#public domain book club

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

Introduction and Chapter 2

Introduction

The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us. His pale grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire burnt brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that luxurious after-dinner atmosphere, when thought runs gracefully free of the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this way—marking the points with a lean forefinger—as we sat and lazily admired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it) and his fecundity.

“You must follow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two ideas that are almost universally accepted. The geometry, for instance, they taught you at school is founded on a misconception.”

“Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?” said Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.

“I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable ground for it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you. You know of course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness nil, has no real existence. They taught you that? Neither has a mathematical plane. These things are mere abstractions.”

“That is all right,” said the Psychologist.

“Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have a real existence.”

“There I object,” said Filby. “Of course a solid body may exist. All real things—”

“So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an instantaneous cube exist?”

“Don’t follow you,” said Filby.

“Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real existence?”

Filby became pensive. “Clearly,” the Time Traveller proceeded, “any real body must have extension in four directions: it must have Length, Breadth, Thickness, and—Duration. But through a natural infirmity of the flesh, which I will explain to you in a moment, we incline to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions, three which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time. There is, however, a tendency to draw an unreal distinction between the former three dimensions and the latter, because it happens that our consciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the latter from the beginning to the end of our lives.”

“That,” said a very young man, making spasmodic efforts to relight his cigar over the lamp; “that . . . very clear indeed.”

“Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,” continued the Time Traveller, with a slight accession of cheerfulness. “Really this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension, though some people who talk about the Fourth Dimension do not know they mean it. It is only another way of looking at Time. There is no difference between Time and any of the three dimensions of Space except that our consciousness moves along it. But some foolish people have got hold of the wrong side of that idea. You have all heard what they have to say about this Fourth Dimension?”

“I have not,” said the Provincial Mayor.

“It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, is spoken of as having three dimensions, which one may call Length, Breadth, and Thickness, and is always definable by reference to three planes, each at right angles to the others. But some philosophical people have been asking why three dimensions particularly—why not another direction at right angles to the other three?—and have even tried to construct a Four-Dimensional geometry. Professor Simon Newcomb was expounding this to the New York Mathematical Society only a month or so ago. You know how on a flat surface, which has only two dimensions, we can represent a figure of a three-dimensional solid, and similarly they think that by models of three dimensions they could represent one of four—if they could master the perspective of the thing. See?”

“I think so,” murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting his brows, he lapsed into an introspective state, his lips moving as one who repeats mystic words. “Yes, I think I see it now,” he said after some time, brightening in a quite transitory manner.

“Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work upon this geometry of Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my results are curious. For instance, here is a portrait of a man at eight years old, another at fifteen, another at seventeen, another at twenty-three, and so on. All these are evidently sections, as it were, Three-Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimensioned being, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.

“Scientific people,” proceeded the Time Traveller, after the pause required for the proper assimilation of this, “know very well that Time is only a kind of Space. Here is a popular scientific diagram, a weather record. This line I trace with my finger shows the movement of the barometer. Yesterday it was so high, yesterday night it fell, then this morning it rose again, and so gently upward to here. Surely the mercury did not trace this line in any of the dimensions of Space generally recognised? But certainly it traced such a line, and that line, therefore, we must conclude, was along the Time-Dimension.”

“But,” said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal in the fire, “if Time is really only a fourth dimension of Space, why is it, and why has it always been, regarded as something different? And why cannot we move in Time as we move about in the other dimensions of Space?”

The Time Traveller smiled. “Are you so sure we can move freely in Space? Right and left we can go, backward and forward freely enough, and men always have done so. I admit we move freely in two dimensions. But how about up and down? Gravitation limits us there.”

“Not exactly,” said the Medical Man. “There are balloons.”

“But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping and the inequalities of the surface, man had no freedom of vertical movement.”

“Still they could move a little up and down,” said the Medical Man.

“Easier, far easier down than up.”

“And you cannot move at all in Time, you cannot get away from the present moment.”

“My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong. That is just where the whole world has gone wrong. We are always getting away from the present moment. Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have no dimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform velocity from the cradle to the grave. Just as we should travel down if we began our existence fifty miles above the earth’s surface.”

“But the great difficulty is this,” interrupted the Psychologist. ’You can move about in all directions of Space, but you cannot move about in Time.”

“That is the germ of my great discovery. But you are wrong to say that we cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling an incident very vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence: I become absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. Of course we have no means of staying back for any length of Time, any more than a savage or an animal has of staying six feet above the ground. But a civilised man is better off than the savage in this respect. He can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why should he not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along the Time-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other way?”

“Oh, this,” began Filby, “is all—”

“Why not?” said the Time Traveller.

“It’s against reason,” said Filby.

“What reason?” said the Time Traveller.

“You can show black is white by argument,” said Filby, “but you will never convince me.”

“Possibly not,” said the Time Traveller. “But now you begin to see the object of my investigations into the geometry of Four Dimensions. Long ago I had a vague inkling of a machine—”

“To travel through Time!” exclaimed the Very Young Man.

“That shall travel indifferently in any direction of Space and Time, as the driver determines.”

Filby contented himself with laughter.

“But I have experimental verification,” said the Time Traveller.

