture but mostly to our amusement. Though a couple are told in the first person the majority are fly-on-the-wall observational pieces, thus allowing us the privilege of becoming aware of how matters stand a short while before understanding dawns on the unfortunate victims.
Because victims they generally are: and it's Fate, in the guise of the author, that determines whether they emerge sadder and wiser or don't emerge at all...
Let me start with the piece I think was the weakest even though the premise was interesting, and then work up to the stories I think worked really well. 'Confidence Trick' starts with the protagonist boarding a London Underground train against his better judgement, only to find that it rattles along not to his stop but towards the nether regions. In his carriage are a handful of other passengers whom we may suspect are there as his foils. When, after several hours they arrive at a modern version of the Hell as portrayed in Hieronymus Bosch's triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights, there is some doubt as to whether this represents a reality or not, and whether the hapless travellers deserve to be there.
The author is trying, I think, to be over clever here. The title hints that nothing is as it seems; the protagonist, in believing rush hour on the Tube to be a form of hellish torture, hints at a variation of Sartre's dictum in Huis Clos that "Hell is other people"; then a young man, who loudly declares his disbelief in Hades, begin its disintegration, but will he be as successful back in the City standing in front of the Bank of England? And do those who believe that everything in society is comme il faut somehow engineer their own future downfall? I suspect Wyndham is attempting to make some philosophical points under a cloak of heavy humour, but to me is doesn't all quite work.
A similar awkwardness exists in the two first person accounts, "Esmeralda" and "Una". The first involves someone who runs a flea circus and who, for all his confidence in managing miniature performers, is no match for human females; the second is about a creature, a kind of cyborg which is part organic and part robot, whose creator accidentally endows her with a massive libido. Both have humour and a sting in the tail but I think having the narrator as one of the main players means a limit on the comic effects that Wyndham is able to wield. That said, these worked rather better than "Confidence Trick".
I appreciated what seemed to be the starting points of each story. "More Spinned Against" combined the Greek myth of Arachne, who was turned into a spider by a jealous Athena, with the biological propensities of female spiders the world over. "The Wheel" is a future parable about superstition and voluntary sacrifice, while "Heaven Scent" concerns the aphrodisiacal uses to which a perfume additive can be put by an infatuated female. A couple of pieces run variations on the theme of time travel: "Technical Slip" is a lesson on the possible consequences of trying to change history, another discourses on the paradox of how one could be warned by one's future self:
'I mean, as the cells that make you are always gradually being replaced, you can't really be all the same person at any two times, can you?'
Frances tried to follow that, without success, but;
'Well---well, I suppose not quite,' she conceded, doubtfully.
'Well, then, when all the cells have been replaced by new ones, over seven years or so, then you can't any of you be the same person any longer, although you still think you are.'
John Wyndham, 'How Do I Do?'
'So foolish, you are, Idris Bowen, with your head full of propaganda and fighting. Other things than to fight, there is, even for dragons. Such a brave show your red dragon was making, such a fine show, oh yes---and very like a peacock, I am thinking. Very like the boys in their Sunday suits in Llangolwgcoch High Street, too---all dressed up to kill, but not to fight.'
John Wyndham, 'Chinese Puzzle'