Immerse Yourself in a Visionary Tale of Extraterrestrial Conflict. Dive into the heart-pounding narrative of ‘The War of the Worlds’, H.G. Wells’ visionary tale of extraterrestrial conquest and human resilience. This groundbreaking novel captures the harrowing ordeal of a world under siege by formidable Martian invaders, offering a timeless reflection on the human spirit.
Embark on a literary journey like no other; continue reading to explore the depths of Wells’ classic and discover why it remains a cornerstone of science fiction.
Table of Contents
Genres
Science, Technology and the Future, History, Science Fiction, Classic Literature, Alien Invasion, Steampunk, Historical Fiction, Speculative Fiction, Apocalyptic, Victorian, War, Adventure
‘The War of the Worlds’ by H.G. Wells is a seminal work of science fiction that narrates the chilling tale of an alien invasion from Mars. The story unfolds through the eyes of an unnamed protagonist and his brother, who witness the devastating impact of the Martians’ advanced weaponry and their ruthless destruction across the English countryside. As humanity grapples with the overwhelming Martian force, societal structures crumble, and a once-familiar world is thrust into chaos. Wells masterfully depicts the struggle for survival, the resilience of the human race, and the unforeseen consequences of technological advancement.
Review
H.G. Wells’ ‘The War of the Worlds’ stands as a monumental work in the science fiction genre, offering not only a compelling narrative but also a profound commentary on the British Empire’s colonial practices and the potential perils of unchecked technological progress. The novel’s richly detailed prose and vivid imagery immerse readers in the terrifying reality of an alien invasion, while its exploration of human nature and societal response to crisis resonates with timeless relevance. Wells’ ability to intertwine speculative fiction with social critique cements ‘The War of the Worlds’ as an essential read that continues to captivate and provoke thought in modern audiences.
Introduction: Get to know an influential sci-fi classic
The War of the Worlds (1898) tells the classic story of what happened when a series of mysterious cylinders landed in rural English villages at the end of the nineteenth century. What starts as a curious anomaly becomes a horrific tale of intergalactic invasion that has thrilled readers for over a hundred years.
In the annals of classic science fiction literature, The War of the Worlds looms large. It was one of the first books to theorize about intelligent and potentially hostile forces from other planets, and therefore set the stage for the many similar stories that followed.
It’s been adapted in a number of different ways. There have been films and a television series, as well as a notorious radio play helmed by Orson Welles in 1938 that caused a panic because American listeners thought it was real. The way the book drops giant mechanical robots into the middle of Victorian England has also been a major influence on the steampunk genre.
So let’s dive into the text and see what all the fuss is about, shall we?
First shots are fired
The story is told from the perspective of an unnamed man, alive in the early years of the twentieth century, looking back upon events that began in England in the summer of 1894. He starts by explaining what science, at that point, knew about Mars.
Science knew that Mars orbited the sun at a distance of 140 million miles, receiving only a fraction of the sun’s warmth. Its atmosphere, thinner than Earth’s, could barely sustain life, with shrinking oceans and seasonal snow caps.
The unnamed narrator then goes on to say that humans assumed any life on the red planet would be simple, and would likely welcome any missionary visits from Earth. The reality, however, proved far more ominous. The Martians were in fact advanced beyond humans’ imagination, and they looked upon our world with cool, calculating, dispassionate eyes.
The Martians faced a dire predicament – exhaustion of resources. This necessity sharpened their minds, driving them to seek salvation on our fertile planet, a mere 35 million miles away. They reached us by firing a series of five capsules from a giant gun aimed at Earth. This explosive activity on the surface of Mars was observed by astronomers, who could not identify the true nature of what they were seeing. Humanity remained oblivious to the impending danger.
The arrival of the first Martian capsule on Earth, concealed within a fiery streak across the sky, ignited a flurry of speculation and fear. Its impact near the English town of Woking signaled the beginning of a harrowing ordeal. The capsule had embedded itself deep in the soil. As onlookers gathered around the hole, everyone was unaware of the horrors contained within.
Sounds, including persistent hammering, emerged from the hole. The creatures seemed to be building or repairing something. One of the astronomers, Ogilvy, cautiously approached. His curiosity quickly turned to dread as he beheld the unearthly spectacle emerging from the cylinder. They were creatures unlike anything terrestrial, grotesque yet undeniably intelligent. It was assumed that Earth’s gravitational force, far stronger than that of Mars, would limit the creatures’ strength and mobility on our planet.