“It would be remarkably convenient for the historian,” the Psychologist suggested. “One might travel back and verify the accepted account of the Battle of Hastings, for instance!”

“Don’t you think you would attract attention?” said the Medical Man. “Our ancestors had no great tolerance for anachronisms.”

“One might get one’s Greek from the very lips of Homer and Plato,” the Very Young Man thought.

“In which case they would certainly plough you for the Little-go. The German scholars have improved Greek so much.”

“Then there is the future,” said the Very Young Man. “Just think! One might invest all one’s money, leave it to accumulate at interest, and hurry on ahead!”

“To discover a society,” said I, “erected on a strictly communistic basis.”

“Of all the wild extravagant theories!” began the Psychologist.

“Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of it until—”

“Experimental verification!” cried I. “You are going to verify that?”

“The experiment!” cried Filby, who was getting brain-weary.

“Let’s see your experiment anyhow,” said the Psychologist, “though it’s all humbug, you know.”

The Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still smiling faintly, and with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he walked slowly out of the room, and we heard his slippers shuffling down the long passage to his laboratory.

The Psychologist looked at us. “I wonder what he’s got?”

“Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,” said the Medical Man, and Filby tried to tell us about a conjuror he had seen at Burslem, but before he had finished his preface the Time Traveller came back, and Filby’s anecdote collapsed.

II. The Machine

The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering metallic framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very delicately made. There was ivory in it, and some transparent crystalline substance. And now I must be explicit, for this that follows—unless his explanation is to be accepted—is an absolutely unaccountable thing. He took one of the small octagonal tables that were scattered about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with two legs on the hearthrug. On this table he placed the mechanism. Then he drew up a chair, and sat down. The only other object on the table was a small shaded lamp, the bright light of which fell upon the model. There were also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in brass candlesticks upon the mantel and several in sconces, so that the room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low arm-chair nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to be almost between the Time Traveller and the fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder. The Medical Man and the Provincial Mayor watched him in profile from the right, the Psychologist from the left. The Very Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were all on the alert. It appears incredible to me that any kind of trick, however subtly conceived and however adroitly done, could have been played upon us under these conditions.

The Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the mechanism. “Well?” said the Psychologist.

“This little affair,” said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows upon the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus, “is only a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through time. You will notice that it looks singularly askew, and that there is an odd twinkling appearance about this bar, as though it was in some way unreal.” He pointed to the part with his finger. “Also, here is one little white lever, and here is another.”

The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing. “It’s beautifully made,” he said.

“It took two years to make,” retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when we had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: “Now I want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller. Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table too, and satisfy yourselves there is no trickery. I don’t want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a quack.”

There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare.

Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.

The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked under the table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his back to us began to fill his pipe.

We stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you in earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has travelled into time?”

“Certainly,” said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped himself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.) “What is more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there”—he indicated the laboratory—“and when that is put together I mean to have a journey on my own account.”

“You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said Filby.

“Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain, know which.”

After an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. “It must have gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said.

“Why?” said the Time Traveller.

“Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled into the future it would still be here all this time, since it must have travelled through this time.”

“But,” said I, “If it travelled into the past it would have been visible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!”

“Serious objections,” remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of impartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller.

“Not a bit,” said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: “You think. You can explain that. It’s presentation below the threshold, you know, diluted presentation.”

“Of course,” said the Psychologist, and reassured us. “That’s a simple point of psychology. I should have thought of it. It’s plain enough, and helps the paradox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor can we appreciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of a wheel spinning, or a bullet flying through the air. If it is travelling through time fifty times or a hundred times faster than we are, if it gets through a minute while we get through a second, the impression it creates will of course be only one-fiftieth or one-hundredth of what it would make if it were not travelling in time. That’s plain enough.” He passed his hand through the space in which the machine had been. “You see?” he said, laughing.

We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all.

“It sounds plausible enough tonight,” said the Medical Man; “but wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”

“Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?” asked the Time Traveller. And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led the way down the long, draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember vividly the flickering light, his queer, broad head in silhouette, the dance of the shadows, how we all followed him, puzzled but incredulous, and how there in the laboratory we beheld a larger edition of the little mechanism which we had seen vanish from before our eyes. Parts were of nickel, parts of ivory, parts had certainly been filed or sawn out of rock crystal. The thing was generally complete, but the twisted crystalline bars lay unfinished upon the bench beside some sheets of drawings, and I took one up for a better look at it. Quartz it seemed to be.

“Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you perfectly serious? Or is this a trick—like that ghost you showed us last Christmas?”

“Upon that machine,” said the Time Traveller, holding the lamp aloft, “I intend to explore time. Is that plain? I was never more serious in my life.”

None of us quite knew how to take it.

I caught Filby’s eye over the shoulder of the Medical Man, and he winked at me solemnly.

#hellsitesonlybookclub #the time machine #H.G. Wells #hg wells #time machine #sci fi #science fiction #book club #daily book club #public domain book club #public domain #time travel

[evelinaeveryday]

Evelina read along has launched on substack!

Subscribe to read Frances Burney's 1778 epistolary novel as letters posted on the date they're written by the characters. Runs from now until mid October!

