Post by youthofoz on Sept 11, 2012 3:43:56 GMT -5
Having got a hold of this entertainingly-ghastly sequel to HG Wells' The Time Machine, I was amazed to discover its portrayal of the original chronic argonaut as none other than Ben Chatham!
Yes, the Time Traveller (identified for the first time as James Morton) is none other than the smoothe scumbag himself! He's a self-confessed alcoholic who spends all his time listening to grammophone records, lying on the couch and texting/telegraphing his friends who he secretly hates for being uncouth snobs. Indeed, he reveals he only built the time machine so he can travel back to 1840 and check out a substitute for David Bowie so he can, in person, hear that dreamy Scottish accent.
This tale of temporal titilation kicks off 43 pages into the book following a strange metatextual exchange of letters as the author, the late Egon Friedell, sends drooling fanboy letters to HG Wells and gets in return fantastically detailed hatemail in return slagging off... well. Everything. If you're not a born-and-bred English gentleman who has no imagination or sexual politics and hates any kind of speculative fiction to the point where even Shakespeare is called "a liar and a thief", then you have to sit through 40 pages of very erudite "YOU MAKE ME SICK!!!" abuse.
Who said Germans don't have a sense of humor?
Yes, the Time Traveller (identified for the first time as James Morton) is none other than the smoothe scumbag himself! He's a self-confessed alcoholic who spends all his time listening to grammophone records, lying on the couch and texting/telegraphing his friends who he secretly hates for being uncouth snobs. Indeed, he reveals he only built the time machine so he can travel back to 1840 and check out a substitute for David Bowie so he can, in person, hear that dreamy Scottish accent.
This tale of temporal titilation kicks off 43 pages into the book following a strange metatextual exchange of letters as the author, the late Egon Friedell, sends drooling fanboy letters to HG Wells and gets in return fantastically detailed hatemail in return slagging off... well. Everything. If you're not a born-and-bred English gentleman who has no imagination or sexual politics and hates any kind of speculative fiction to the point where even Shakespeare is called "a liar and a thief", then you have to sit through 40 pages of very erudite "YOU MAKE ME SICK!!!" abuse.
Who said Germans don't have a sense of humor?