Skip to main content

The Clockwork Man (SF) - E. V. Odle ***

This 1923 novel by Edwin Vincent Odle is a title that many with an interest in the history of science fiction will have heard of, but few are  likely to have read. It's often described as the first cyborg story (I did so myself in my book on science fiction and science Ten Billion Tomorrows). But it was overshadowed by the publication in the same year of Karel ÄŒapek's play Rossum's Universal Robots - the origin of the English language word 'robot'. Odle's only novel is not a great book, so that overshadowing is unsurprising, and even the cyborg description is more than a little misleading.

This is a romance (literally - it features two courting couples), but not so much a scientific romance (as early SF was often described), more a mythic romance. The titular clockwork man turns up from 8,000 years in the future at a village cricket match, producing some sub-Jerome K. Jerome style humour as a result of his wacky behaviour. He is a cyborg in the sense that he is a human that has been fitted with a piece of what appears to be technology. But this 'technology' is no more science-based that the wings of Daedalus and Icarus were in Ancient Greek mythology. The back of the clockwork man's head features an extremely complex clock that somehow magically takes him outside of time and space, able to shape both of them at will.

The clock seems to have been put in place to remove the war-like tendencies of men from the world. Odle was peripheral to the Bloomsbury set and the underlying theme of the book seems to be a Bloomsburyesque commentary on the role of women and men - and that's the whole point of it. The clockwork man makes no sense scientifically: he is simply a vehicle, like Daedalus and Icarus's wax-fixed wings, to (heavy handedly) make a point about human relations. This heavy handedness comes through particularly in one character, Doctor Armstrong, whose role is primarily to spend ages anguishing over how impossible the clockwork man is, unable to accept the existence of this creature from the future because he disrupts Armstrong's Edwardian pipe and slippers view of how human life should be (complete with servant wife), and should continue to be forever.

It's good that the Radium Age series in which this book is published gives readers the chance to encounter a title that is often held up as a starting point of an important science fiction trope. But when read, it shows us that the book is neither a particularly good work of fiction, nor does it play much of a meaningful part in SF history. The clockwork man is no more a cyborg than Talos, the huge bronze automaton in Greek mythology, was a robot. (To be fair, ÄŒapek's robots weren't robots either, they were androids.) This is an interesting oddity, but no more than that.

Paperback:   
Kindle 
Using these links earns us commission at no cost to you

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Decline and Fall of the Human Empire - Henry Gee ****

In his last book, Henry Gee impressed with his A (Very) Short History of Life on Earth - this time he zooms in on one very specific aspect of life on Earth - humans - and gives us not just a history, but a prediction of the future - our extinction. The book starts with an entertaining prologue, to an extent bemoaning our obsession with dinosaurs, a story that leads, inexorably towards extinction. This is a fate, Gee points out, that will occur for every species, including our own. We then cover three potential stages of the rise and fall of humanity (the book's title is purposely modelled on Gibbon) - Rise, Fall and Escape. Gee's speciality is palaeontology and in the first section he takes us back to explore as much as we can know from the extremely patchy fossil record of the origins of the human family, the genus Homo and the eventual dominance of Homo sapiens , pushing out any remaining members of other closely related species. As we move onto the Fall section, Gee gives ...

The Autobiography – Charles Darwin ****

I have to confess to putting off reading this book until the last moment, as I expected it to be a typical piece of Victorian sentimental unreadable stodge. I was wrong. Darwin’s little book (only 150 small pages with appendices) was originally written for his own children, and displays a very personal style of writing – though, as son Francis comments, his style was always more populist than was common then: “In writing he sometimes showed the same strong tendency to strong expressions that he did in conversation. Thus in the Origin, p440, there is a description of a larvel [sic] cirripede ‘with six pairs of beautifully constructed natatory legs, a pair of magnificent compound eyes and extremely complex antennae’. We used to laugh at him for this sentence, which we compared to an advertisement.” The main book is delightful because it demonstrates Darwin’s self-depreciating modesty, and the fascinating path he took from enthusiastic shooter of game, to amateur geologist (still his...

The Premonitions Bureau - Sam Knight ****

Not everyone would class this as popular science, but it concerns an attempt to take a scientific approach to paranormal abilities - notably premonitions (aka clairvoyance) and as such, it fits the category. Writing in the typical dramatic storytelling style of a US magazine, Sam Knight brings to life the remarkable tale of the work of two British figures from the 1960s. The central one is psychiatrist John Barker, with a supporting role given to newspaper and TV science reporter Peter Fairley. Barker had a long interest in extra sensory phenomena - the story takes off when he was inspired by a number of people claiming to have foreseen the Aberfan disaster (which terrible tragedy Knight covers movingly). As a result of the Aberfan premonitions, the pair were responsible for London's Evening Standard newspaper setting up a long-running experiment in the form of 'The Premonitions Bureau.' Aware that the Aberfan predictions were only reported after the event, and hence flawe...