#dracula daily #tumblr book club #whale weekly #jane austen #evelina #frances burney #substack #swooning #email subscriptions to classic epistolary novels #we should really come up with a proper term for all of these dracula daily off shoots #time relative public domain epistolary readalongs #is too long #evelina everyday #18th century epistolary romance novel told a la dracula daily #links are pinned

[delicatefury]

I just… I love that so many people are going to be meeting the other vampire hunters and the actual characterizations of the ones they do know.

The gung ho cowboy, the skeptical psychiatrist, the ride or die lordling, the determinator solicitor, and the little old widowed Dutch Catholic who thinks too fast and knows florists and asks permission from his priest before vampire hunting.

And of course Mina, with the biggest heart, brightest mind, and steadfast resolve, without whom all the men would be absolutely lost.

I’m also looking forward to people reading Mina’s actual thoughts about Count Dracula. :D

#dracula #dracula daily #dracula spoilers #spoiler warning #I feel weird posting spoiler warnings for a book in the public domain #but apparently very few people know the actual story of Dracula #so it’s necessary #I’m ready and raring to recruit people into the Quincy Morris fan club #and the ‘The Harkers are the cutest’ club #and the Jonathan Harker has gone slightly feral and he deserves it club

[literaryletterssubstack]

#tumblr book club #public domain #pride month #LGBTQ+ #literary letters

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

So for an acting club I’m involved in, we go to different events and do different types of performances (think giving speeches, improv, slam poetry, etc). One of these performance types we can compete in is Storytelling, where we choose a short story, shorten it if it’s long, memorize it, and perform it with actions/dialect/voice for judges. I do this performance and made it to State last year with Edgar Allen Poe! However, I need to get direct permission from an author to do anything that’s not public domain.

So, in short, do I have your permission to perform a story from your book Smoke and Mirrors, which I already own on my bookshelf? Currently I’m still deciding between a few so I couldn’t tell you which one I’m doing yet, but it would definitely be from this book.

Thank you!

Sure!

[im-an-aesthetic-mess]

EMAIL BOOK CLUBS MASTERLIST !!!

alright, there are a lot of email book clubs now, so here's ALL of them, in one convenient list

NOTE: IF YOU FIND MORE PLEASE SEND !!! put them in the notes, my ask box, dm them to me, just notify me in SOME way and i will edit this base post so they all remain in one place

without further ado:

Dracula Daily - dracula, the one that started it all || real time

may 3, 2022 - november 10, 2022

Whale Weekly - moby dick || real time

starting december 2022, continuing for 3 years

Frankenstein Weekly - frankenstein || wednesdays and sundays

begins february 1, 2023

Letters from Watson - sherlock holmes

begins january 1, 2023

What Manner of Man - a new original work by st john starling (its gay vampires click the link)

begins january 2023

Edgar Allen Poe Daily - the works of edgar allen poe || weekdays where dracula daily does not post

began may 13, 2022

The Penny Dreadful - penny dreadful

begins TBA

Ovid Daily - the works of p. ovidius naso (note: these are in latin but they contain a translation)

dates depend on the in-progress work (from what i can tell)

Werther Rewritten - the sorrows of young werther, slightly modernized || real time

may 4, 2022 - christmas 2023

The Sorrows Of Young Werther - the original of the above || you pick the dates

from what i can tell, it begins when you subscribe and you pick the frequency of emails

Carmilla Quarterly - carmilla, just click the link its lesbian vampires

begins TBA

Literary Letters - lesser known public domain works

begins november 12, 2022

Pride and Prejudice Weekly - working title, im doing pride and prejudice now || mondays and fridays

march 10, 2023 - october 6, 2023

The Woman In White Weekly - the woman in white || sundays

begins july 31, 2022

Musketeers Daily - the three musketeers

begins march 14, 2023

LOTR Newsletter - lord of the rings || real time (i think)

september 15, 2022 - march 2023

Rizal Weekly - jose rizal's works (these are in filipino, i don't see a full translation but please correct me if im wrong)

began may 26, 2022

Divine Comedy Weekly - dante's divine comedy || begins on good friday, then updates tuesdays and thursdays

april 7, 2023 - march 5, 2024

Austen Weekly - jane austen's works

find more info on the posting schedule here

The Case Files Of Sheridan Bell - new original fantasy detective novels from em rowene

begins may 29, 2022

Big Dalloway Energy - mrs. dalloway by virginia woolfe || commentary encouraged

begins june 1, 2022

Nightly Knights - excerpts from arthurian texts

posted at random

Samuel Pepys's Diary - daily entries from samuel pepys's diary

the site posts a new entry at the end of each day

Dangerous Liaisons Daily - dangerous liaisons || real time

august 3rd, 2022 - january 14, 2023

Les Chroniques de Choderlos - dangerous liaisons, but in the original french || real time

august 3rd, 2022 - january 14, 2023

Wilde Weekly - oscar wilde's works

begins june 12, 2022

Logbooks of the HE-631-CORDELIA - a new original sci-fi series about a pilot and her robot by loreley

begins july 21, 2022

Les Mis Letters - les misérables || daily

january 1, 2023 - december 31, 2023

The Worst Journey in the World - r.f. scott's diaries + supplemental readings from cherry-garrard’s the worst journey in the world and others’ diaries

intro began july 12, 2022. diary entries begin november 25, 2022, and end in march, 2024

