Sacred Lunatic

MR. BLETTSWORTHY ON RAMPOLE ISLAND--H. G. Wells--Doubleday, Doran ($2-50).

The Story. Arnold Blettsworthy, newly weaned from Oxford, not only affianced himself to the tobacconist's yellow-haired daughter, but joined forces with his best friend in a project to enlighten the world through a chain of bright blue bookshops. Cheated by the friend, jilted by the tobacconist's daughter, Blettsworthy's disillusion affected him so desperately that his kindly solicitor-guardian prescribed the traditional remedy--a year on the high seas.

Instead of proverbial rollicking freedom, rhythmic sea-chanteys, rough cammeraderie of the sea, Blettsworthy, supercargo, found ship's quarters confining, and ship's officers hostile. The horizon, interminably empty, offered no distractions from his recent troubles; the officers, continually quarreling, added to the gloom. The captain, who by all standards of sea-lore should have concealed a heart of gold beneath his rough exterior, revealed, by persistent bullying, his petulant nature. Moreover he consumed his soup with a sibilant hiss. Blettsworthy, mimicking him, incurred a wrath that culminated horribly: the ship was wrecked off the stormy Patagonian coast; all hands were escaping by boat; the captain, before clearing, locked his supercargo into the sinking steward-room.

For days Blettsworthy watched in solitude his imminent submersion, observed the playful sharks, conjured, at best, rescue by savages. At long last, he was wakened from delirious nightmare by two of these swarthy brutes, and presented to the goggling, gabbling, filthy, cannibalistic, inhabitants of Rampole Island.

Established by a shrewd village elder as insane and therefore a sacred oracle, Blettsworthy eagerly assumed the role which preserved him from the dinner-pot. It was an easy part, for everything he said sounded mad enough, concerning as it did another, and therefore impossible world. The elder, interpreting these mad oracular utterances as convenient, found his Sacred Lunatic a useful alternative for the tribal totems, miniature sloths, to whose whispered advices all unpopular policies were attributed. These wriggly, but sacred, little animals were distantly related to the race of Great Ground Sloths, evil-smelling Megatheria, who persisted though they did not reproduce.

Sacred Lunatic easily acquired a sufficient smattering of Rampolese, quickly learned to relish succulent human meat. The Islanders prided themselves that they were not cannibalistic, but merely appreciative of the "gifts of the goddess"--bodies of criminals. Moral standards were unusually high, for the monotonous fish-diet made every man the more eager to detect a gustable neighbor's mortal infringement of law.

Gourmands saw further possibilities in the impending war with an upland tribe whose three offences were loudly proclaimed as cannibalism, bodily filth, disgusting stupidity in keeping totem bullfrogs as mystic rulers. But before their war was well under weigh--the generals persisted in time-honored-and-outworn methods--Blettsworthy had rescued a beautiful damsel from suicide, loved her, and carried her to his secret cave in ...

Brooklyn Heights. There he learned the factual prototypes and stimuli for the Rampole episode: he had been rescued five years before by a scientific expedition searching Megatheria, he had been pet lunatic to an elderly psychiatrist, he had been loved and cured by the damsel Rowena. Blettsworthy promptly accepted these facts, married Rowena, went to (World) War, came back crippled, and resumed a civilized life. But his outlook was tinged, his cynicism sharpened, by his intimate experience of savagery.

The Significance. An old friend, talking Blettsworthy out of his cynicism, reflects the author's faith in the power of man's will. Mr. Wells' prolific and contradictory satires and Utopias are abundant evidence that he has not always had this faith, but has developed it gradually, epitomizing it in The Open Conspiracy. Whatever the burden of proof, Rampole Island is more than excellent satire, replete with symbolism and analogy; it is an eminently good yarn packed with humor, humanity, and occasional high adventure.

The Author. But it is as sociologist rather than artist that Mr. Wells wishes to be known. Student of chemistry, physics, biology, his scientific mind repeatedly comes to the rescue of emotions that have been too quick to accept a new theory. Honest, he is not afraid to satirize opinions he himself has passionately held. His wit is sharpest when he is in a temper (in person or in print), but he is a good listener and efficient host--unusual virtues for a man of genius. At 62, his intellectual vitality is almost equalled by his physical energy--his father was a professional cricketer.

Ivy Ledbetter Lee, mercurial informator, pronounces Wells "delightful, and his good-natured banter and satire a marvel of fine conversation." Versatile extremes, such as Kipps and The Time Machine, Floor Games for Children and The Undying Fire, mark his tremendous output of some fifty volumes aside from articles and pamphlets.