The first thing to notice with regard to this 1901 science-fiction novel by H.G. Wells is the great author’s peculiar choice of prepositions. “The First Men in the Moon” – not on, but in. This phraseology, of course, goes against the way we of the modern world would ordinarily talk about a trip to the moon. We customarily say that, when Apollo 11 landed at Tranquility Base on 20 July 1969, and Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin took their historic first steps onto the lunar surface, they became the first men on the moon. “That’s one small step for a man – one giant leap for mankind.” But in Wells’s novel, the moon is a hollow sphere, honeycombed with a veritable labyrinth of horizontal and vertical passages, blessed with a great Central Sea at its core, and inhabited by sentient beings – all of which makes The First Men in the Moon quite a journey indeed.
H.G. Wells is, of course, one of the founding fathers of science fiction. Within just six years, he wrote The Time Machine (1895), The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896), The Invisible Man (1897), The War of the Worlds (1898), and The First Men in the Moon (1901) – five of the original classics of the SF genre. At the time, though, such works were not known as “science fiction”; rather, as SF novelist China Miéville explains in an introductory foreword, books of this kind were called “scientific romances” – works that extrapolated from known science of their time to tell an exciting and action-packed story.
Patrick Parrinder, who edited this edition of The First Men in the Moon, is a former Chairman of the H.G. Wells Society; and Steven McLean, who provides explanatory notes for this edition, was, at the time of this book’s Penguin Classics publication, Secretary of the Society. Accordingly, there is a good bit in this volume about how Wells, with his use of science fiction to provide social criticism, and his willingness to venture into genres other than SF, is much the superior of his predecessor Jules Verne. I respect their opinion; but I can’t help thinking that an edition of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea or Journey to the Center of the Earth, edited by leaders of the Société Jules Verne, might set forth different opinions regarding the relative merit of the two authors.
Yet Wellsians and Vernians alike can agree that The First Men in the Moon is a fun and engaging science-fiction novel – even if its Victorian-era lunar science is not exactly in line with what Armstrong and Aldrin found after announcing “The Eagle has landed” and stepping out of their lunar module.
As the novel begins, its narrator, a London businessman named Bedford, responds to his business failures by skipping out on his creditors and decamping to the Kentish coast; there, he plans to recoup his fortunes by writing a play that he hopes will become the hit of the season on the London stage. If this is Bedford’s idea of a can’t-miss, sure-thing way of making his fortune, then perhaps we have a sense of why his business ventures have not been successful to date.
Bedford’s dreams of becoming the literary toast of Covent Garden vanish when he encounters an absent-minded scientist named Cavor, who has got this idea for synthesizing an anti-gravity substance (Wells deliberately leaves the science of it all rather vague). Bedford, taken with the financial possibilities of it all, begins collaborating with Cavor on the quest to invent “Cavorite”; and some hint of the troubles to come occurs when Cavor, seeking to synthesize his Cavorite, accidentally causes an explosion that wrecks most of the homes and knocks down most of the trees in that part of Kent. And then there is the additional inconvenient detail that Cavor’s substance could have sucked all of the oxygen out of Earth’s atmosphere for a long enough time to asphyxiate every living thing on the planet. Oops!
These two mismatched, ethically challenged misfits – Bedford with his eye forever on money and the “main chance,” Cavor with his blithe “pure research” dedication that utterly disregards the possible consequences of that research – impulsively decide upon a trip to the Moon. With none of the mainframe computer technology that made possible the Apollo moon missions of the 1960’s and 1970’s, they build a glass sphere with an aeration system, fire up the Cavorite, and successfully travel the 240,000 miles from the Earth to the Moon.
And what do they find? Unsurprisingly, Bedford and Cavor’s lunar observations from a 1901 science-fiction novel do not match Armstrong and Aldrin’s lunar data from Apollo 11 in 1969. For one thing, the moon – at least the part upon which the sun is shining at any given time – has air; Bedford notes that “the air just outside our glass”, with the onset of the lunar sunrise, “was running – it was boiling – like snow into which a white-hot rod is thrust. What had been solid air had suddenly, at the touch of the sun, become a paste, a mud, a slushy liquefaction that hissed and bubbled into gas” (p. 51). And the moon has life! – seeds that germinate with astonishing speed in the lunar daytime, causing Bedford to reflect joyfully that “our vast journey had not been made in vain, that we had come to no arid waste of minerals, but to a world that lived and moved!” (p. 55).