Humans continued to underestimate the threat the aliens posed until communication with the Martians swiftly turned disastrous. A delegation bearing a white flag was met with a deadly display of Martian technology – a searing heat ray emerged from the hole and decimated everything that caught its eye. The beam incinerated flesh, melted metal, and set fire to trees and buildings. Witnessing the devastation firsthand, survivors fled in terror. The war had begun.
ANALYSIS
This is a good time to pause the story and to take a look at the interesting set-up the author has laid out. H.G. Wells is rightfully considered one of the godfathers of science fiction, with The War of the Worlds being one of the first narratives to consider the idea of invaders from outer space. What makes the story impressive, even today, is that Wells treats the premise with deadly seriousness, really trying to consider how it could plausibly happen and what it would be like for people on the ground.
And while it can be enjoyed as a simple sci-fi horror story, scholars and critics have been digging deeper ever since it was published over a hundred years ago. Wells frequently published academic essays and was always keeping himself abreast of the latest scientific discoveries. In the years leading up to The War of the Worlds, astronomers were continuing to examine Mars through their telescopes and noticing strange lights and what looked like channels on the surface of the planet.
Wells used these findings to fuel his imagination, but he was also interested in how the story reflected upon humanity’s own worst impulses. Hadn’t certain human-led empires tried to colonize foreign lands after they ran low on resources? Hadn’t people with advanced technology used their ingenuity to conquer Indigenous people in places they’d colonized? The narrative even refers to the fact that Europeans completely decimated the tribes of Tasmania in the mid-nineteenth century.
Wells is able to do this by framing the story as the recollections of a man who many agree is a thinly veiled stand-in for Wells himself. By having the narrator look back on events from the perspective of the post-war period, he’s able to drop in some hints of what’s happened and what humans have learned since the war ended. One lesson seems to be a reconsideration of humanity’s tendency toward imperialism and colonialism.
To put it another way, this story can be seen as a cautionary tale. The annihilation of species and cultures should prompt reflection on our own capacity for mercy. If we, in our relentless pursuit of progress, have wrought such devastation, can we fault the Martians for waging war for self-preservation?
With that in mind, let’s see how this tale unfolds.
Nowhere to go
After the first displays of the power of the Martian heat ray, uncertainty followed. That night, the village streets of Woking were quiet. An eerie calm persisted, despite the continued noises of hammering and building coming from the hole in the ground. Puffs of eerie greenish-white smoke punctuated the tranquil starlit sky, signaling their industriousness.
Before long, soldiers descended upon the area, forming a protective perimeter around the sunken capsule. Tension and anticipation grew.
Then, in the quiet predawn hours, a luminous spectacle captured the attention of the onlookers. A vivid green streak marked the heavens, accompanied by an ethereal silence reminiscent of summer lightning. This celestial display marked the arrival of the second mysterious cylinder, plunging into the pine woods off in the distance.
This second cylinder was a troubling omen, but the sight of military preparations fueled imaginations with visions of heroic defiance against the impending threat. But as daylight waned, more ominous signs emerged. The distant thud of artillery echoed in the air, signaling the beginning of a fateful confrontation. The heat ray was once again wreaking havoc, casting a fiery glow over the horizon. The Martians now seemed intent on using the heat ray to destroy everything in sight.
With matters only getting worse, the narrator made the decision to get his wife to safety, which meant getting a cart with a horse and heading the 20 kilometers to Leatherhead, where his cousins lived. They borrowed the cart from the local innkeeper. It was a chaotic trip, as the roads were filled with refugees, but they made it. The narrator had to quickly part with his wife, however, since he promised the innkeeper he’d return his cart.
Alone, on the journey back, thunderclaps rang out and green lightning illuminated the sky. The third cylinder tore through the air, landing somewhere off in the distance. The narrator’s horse was frightened and tried to bolt. That’s when he saw the Martian war machine for the first time.
This “monstrous tripod” must have been what the aliens were working on in their hole in the ground. It was a tall, three-legged vehicle made of some gleaming metal that towered just over the treetops. There was a Martian inside a hooded compartment at the top, working the controls, moving the machine and firing off the deadly heat ray at every human and building in sight.
The once-serene countryside was now a scene of chaotic devastation as people scrambled to escape the advancing menace. The narrator was forced to crash the borrowed cart along the side of the road, but he was able to make it back to Woking, only to find the village a pile of rubble, including the charred remains of the innkeeper’s home.
