“The History of the Upper World”
I had been in Atlantis two years before I had completed my “History of
the Upper World.” Considering the magnitude of the task, it surprises
me now to remember that I finished it so quickly, for not only was it
longer than three average-sized volumes, but I was retarded by writing
it in an adopted tongue and by having to work exclusively from memory
and without reference books other than the Atlantean dictionaries. But
six or seven hours of daily application is certain to show results even
though one works slowly.
It was indeed a proud day, and yet a day of many doubts, when I bore
the finished manuscript to the office of the Literary Registrar.
This official, assisted by a board of fifteen recognized writers and
critics, passed upon all literary works submitted by the authors of
Atlantis; and all books found worthy of perpetuation were published
under his direction, while unstinted advice and criticism was given
to promising aspirants. In the case of my own book, there could be no
doubt as to publication, for not only had I been specifically directed
to write it, but all Atlantis was eagerly awaiting the information it
was expected to convey. None the less, it had to undergo the regular
procedure of inspection by the Registrar; and, as it happened, this was
more than a fruitless formality. Before the manuscript was given to
the press a trained essayist was appointed to help me reconstruct the
style; and, thanks to his assistance, my writing attained a dignity and
polish I myself could never have supplied.
But when at last the publication of the book was ordered, I had
good reason to be gratified. An edition of fifty thousand was to be
issued--an edition of phenomenal size considering that the population
of Atlantis was only half a million.
Naturally, I sought to know the reason for this enormous printing;
and I learned much as to book distribution in the Sunken World.
Publication, like all other activities, was solely in the hands of the
government; and copies of all the hundreds of books issued each year
were sent as a matter of course to every library in the land. Moreover,
every citizen was permitted his choice of any fifty of the year’s
books, the receipt of which was considered not a privilege but a right;
and men and women engaged in research work were allowed in excess of
fifty if they made plain their need of the additional volumes. In the
case of my own book, public interest was at such a pitch, that a large
percentage of the people were certain to include it among their chosen
fifty; and the first edition was therefore regarded as conservative in
size rather than excessive.
So, in fact, it proved. The book was hardly off the press when orders
began to pour in so rapidly that a second edition of fifty thousand had
to be prepared. For it was literally true that every one was reading
“The History of the Upper World”; and when I say every one, I do not
mean one man out of every hundred, as might be the case were I writing
on the earth; I mean that there was actually not a person of reading
age who did not feel bound to acquaint himself with the contents of my
book.
In consequence, I found my life taking on a tinge of unwonted
excitement. The notoriety of successful authorship was mine--and the
satisfaction of one who finds himself the center of a storm of his own
creation. For it was with a start of surprise, a gasp of incredulity
and a wail of horror that Atlantis read the news of the upper world.
Previously, when I had let loose a few hints as to life on earth, I
had witnessed some curious reactions; but the former bewilderment and
disgust of the people now seemed insignificant by comparison. It would
be impossible to convey any idea of their repugnance to earthly life as
I portrayed it; it was almost as if they had learned that we had gone
back on all fours, or had joined the orang-utan and the gibbon in the
trees; and the dozens of letters I received, the dozens of visitors
that poured in upon me, and the dozens of inquiries addressed to me at
public meetings, all gave evidence of a single but profound emotion: a
sense of wonder and of revulsion at the degeneracy of the upper world.
Perhaps the clearest proof of the general attitude was to be seen in
the reviews of the book--reviews which, unlike earthly criticism, were
not printed, but were delivered orally before gatherings at the Hall of
Public Enlightenment.
* * * * *
Let me quote, for example, from a typical address.
The speaker was Thermanides, a well known writer on social and
philosophic questions; and his views regarding the upper world were
milder in many ways than those of his audience. Speaking before an
assemblage of four or five hundred, he showed himself to be precise and
thorough in his acquaintance with my book.
“Since we have no reason to believe that the author has deliberately
exaggerated,” he declared, after summarizing the contents, “we must
accept the picture of upper world life as he presents it. And what,
therefore, must we conclude? That Agripides was wise, wonderfully wise,
when he urged us to submerge. There can hardly be any more distressing
subject than the history of the earth; even the most daring satirist,
playing upon his imagination to expose the stupidity of the human race,
could not offer a blacker picture of follies, crimes and inanities than
Anson Harkness has painted for us in all seriousness. For what do we
find to be the outstanding historical facts as he depicts them? Has the
human race gone continuously forward, forgetting its savage instincts
in perfecting a civilization at once beautiful and secure?--has man
come to look on man otherwise than as beast looks on beast?--or has
society come to be composed of nothing more than a clothed jungle
pack? No, my friends--unfortunately no, if we would believe the volume
before us. Slave-raids and wars; rebellions and murders; conquest and
persecution; treachery and rapine and wholesale exploitation; dynasties
that crumble and empires that decompose--these are the sign-posts
of the past three thousand years; and evidently there has been no
concerted or intelligent effort to create other and less revolting
landmarks.
“Yet though the darkness seems impenetrable, I can see one faint
glimmer of hope. In the self-satisfied blindness of the upper world
reposes the possible solution. It is not a solution altogether pleasing
to contemplate, but it is the sort of cleansing remedy that nature
will sometimes provide when a wound has festered beyond possibility of
healing. For if no ordinary cure be attainable, life will sometimes
take the sword into her own hands, and with one blow wipe out all her
old mistakes, and with one blow bring annihilation. It is that stroke
which, it seems to me, is about to fall upon the upper world man,
smiting his rancorous and lopsided civilization, and turning against
his own throat that knife with which he thinks to gouge out the eyes of
his foe. And this is perhaps well, my friends, for after earthly man
has committed suicide, the world will be ready for a population of less
shortsighted and quarrelsome creatures, be they only beetles or ants!”
And with a thankful gesture, as of one who lectures on the impending
extinction of cannibalism, the speaker returned to his seat; while,
much to my chagrin, I noted that his words had apparently found high
favor with his audience. And those that arose in the ensuing discussion
were not less narrow-minded than the principal reviewer himself;
they seemed to imagine that my book had been intended as a sort of
catalogue of horrors instead of as a restrained and veracious history;
and either they suggested that I must have exaggerated hopelessly, or
else they agreed that the upper world was so decadent that a second
“Good Destruction” would be desirable. “Blood-curdling,” “Sepulchral,”
“An able story of depravity and crime,” “The last word in thrills
and terror”--these were some of the expressions used by the various
commentators; and, to judge from their remarks, one might have thought
that I had written a popular novel of mystery and murder instead of a
sober history.
But while all Atlantis was reading the book and being provoked and
shocked by my most commonplace statements, I was surprised to observe
one effect which I deplored even more than the gross misunderstanding
of upper world standards and ideals. For the “History” had acted like a
bombshell against the Party of Emergence! Deserters from our standards
were now legion, and in a few weeks we had lost all that we had gained
following the discovery of the crack in the wall. It was as if the
people had been frightened by my picture of the lands above seas,
frightened so that they wished to shun all contact with the earth as
they might shun things unclean and evil; and despite all that Xanocles
and the other Emergence leaders could do, it was impossible to shake
the masses free of this ridiculous attitude. At a test vote of an
Emergence measure two months after the appearance of the “History of
the Upper World,” we were defeated more decisively than even our foes
had predicted, defeated by the overwhelming ratio of ten to one!--And,
in my disappointment and self-accusing despair, I bitterly regretted
that I had not written my book from a less realistic point of view, for
I knew that nothing short of a catastrophe or a miracle could now open
up the lanes back to the earth.