o one would have believed in the first years of the twentieth century that men and modistes* on this planet were being watched by intelligences greater than women’s and yet as ambitious as her own. With infinite complacency maids and matrons went to and fro over London, serene in the assurance of their empire over man. It is possible that the mysticetus** does the same. Not one of them gave a thought of it only to dismiss the idea of active rivalry upon it as impossible or improbable.

* = a man who designs women’s clothing.

** = a sub-species of whale.

If the above rings any bells in your literature-soaked brain, then you must have read H.G Well’s War of the Worlds. The above is actually a quote from a lampooning novel that came out a year or two after WOTW. The authors, Charles L. Graves and E.V. Lucas, did a stellar job beating Mr Wells about the head and shoulders with their cutting sarcasm. A century and a quarter after publication and it still brings laughs.

So how to explain? The story is set in the same universe, and with the same narrator (thinly described in both as Wells). Wenus (i.e. Venus) is slowly heating, and the women who inhabit it (along with “invisible men” (the first of many jabs at Herbert)) are too hot, so much so that they cast their clothing from their heavenly bodies. In desperation, they launch an invasion fleet to Earth, landing (just as the Martians did  short years before) in a common (but this time they are in giant metal crinolines). The women emerge, naked and desirable, their very glances causing men to burst into flame. The narrator escapes (once again) because his own wife (who he doesn’t particularly like) tows him off the common. “Pozzy,” she said, This is my opportunity and I mean to use it. I was kept doing nothing between pages 68 and 296 of the other book, and this time I mean to work.” And work she does, but I’ll leave that to the reader to find out how.

The book proceeds to hammer Wells, implying that he has a “W” fixation (“Woking” and “Weybridge” and ever “Wells”) and so, of course, Venus is now “Wenus”. Other “Wells-isms” are also game, ones I didn’t notice in the original. Wells often details locations his narrator uses – here, he lists every street he travels (some of the paragraphs are full of them). His turns of phrase, noting himself (repeatedly) as “scientifically minded” or “the reader can scarcely imagine” are used over and over until you can only nod and smile at the call-out. Even when it isn’t Wells being lampooned but his story, it warrants a laugh…

It is when I began to ascend Notting Hill that I first heard the hooting. It reminded me at first of a Siren, and then the top note of my maiden aunt, in her day as a notorious soprano vocalist.

I remember nothing of my flight, except for the stress of blundering against trees and stumbling over the railings. To blunder against tress is very stressful. At last I could go no further. I had run full tilt into a gasworks. I fell and lay still.

I’ll say this – I’ve read WOTWs about twenty times now. I loved the book – it’s one of my favorites. So if this review makes you curious, I recommend first reading the original and then this take-off. It will sharpen the wit to a razor-edge. Well worth a read, it is thin (forty pages) so you can dash it off in an evening.

The chances of anything lady-like on Wenus,” he said, “are a million to one.”

I needed that laugh. Thanks, Charles and E.V.!

>>>MY BOOKS WON’T LAST A HUNDRED YEARS. GET THEM HERE, NOW!<<<