By some stroke of luck, the narrator’s own two-story home was still standing. At night, peeking out from his windows, he noticed a soldier in the darkness and invited him into the relative safety of the house. He described how the Martian tripods, with their heat rays, had wiped out the military units that had tried to stop the machines with guns and canonfire. It was no use.
The narrator looked out the window. It was night, but he could tell that even the trees were no longer standing. All of Woking was now smoldering ash.
The next morning, the soldier and the narrator formulated their plans. They agreed that staying in the house was not an option. The soldier wanted to head northwest, to London. The narrator wanted to reunite with his wife in Leatherhead, but he also knew that the third cylinder had fallen between Woking and Leatherhead, so he decided to follow the soldier in the direction of London.
As they made their way down the main road in the early morning light, the scene was horrific, with dead bodies littering the ground. As they approached the town of Weybridge, they encountered a lieutenant and his men. They were stationed where the Wey and Thames rivers meet, and they had a formidable line of artillery along the riverbanks. The lieutenant was eager for information about the Martians. The soldier provided a description of the colossal giants. The lieutenant was skeptical, but the impending danger became all too real when the Martians themselves came into view – multiple tripods striding ominously toward the river.
Five towering machines cast a shadow of fear over the landscape. The heat rays blasted the area, causing the narrator to dive into the river for safety. The moment of reckoning arrived when the battery of artillery opened fire, launching a barrage of shells at the advancing monsters. The protagonist watched in awe as one of the Martians was struck down, its metal casing torn asunder by the force of the explosion.
Yet, even in its demise, the Martian posed a threat, careening wildly before crashing into the river in a spectacular display of destruction. The water of the river was boiling hot from the impact of the heat ray and the fallen machinery. A wave of scalding water was about to consume the narrator, but he managed to claw his way out of the river with only minor burns.
Amazingly, the aliens retreated at the sight of their fallen war machine. Their rampage stopped, and the machines stomped off back toward Woking. The narrator was able to grab an empty boat that was drifting along the river. Wounded and tired, he drifted slowly downstream as the summer sun beat down upon him.
Black smoke and red weeds
When the narrator awakened, he found himself lying by the river. A man identified only as a curate – a clergyman – was sitting next to him. The narrator was in pain, thirsty, and had trouble moving. Slowly, he regained enough strength to keep moving and find shelter, the curate joining him.
The two men made their way across Weybridge, where they witnessed an all-out battle between multiple tripods and the formidable lines of military defense set up around the countryside, just southwest of London. This was when the narrator saw the fourth cylinder from Mars fall from the sky.
He also witnessed the devastating effect of a second weapon the Martians had at their disposal. This was the black smoke – an eerie, dark vapor emitted by canisters released from the tripods that had the power to instantly suffocate and kill any person unfortunate enough to be enveloped by it.
The narrator and the curate were able to escape the encroaching black smoke and find safety in an abandoned house in Halliford. They stocked up on some food and supplies before heading out again and crossing the Thames at Richmond Bridge.
It was in this area, on the outskirts of London, that the narrator witnessed a most unusual sight. He saw one of the Martian machines pick up a person, still alive, and deposit them in some sort of large metallic basket. It was the first hint that the Martians might have something else on their minds other than utter destruction.
The two men then found some respite in another home, this one in the town of Sheen. It had a well-stocked cellar, and the two men enjoyed some food and wine. But their peace was cut short when the fifth and final cylinder from Mars landed right next to the house. The explosion half-buried the house in dirt, and temporarily knocked the narrator unconscious.
When the narrator awoke, the desperate situation became clear. Just outside the house, the Martians were busy building another machine. The two men were trapped. Any loud noise from within the house would be overheard by the monsters and spell their doom.
The dangerous circumstances were made worse by the fact that the curate was becoming increasingly desperate and scared. The narrator was at his wits’ end with the man, who was proving to be not only cowardly, but selfish. It seemed only a matter of time before the curate would do something stupid that would get them both killed.
For days, all they could do was bide their time and take turns peeking through a crack in the wall to observe the Martians at work. The device they were building would later be known as a handling machine. It had five legs and many arms, and was what the Martians used to dig and build their tripods. They also got a much better view of the creatures themselves. They had round bodies that were about four feet in diameter, a nose-less face, and sixteen tentacles.
It was from their vantage point in the house that the two men witnessed what the Martians were doing with the live humans they’d captured. It was a vampiric act. The narrator watched in horror as the Martians deposited a man into some sort of machine, which extracted the man’s blood and pumped it right into the bodies of the aliens. The creatures did not eat, and had very few organs; they survived by directly replenishing their blood.