And life on the Moon is not limited to germinating plants – there are intelligent beings there as well, in the form of insect-like creatures called Selenites. Mind you, they do not call themselves Selenites: you will not encounter a scene where one of these lunar inhabitants says, “Greetings. I am Selenos, of the planet Selenium. I will now take you to our leader, Seleniak,” or something like that. Rather, “Selenite” comes from the ancient Greek σελήνη (selénē), meaning “moon,” and the term was coined by the Anglo-Welsh writer James Howell (1594-1666) as a way to refer to possible inhabitants of the Moon.
Readers of other Wells works like The Time Machine and The War of the Worlds will not be surprised to hear that the initial encounter between Earthlings and Selenites does not go well. Chained by the Selenites and ordered to cross an exceedingly narrow bridge over a vast chasm, Bedford takes his chained hand and lashes out at a Selenite who is trying to force him across the bridge with a sharp-pointed goad:
My mailed hand seemed to go clean through him. He smashed like some sort of sweetmeat with liquid in it. He broke right in. He squelched and splashed. It was like hitting a damp toadstool. The flimsy body went spinning a dozen yards and fell with a flabby impact. I was astonished. I was incredulous that any living thing could be so flimsy. For an instant I could have believed the whole thing a dream. (p. 104)
In the Moon’s lower gravity, Bedford and Cavor have strength beyond that of the Selenites, and can leap vast distances in a single bound. But in their exhilaration at making it to the moon, they managed not to mark the location of their space capsule. Some explorers they are!
As Bedford and Cavor seek to elude the Selenites and find their capsule, they learn a great deal about the Moon. For one thing, the network of aerated caves and caverns in which the Selenites live is illuminated by a glowing blue fluid that flows toward a vast Central Sea at the core of the Moon. For another thing, the Moon has gold! – a discovery that fires Bedford’s greedy heart once he gets a good look at his chains in natural light. Imagine if it were discovered today that there are gold deposits beneath the surface of the Moon. How many private lunar prospecting expeditions would be starting to fit out for their journey by the end of the day?
Bedford eventually finds the sphere and, concluding that Cavor must be dead or in the hands of the Selenites, returns to Earth. The NASA scientists at modern-day Cape Canaveral would be impressed to know that Bedford, with no prior experience or training in celestial mechanics or zero-gravity navigation, not only returns to Earth but manages to land safely on the beach at Littlestone, a Kentish town just seven miles from Lympne where the lunar journey began. Isn’t that a neat trick? With that moment, we get the first description I know of the physical strains of re-entry:
The air hit me on the chest so that I gasped. I dropped the glass screw. I cried out, put my hands to my chest and sat down. For a time I was in pain. Then I took deep breaths. At last I could rise and move about again….I did not attempt to stand up. It seemed to me that my body must be changed to lead – no Cavorite intervening. I sat down heedless of the water that came over my feet. (p. 150).
Bedford publishes the story of his trip to the moon as a science-fiction story, gaining (ironically enough) the literary success that he had originally hoped for when he first retreated to the coast of Kent; but then a Dutch scientist named Wendigee contacts Bedford, reporting that his Nikola Tesla-style radio device atop Monte Rosa on the Italian-Swiss border has picked up communications from the Moon. Not only is Cavor still alive on the Moon, but he is managing to phone home!
Through this rather awkward and strained plot device, Wells is able to share more information about the Selenites – particularly, the extraordinary degree of specialization that exists among workers and intellectuals in their society: like what one sees among social insects like ants and bees, only more so. Cavor even secures an audience with the leader of all the Selenites, the “Grand Lunar”; but his hopes of being able to spend a lifetime in truly original scientific research are set at naught when he imprudently tells the Grand Lunar about life on Earth – all about life on Earth, including the way human beings are capable of treating one another. As Bedford bitterly puts it,
His disastrous want of vulgar common sense had utterly betrayed him. He had talked of war, he had talked of all the strength and irrational violence of men, of their insatiable aggressions, their tireless futility of conflict. He had filled the whole moon world with this impression of our race, and then I think it is plain he admitted that upon himself alone hung the possibility – at least for a long time – of any other men reaching the moon. (p. 202)
The First Men in the Moon may not reach the heights of The Time Machine or The War of the Worlds, if only because known lunar science quickly pushed this book out of the realm of science fiction that extrapolates from known scientific fact, and firmly into the realm of space fantasy. Nonetheless, however, Wells comes to the task with his characteristic verve and energy, and sets forth a compelling story that combines its scientific-romance what-if’s with some compelling social criticism regarding human frailty. We may travel from the Earth to the Moon, H.G. Wells seems to say, but we can never get away from who and what we are.