Daily Kafka - franz kafka's letters

began august 31, 2022

#apollo says things #tumblr university #tumblr book club #dracula daily #whale weekly #frankenstein weekly #letters from watson #what manner of man #edgar allen poe daily #the penny dreadful #ovid daily #werther rewritten #carmilla quarterly #dracula #daily dracula #count dracula #frankenstein #jonathan harker #moby dick #sherlock holmes #sherlock #cant believe i used that tag in 2022 and its for a tumblr book club #john watson #sherlock fandom #edgar allan poe #poetry #poe #poem #penny dreadful #ovid's metamorphoses

[smieska]

I think the reason why I'm loving our Dracula book club (thanks to Dracula daily and re:Dracula) is that people are sharing EVERYTHING. Art, writing, food, pictures, theatre plays, just everything, because we're all collectively loving this story unfold.

And the best part: nobody feels constrained or stifled because of copyright, ownership. ITS PUBLIC DOMAIN. No permissions need to be asked, if we do, its out of courtesy. But it really shows how it's all a labour of love. I love it so much.

Its what art should be about <3

#dracula daily #re: dracula #its remenants of early tumblr that i miss ;-;

[rivermask]

Tumblr Book Clubs I am Currently Following, in order of how hard I think they would be to catch up on if you wanted to join the fun:

Around the World Hourly (Around the World in Eighty Days with entries sent according to the in-story hour of events, started Oct 2)

The Public Domain Book Club (started Frankenstein for the month of October on Oct 1)

Lord of the Rings Newsletter (started late September with some very long posts, but will be variable length as they follow the dates of events in the story)

Dracula Daily via Re:Dracula (chronological Dracula by Bram Stoker - OK, you've missed most of this one, but the audio format is very engaging - you could still catch up for the exciting conclusion!)

My Dear Wormwood (The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis - 22 short letters so far, posted on a weekly basis)

What Manner of Man (original vampire romance by St John Starling - 24 shortish and very fun chapters so far, posted on a weekly basis)

Whale Weekly (Moby Dick by Herman Melville with roughly chronological timescale - we're 70-some chapters in but there are often long breaks between them so you could probably catch up)

Les Mis Letters (a chapter of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo every day for a year - catch-up difficulty level: impossible)

Please add your own!

#dracula daily #whale weekly #moby dick #dracula #around the world hourly #around the world in 80 days #jules verne #frankenstein #mary shelley #re: dracula #bram stoker #herman melville #lotr newsletter #lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #my dear wormwood #the screwtape letters #cs lewis #what manner of man #st john starling #stjohnstarling #les mis #les mis letters #les miserables #victor hugo #tumblr book club #join the chaos #the public domain book club

[thegoatsongs]

What's with people writing books about Van Helsing as a child abuser and a zealous killer. The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club series makes him turn into an evil scientist who doesn't care about people dying and abuses his daughter and makes her a vampire. Abraham's Boys makes him beat up and gaslight his sons while he murders "vampires". Mina's Child makes him the true villain of the story. Same with at least one Sherlock Holmes crossover. Like sorry but you're not Subverting Expectations or exploring a character's flaws further, when you mischaracterize them to the point of no recognition you're just making an OC villain with a public domain character's name on him methinks.

#people make this old man either Exceptionally The Best Vampire Slayer with special blood #or Exceptionally Evil who is the true evil there's no inbetween #it is very individualistic #dracula #van helsing

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

As Dracula Daily comes to an end, may I just say what a pleasure it has been?

In the sometimes dismal state of things like booktok books and people ragging indiscriminately on classic literature, it has been lovely to have a Tumblr book club. 

I appreciate how much this has shown that classics can be fun, especially when no one is forcing you to read them for English class.

I encourage everyone who enjoyed it to check out other substacks, because you might just find another piece of classic literature in the public domain that you also enjoy. 

#dracula #dracula daily #i'm not putting links to other substacks because it will make this post not show up in the tags #but please add them in the reblogs #if you have ones you are planning to read

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

Chapter 10

When Night Came

“Now, indeed, I seemed in a worse case than before. Hitherto, except

during my night’s anguish at the loss of the Time Machine, I had felt a sustaining hope of ultimate escape, but that hope was staggered by these new discoveries. Hitherto I had merely thought myself impeded by the childish simplicity of the little people, and by some unknown forces which I had only to understand to overcome; but there was an altogether new element in the sickening quality of the Morlocks—a something inhuman and malign.

Instinctively I loathed them. Before, I

had felt as a man might feel who had fallen into a pit: my concern was

with the pit and how to get out of it. Now I felt like a beast in a

trap, whose enemy would come upon him soon.