The narrator then turned his attention to the red weed that had quickly sprung up throughout the countryside since the invasion. It was some sort of vegetation that the Martians had brought with them, and each day it became more and more invasive, covering the ground, trees, and buildings – including the walls of the house in which the two men were trapped.
A fortunate victory
Something had to give. For two weeks the situation for the narrator and the curate grew increasingly dire. They were running out of food, and the nervous curate was becoming unhinged with fear and hunger.
On the sixth day of their entrapment, the curate’s panic finally got the better of him and he became more and more of a liability. In order to save himself, the narrator knocked the curate unconscious just as the curate’s shouting was attracting the attention of the Martians. A handling machine crawled over on its spidery legs, its tentacles exploring the inside of the home. The alien machine found the body of the curate and dragged him back to its pit – but even this did not detect the narrator.
Another eight days went by – and then, finally, the Martians were nowhere to be seen or heard. The machinery was gone. The narrator cautiously left the house, which, like the surrounding land, had become overrun with the red weed. However, in some spots, he could see that the red weed was dying, as though infected by some unseen virus.
From Sheen, he made it one town over to an empty inn on Putney Hill. There, he ran into the soldier he had met back at his home in Woking. The soldier was very fatalistic. He believed humanity was doomed. The aliens were wiping them out as though they were unwanted ants or vermin. But this gave the soldier an idea – like rats, maybe humans could survive underground, out of sight. Maybe they could use the sewers and tunnels of London to stay alive.
The narrator spent some time drinking, playing card games, and digging a tunnel with the soldier. But he soon saw the folly of the soldier’s plan. The narrator still longed to return home and to find his wife. For now, however, he decided to press on and head further into London.
As he reached Kensington Gardens, he began to hear strange noises. A deep, sobbing, mournful sound, “Ulla, ulla, ulla,” carried in the air. Oddly, there was no one around. The weary narrator began to wonder if he was alone in the city.
The sound followed him as he came across an empty pub. Tired and hungry, he broke into the pub, drank, ate, and fell asleep. When he awoke, it was night, and the sound persisted. “Ulla, ulla, ulla….” It was only after he crossed Regent’s Canal that the maddening sound finally stopped. It provided some relief, but the city was desolate and lonely and he still felt as though he were at the end of his rope.
When the narrator saw the silhouette of a tripod atop Primrose Hill, he decided to end it all. He could travel no more, and all seemed lost anyway. So he approached the tripod, ready to die. But he didn’t die. The tripod didn’t move. In fact, a number of birds were perched on top of the metallic beast.
The narrator ran across St. Edmund’s Terrace and climbed to the summit of Primrose Hill. He looked out across London. The Martians and their machines were dead. The red weed was dying too, all around him. The bodies of the Martians would be dissected in labs, and it would be revealed: their alien bodies were unprepared for the bacteria and viruses that human beings had become accustomed to. The same with the red weed – it had no defenses against Earth’s hostile ecosystem.
The next few days were hazy for the narrator. He was eventually found by other survivors, mumbling to himself about being the last man left alive. Morbidly sad and lonely, he was helped by these strangers and nursed back to health. And after some time, he felt he could finally return home to Woking.
By then, people had begun to repair the railways, and the narrator found his home in Woking still standing. But it was desolate. The food was spoiled; the surfaces were covered in dust and ash. He was still surrounded by desolation, and old newspapers that reminded him of his life before the first cylinder had landed.
And that was when it happened. He heard voices outside the window – someone saying that it was no use, no one had been here. It sounded as though someone were responding to his thoughts. But then, when he looked out the window, he saw his wife and his cousin. They were all amazed and afraid. As the narrator approached his wife, she muttered, “I knew, I knew.…” and fell into his arms.
Conclusion
Mars was running out of resources. In an attempt to save themselves, the Martians sent five cylinders to Earth. Each carried Martians and the capacity to build war machines wielding devastating heat rays and poisonous gas. For more than two weeks the aliens ravaged the city of London and the nearby countryside. Entire villages were reduced to ash and rubble. But the Martians could not survive. They needed human blood in order to live, and their bodies quickly succumbed to the bacteria and viruses that lived within their victims. As quickly as they arrived, the aliens died, leaving their bodies and machines behind – and leaving the human survivors to tell the harrowing tale of a failed interplanetary conquest.
About the Author
H.G. Wells