I want to make it clear right from the start that I did not finish this book. I just couldn’t do it. War of the Worlds was a book that I’ve looked forward to reading long before we started the book club. It’s one of those history things you hear about. As a historian myself, I know the story behind the radio play, so I was very excited finally to read the book that inspired that.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been so disappointed in a book. HG Wells is supposed to be a good writer. Nay, a great writer. A great storyteller, at least. But this was just an awful book.

Words and Prose

This book was written at a different time. I had to constantly remind myself that the reason the language seemed so frilly was that it was written in 1898. English wasn’t the same back then as it is now. That being said, I’ve read some fiction from this period, and it didn’t turn me away. War of the Worlds is just too wordy. It’s like Wells thought, “Why use 2 words when I could use 20?” Add on that he has a fascination with obscure words (even for that time), and it just made it challenging to read.

The way I read is by gaining momentum. I can get into a slow book, as long as it eventually draws me in. With War of the Worlds, I never had that opportunity because every time Wells used a word I didn’t know, I was taken right out of the story.

Now, my vocabulary is extensive. More extensive than most of my peers. I’m not boasting, really. I write for a living and have for almost 20 years. So, I know words. Even big words. But I don’t think there was a single page in this book that didn’t have a word on it that I didn’t have to go look up. It made me question if I actually do have a large vocabulary.

This was usually in the exposition. Wells would be describing something and use some word, and then I’d be like, “What?” When an author describes the world he’s building, the words are important. It helps the reader imagine the scene. How am I supposed to imagine Martians wreaking havoc on the English countryside if the words don’t describe it properly? The answer is, I can’t. Nobody can. It’s the words that, in this case, paint the picture.

Now, I’m willing to excuse all of this. The book was written 90 years before I was born. The language then was different, and it makes it challenging to translate into something that fits perfectly with today’s pared-down English. In other words, we just don’t talk like that anymore, boys.

What I can’t get beyond, however, is poor story design.

The MC is a Moron, and Wells Wanted Him That Way

There’s a chapter about 30% into the book that encapsulates everything that’s wrong with the main character of War of the Worlds. The Martians have started killing everyone in sight and setting fire to every building they pass. They are obviously not seeking peace and tranquility. The main character, who we never learn the name of, has seen the Martians kill countless people, including one of his friends. He, rightly so, decides to flee with his wife and servant.

This is what anyone would do, and what everyone should do.

But this moron decides that his curiosity is just too strong, so he goes back to his home village just to see.

From Page 86:

Had it not been for my promise to the inn-keeper, she [his wife] would, I think, have urged me to stay in Leatherhead that night. Would that I had! Her face, I remember, was very white as we parted.

For my own part, I had been feverishly excited all day. Something very like the war fever that occasionally runs through a civilized community had got into my blood, and in my heart I was not so very sorry that I had to return to Maybury [his home town] that night. I was even afraid that that last fussillade I had heard might mean the extermination of our invaders from Mars. I can best express my state of mind, by saying that I wanted to be in at the death.

At this point, the MC had seen countless people die at the hands of the invaders. He’d seen them vaporize one of his friends and set fire to a portion of his town. And yet, he still decided to go back just so he could watch them die.

If this person lived today, he’d be the idiot on the highway stopping mid-lane to film someone else getting into a crash. And it’s not just that this is moronic; it’s that it was done for a reason.

See, Wells needed our MC back where the action was. He didn’t even give a reason why he had to go back, just that he was “feverishly excited” that he had to go back. Wells knew that if the MC wasn’t where the action was, we’d not get to see it.

This is poor writing. When the main character leaves the scene of the action because he’s being sensible, you don’t have him lose that sense. Instead, you bring the action to him. It makes the story flow forward instead of backward. Good stories always move forward, not backward. This isn’t a new concept; Shakespeare knew it, and he was writing long before HG Wells picked up a pen.

By having the main character put all sense behind him and return to the danger zone, we lose respect for him. He left his wife at an inn, alone, so he could go back and gawk at the aliens. Who does that? A dumbass, that’s who. Someone who deserves anything horrible that comes to them. It’s like that silly teenager who always gets killed first in the horror movie. That’s this person.

If that was the only example of him being like this, I’d probably look past it, but he does this constantly. From the very beginning, he’s just far too curious, which makes him lose all common sense. I can forgive the first time when he went to see the landing spot. But after he saw his fellows murdered by the aliens? Get the F out of there, man. Goodness.

Conclusion

Between the frilly and outdated language and the bad writing (character-wise at least) I just could not finish. I have a hard time reading books when I don’t respect the main character. And I just had no respect for this person. I’m a character-driven reader. I get attached to them early on and usually get obnoxiously upset when they die or make poor decisions. But not this one. We don’t even learn his name. How can we possibly give any care to his well-being when he doesn’t seem to care about it either?

When it matters not if the main character lives or dies, the book has failed. And that’s the most disappointing to me. I expected more. The language was to be expected, but the poor writing was just sad. This is one of the greatest writers of all time? Really? I frankly don’t see it.

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