“The enemy I dreaded may surprise you. It was the darkness of the new

moon. Weena had put this into my head by some at first incomprehensible

remarks about the Dark Nights. It was not now such a very difficult

problem to guess what the coming Dark Nights might mean. The moon was

on the wane: each night there was a longer interval of darkness. And I

now understood to some slight degree at least the reason of the fear of

the little Upperworld people for the dark. I wondered vaguely what foul

villainy it might be that the Morlocks did under the new moon. I felt

pretty sure now that my second hypothesis was all wrong. The Upperworld

people might once have been the favoured aristocracy, and the Morlocks

their mechanical servants: but that had long since passed away. The two

species that had resulted from the evolution of man were sliding down

towards, or had already arrived at, an altogether new relationship. The

Eloi, like the Carlovignan kings, had decayed to a mere beautiful

futility. They still possessed the earth on sufferance: since the

Morlocks, subterranean for innumerable generations, had come at last to

find the daylit surface intolerable. And the Morlocks made their

garments, I inferred, and maintained them in their habitual needs,

perhaps through the survival of an old habit of service. They did it as

a standing horse paws with his foot, or as a man enjoys killing animals

in sport: because ancient and departed necessities had impressed it on

the organism. But, clearly, the old order was already in part reversed.

The Nemesis of the delicate ones was creeping on apace. Ages ago,

thousands of generations ago, man had thrust his brother man out of the

ease and the sunshine. And now that brother was coming back—changed!

Already the Eloi had begun to learn one old lesson anew. They were

becoming reacquainted with Fear. And suddenly there came into my head

the memory of the meat I had seen in the Underworld. It seemed odd how

it floated into my mind: not stirred up as it were by the current of my

meditations, but coming in almost like a question from outside. I tried

to recall the form of it. I had a vague sense of something familiar,

but I could not tell what it was at the time.

“Still, however helpless the little people in the presence of their

mysterious Fear, I was differently constituted. I came out of this age

of ours, this ripe prime of the human race, when Fear does not paralyse

and mystery has lost its terrors. I at least would defend myself.

Without further delay I determined to make myself arms and a fastness

where I might sleep. With that refuge as a base, I could face this

strange world with some of that confidence I had lost in realising to

what creatures night by night I lay exposed. I felt I could never sleep

again until my bed was secure from them. I shuddered with horror to

think how they must already have examined me.

“I wandered during the afternoon along the valley of the Thames, but

found nothing that commended itself to my mind as inaccessible. All the

buildings and trees seemed easily practicable to such dexterous

climbers as the Morlocks, to judge by their wells, must be. Then the

tall pinnacles of the Palace of Green Porcelain and the polished gleam

of its walls came back to my memory; and in the evening, taking Weena

like a child upon my shoulder, I went up the hills towards the

south-west. The distance, I had reckoned, was seven or eight miles, but

it must have been nearer eighteen. I had first seen the place on a

moist afternoon when distances are deceptively diminished. In addition,

the heel of one of my shoes was loose, and a nail was working through

the sole—they were comfortable old shoes I wore about indoors—so that I

was lame. And it was already long past sunset when I came in sight of

the palace, silhouetted black against the pale yellow of the sky.

The Time Traveller paused, put his hand into his pocket, and silently placed two withered flowers, not unlike very large white mallows, upon the little table. Then he resumed his narrative.

“Weena had been hugely delighted when I began to carry her, but after a

while she desired me to let her down, and ran along by the side of me,

occasionally darting off on either hand to pick flowers to stick in my

pockets. My pockets had always puzzled Weena, but at the last she had

concluded that they were an eccentric kind of vases for floral

decoration. At least she utilised them for that purpose. And that

reminds me! In changing my jacket I found…”

“As the hush of evening crept over the world and we proceeded over the

hill crest towards Wimbledon, Weena grew tired and wanted to return to

the house of grey stone. But I pointed out the distant pinnacles of the

Palace of Green Porcelain to her, and contrived to make her understand

that we were seeking a refuge there from her Fear. You know that great

pause that comes upon things before the dusk? Even the breeze stops in

the trees. To me there is always an air of expectation about that

evening stillness. The sky was clear, remote, and empty save for a few

horizontal bars far down in the sunset. Well, that night the

expectation took the colour of my fears. In that darkling calm my

senses seemed preternaturally sharpened. I fancied I could even feel

the hollowness of the ground beneath my feet: could, indeed, almost see

through it the Morlocks on their ant-hill going hither and thither and

waiting for the dark. In my excitement I fancied that they would

receive my invasion of their burrows as a declaration of war. And why

had they taken my Time Machine?

“So we went on in the quiet, and the twilight deepened into night. The

clear blue of the distance faded, and one star after another came out.

The ground grew dim and the trees black. Weena’s fears and her fatigue

grew upon her. I took her in my arms and talked to her and caressed

her. Then, as the darkness grew deeper, she put her arms round my neck,

and, closing her eyes, tightly pressed her face against my shoulder. So

we went down a long slope into a valley, and there in the dimness I

almost walked into a little river. This I waded, and went up the

opposite side of the valley, past a number of sleeping houses, and by a

statue—a Faun, or some such figure, minus the head. Here too were

acacias. So far I had seen nothing of the Morlocks, but it was yet

early in the night, and the darker hours before the old moon rose were

still to come.

“From the brow of the next hill I saw a thick wood spreading wide and

black before me. I hesitated at this. I could see no end to it, either

to the right or the left. Feeling tired—my feet, in particular, were

very sore—I carefully lowered Weena from my shoulder as I halted, and

sat down upon the turf. I could no longer see the Palace of Green

Porcelain, and I was in doubt of my direction. I looked into the

thickness of the wood and thought of what it might hide. Under that

dense tangle of branches one would be out of sight of the stars. Even

were there no other lurking danger—a danger I did not care to let my

imagination loose upon—there would still be all the roots to stumble

over and the tree-boles to strike against. I was very tired, too, after

the excitements of the day; so I decided that I would not face it, but

would pass the night upon the open hill.

“Weena, I was glad to find, was fast asleep. I carefully wrapped her in

my jacket, and sat down beside her to wait for the moonrise. The

hillside was quiet and deserted, but from the black of the wood there

came now and then a stir of living things. Above me shone the stars,

for the night was very clear. I felt a certain sense of friendly

comfort in their twinkling. All the old constellations had gone from

the sky, however: that slow movement which is imperceptible in a

hundred human lifetimes, had long since rearranged them in unfamiliar

groupings. But the Milky Way, it seemed to me, was still the same

tattered streamer of star-dust as of yore. Southward (as I judged it)

was a very bright red star that was new to me; it was even more

splendid than our own green Sirius. And amid all these scintillating

points of light one bright planet shone kindly and steadily like the

face of an old friend.

“Looking at these stars suddenly dwarfed my own troubles and all the

gravities of terrestrial life. I thought of their unfathomable

distance, and the slow inevitable drift of their movements out of the

unknown past into the unknown future. I thought of the great

precessional cycle that the pole of the earth describes. Only forty

times had that silent revolution occurred during all the years that I

had traversed. And during these few revolutions all the activity, all

the traditions, the complex organisations, the nations, languages,

literatures, aspirations, even the mere memory of Man as I knew him,

had been swept out of existence. Instead were these frail creatures who

had forgotten their high ancestry, and the white Things of which I went

in terror. Then I thought of the Great Fear that was between the two

species, and for the first time, with a sudden shiver, came the clear

knowledge of what the meat I had seen might be. Yet it was too

horrible! I looked at little Weena sleeping beside me, her face white

and starlike under the stars, and forthwith dismissed the thought.

“Through that long night I held my mind off the Morlocks as well as I

could, and whiled away the time by trying to fancy I could find signs

of the old constellations in the new confusion. The sky kept very

clear, except for a hazy cloud or so. No doubt I dozed at times. Then,

as my vigil wore on, came a faintness in the eastward sky, like the

reflection of some colourless fire, and the old moon rose, thin and

peaked and white. And close behind, and overtaking it, and overflowing

it, the dawn came, pale at first, and then growing pink and warm. No

Morlocks had approached us. Indeed, I had seen none upon the hill that

night. And in the confidence of renewed day it almost seemed to me that

my fear had been unreasonable. I stood up and found my foot with the

loose heel swollen at the ankle and painful under the heel; so I sat

down again, took off my shoes, and flung them away.

“I awakened Weena, and we went down into the wood, now green and

pleasant instead of black and forbidding. We found some fruit wherewith

to break our fast. We soon met others of the dainty ones, laughing and

dancing in the sunlight as though there was no such thing in nature as

the night. And then I thought once more of the meat that I had seen. I

felt assured now of what it was, and from the bottom of my heart I

pitied this last feeble rill from the great flood of humanity. Clearly,

at some time in the Long-Ago of human decay the Morlocks’ food had run

short. Possibly they had lived on rats and such-like vermin. Even now

man is far less discriminating and exclusive in his food than he

was—far less than any monkey. His prejudice against human flesh is no

deep-seated instinct. And so these inhuman sons of men——! I tried to

look at the thing in a scientific spirit. After all, they were less

human and more remote than our cannibal ancestors of three or four

thousand years ago. And the intelligence that would have made this

state of things a torment had gone. Why should I trouble myself? These

Eloi were mere fatted cattle, which the ant-like Morlocks preserved and

preyed upon—probably saw to the breeding of. And there was Weena

dancing at my side!

“Then I tried to preserve myself from the horror that was coming upon

me, by regarding it as a rigorous punishment of human selfishness. Man

had been content to live in ease and delight upon the labours of his

fellow-man, had taken Necessity as his watchword and excuse, and in the

fullness of time Necessity had come home to him. I even tried a

Carlyle-like scorn of this wretched aristocracy in decay. But this

attitude of mind was impossible. However great their intellectual

degradation, the Eloi had kept too much of the human form not to claim

my sympathy, and to make me perforce a sharer in their degradation and

their Fear.

“I had at that time very vague ideas as to the course I should pursue.

My first was to secure some safe place of refuge, and to make myself

such arms of metal or stone as I could contrive. That necessity was

immediate. In the next place, I hoped to procure some means of fire, so

that I should have the weapon of a torch at hand, for nothing, I knew,

would be more efficient against these Morlocks. Then I wanted to

arrange some contrivance to break open the doors of bronze under the

White Sphinx. I had in mind a battering ram. I had a persuasion that if

I could enter those doors and carry a blaze of light before me I should

discover the Time Machine and escape. I could not imagine the Morlocks

were strong enough to move it far away. Weena I had resolved to bring

with me to our own time. And turning such schemes over in my mind I

pursued our way towards the building which my fancy had chosen as our

dwelling.

#hellsitesonlybookclub #the time machine #h.g. wells #hg wells #time travel #ebook #read along #public domain book club #public domain #morlocks #eloi #weena #the time traveler

[evelinaeveryday]

Written three months after the last, in which time Mr. Villars has been in ill-health, Letter 3 arrives! 💌

Subscribe to read along in real time! 

#dracula daily dupes #public domain periodicals #epistolary subscriptions #evelina everyday #Evelina #frances burney #fanny burney #substack does classics #classics #book clubs #epistolary #dracula #substack #chronological reading #classic literary subscriptions #substack read alongs #seriously we need a proper word/term for this #historical romance #swoonyreads #classic novels #bridgerton #comedy #brit lit #lady susan

[hungergamesbookclub]

THG Book Club Read: Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy

"Katniss Everdeen owes her last name to Bathsheba Everdene, the lead character in Far From the Madding Crowd. The two are very different, but both struggle with knowing their hearts." Suzanne Collins, 2010

What a better way to start off THG Book Club than the literary reference to our heroine, Katniss Everdeen?

The plan for this read is to start January 14, 2024 which gives about two and a half weeks for everyone to square away how they would like to read the book, so any books ordered should show up in time to start. It is also in the public domain and available on Project Gutenberg. At a pace of reading two chapters a week, we will be concluding on the week of August 4, 2024. The purpose of this book club is to be sustainable and manageable with all of the other life priorities going on.

With that in mind, the suggestion is to read two chapters one week and then making posts/discussions about these two chapters the next week. This is so that whether you read on Sunday or Saturday, everyone can participate in discussion at the same time and not worry about spoilers.

For example, this is the schedule for the first month:

January 14

Read: Chapters I and II Discuss: Any pre-reading thoughts

January 21

Read: Chapters III and IV Discuss: Chapters I and II

January 28

Read: Chapters V and VI Discuss: Chapters III and IV

February 4

Read: Chapter VII and VIII Discuss: Chapters V and VI

I will be making posts about the schedule each Sunday so you can keep track of what we're reading and discussing.

Use and follow the tag #thg book club. You can also participate in our Storygraph readalong. I'm very excited to get reading with all of you!

#thg book club #suzanne collins #the hunger games #read: far from the madding crowd

[jurassicparkdaily]

Jurassic Park Daily Announcement and Organization 🦖🦕🦖🦕

Considering the rise of substacks (especially Dracula Daily) and the constant discovery of how some classical stories are so different in adaptions compared to it's original source there was one book (series) that came to my mind that is so entirely from it's adaptions. Jurassic Park. If you want the beautiful insanity (and genuine good sci-fi thriller!) that the original is then prepare yourself for Jurassic Park Daily! From rich bicycle twinks, MILFs, GILFs, bikers, baby-faced chaotic villains, homicidal maniacs to dinosaurs with unchecked vendetta and anger issues... we have everything! And especially dinosaurs! Gene manipulated ones even!

With Dracula we redeemed a bunch of characters from their adaptions perhaps with Jurassic Park we'll redeem the next!

🦖🦖🦖🦕🦕🦕🦖🦖🦖🦕🦕🦕🦖🦖🦖

How will Jurassic Park Daily work?

Well, quite different from the typical substacks. Unfortunately the book is copyrighted/not in public domain so we cannot mail them to you. However what we can do is provide you with sources to the books and we'll update you where we currently are in the book on this blog.

Which means:

We will probably read one sub chapter every day or two (still open to debate, poll is on the blog) to keep a steady pace to make it easy to follow how far we are into the book.

We will update everytime which one we are reading that day plus what the title of the next sub chapter is so that you do not miss it by accident.

We will read both books. Means we will also always post in which book we currently are. Note: The two books only loosely tie together meaning you can decide whether you want to read both books or only one of the two.

The starting date is not official yet but we hope to start in late june/early july depending on the chosen reading pace

The reading process will be a lot more independent and will be an attempt at a digital book club where everyone individually finds their best source. If this (a bit) unconvetional way is fine with you and you're interested in dinosaur chaos then join us on our journey through the Jurassic Park 🦕🦖

🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕

What can you do to help the project?

We have a few links and sources but if you have good ones feel free to share them with us!

Nothing else. Just be open for a bit of unconvetionalness and letting yourself get bitten by your local dinosaur 🦖

#jurassic park #jurassic park daily #book substacks #tumblr book club #dracula daily #alan grant #jurassic park novels #novels #books #the lost world #ian malcolm #ellie sattler #frankenstein daily #substacks #new substack #information #announcement #dinosaurs

[see-arcane]

one video game site describing the game's premise:

"In the trailer, Harker was perceived as a much more efficient and courageous vampire hunter, as opposed to the classic portrayal of Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker’s books and films, including Dracula."

sir... sir... he literally killed dracula in the book...

You know.

I think this broke me just a little more. My camel back was already broken under so many straws, but I think this one made me collapse back in on myself.

So.

There's a lot to be said about the inspirational power of great works of media. Stories and masterpieces that spur wonder, love, and awe. The ones that give you a goal to aspire to in your own creative endeavors. The strive to match up to something great can do a lot.

But I'll tell you, friend. There is nothing quite as empowering as pure, unbridled spite. Just full-on loathing for every piece of half-assed, fan fictionified, self insert-riddled, character-botching, absolute shrug of a creative work that tries to hide under the disguise of a public domain title to cover for its inadequacies, and not only getting away with it because so much of the audience hasn't read the book, not only profiting off of it, but leaving a nigh irremovable stain on the entire pop cultural mind that is so hugely, categorically, monstrously Wrong, that the 'understanding' of the book and its characters is treated as offhand. Because 'everyone knows' it.

"Sure! Everyone knows Jonathan Harker doesn't have any real vampire hunting experience! That's all Van Helsing's shtick, what with him being the very definite for-real nemesis of Dracula, ha ha! Nice of these video game people to give the little guy a shot, eh?"

Just. Wow.

I am ready to make so, so much Jonathan Harker shit. Barking Harker? Sure. Absolutely. Doc's open right now. But maybe I'll do more. Love is my kindling, but bile is the fuel on the fire.

I can do Jonathan Harker as the Superior Dracula, complete with ripping Coppola's reincarnation love interest gimmick out his asshole and doing the Romantic Dracula Trope real justice. Why? BECAUSE IT'S ACTUALLY JONATHAN AND JONATHAN CAN PULL OFF THE WHITE-HAIRED PINING UNDEAD ROLE BETTER. How about that?

How about I make a whole ass script and screenplay for a Dracula series actually in line with the book? No creative license! No Dracula-wolf sex scenes or cheating fiancees or jealous suitors or dodging the el gee bee tee edges or turning Van Helsing into an anime man who saves the day! Just actual events that actually happened in the 125-year-old book that every modern adaptation is too cis-straight-scared to do! How about that?

How about I eat the heart out of every single Van Helsing-centric Monster Hunter series and anime and make it all about the Harkers, their friends, and/or their descendants? How about that?

How about the Harkers getting an eternal vampiric honeymoon after the Transylvanian trip goes bloodily south and they just go about their undead business forever and Dracula is nothing but a footnote in their story which he always was anyway? How about that?

HOW ABOUT I FLOOD THE WORLD WITH DRACULA CONTENT WHERE DRACULA IS NO MORE OR LESS THAN THE SADISTIC VILLAIN HE'S ALWAYS BEEN AND GETS HIS ASS KICKED AND HEAD CHOPPED LIKE THE LOSER BASTARD DESERVES???

HOW ABOUT THAT????

I WILL LIVE TO SEE A WORLD THAT REGISTERS EXACTLY HOW BADASS JONATHAN HARKER AND ALL OF THE HUMAN CAST IS, A WORLD THAT SEES DRACULA FOR THE UNDEAD UNDERWEAR STAIN HE ALWAYS WAS,

FOR I WILL CRAFT THAT WORLD MYSELF UPON THE BONES AND BLOOD OF THE INFINITE BASTARDIZATIONS THAT CAME BEFORE THEM!

I SHALL NOT SUFFER THESE ICE-COLD 'lol no I never touched the book but I kinda remember the wiki for the Coppola movie' TAKES FOR ALL ETERNITY. I WILL REWRITE THE PUBLIC OSMOSIS UNTIL ALL THEY KNOW OF DRACULA IS THAT JONATHAN HARKER KILLED HIM IN HIS DIRT BOX.

Anyway.

To all my Dracula Dailiers out there. I say again. Join me. While our little book club did wonders, the fact is, not a ton of people are going to ever bother with the dusty old novel. Spinoffs and sequels? Sure. But not (what they assume is) a dry old classic. Which leaves audiences and filmmakers caught in a perpetual profit and expectation-based loop.

People assume Dracula is Sexy-Suave Count Fuckula and that Mina hooks up with him while Van Helsing and [INSERT HUMAN NOBODIES HERE] are pushed to the sidelines. So that's what directors will keep churning out. Ditto for makers of books, comics, shows, and video games. It will just keep going in the same rut.

Unless we put some new blood out there. There are so many possibilities. So much that can be made to finally drag the spotlight away from the Count and give it back to the characters who deserve it.

So please. Please. Make that Dracula-derived thing you're unsure about. Even at its most indulgent and outlandish, you have read the book. And you know more about what you're doing than literally any so-called professional who's churned out their tired knockoffs of knockoffs. (Or the folks who take their opinions from the same.)

#sorry about all that Anon #had a rant building up for a while #dracula #dracula daily #jonathan harker #barking harker #my writing #inspiration

[prismatic-bell]

Friendly reminder that if you want to celebrate Sherlock Holmes now being entirely in the public domain, there’s a Holmes book club in the vein of Dracula Daily happening this year! It’s called Letters From Watson and will cover all 56 short stories. (There’s even a list of potential triggers, explained by story, curated by participants who’ve previously read the stories, so you can skip as needed.)

Join us! So far there’s been only two very short excerpts, both from A Study in Scarlet (which we’re not covering), for first-timers who may not know how OG Holmes and Watson met. (It’s one of the few things BBC Sherlock did recreate more or less faithfully, but it’s still worth reading them if that’s your only Holmes experience.)