Wanderers of Time

John Beynon is actually John Wyndham, famous for The Day of the Triffids, The Chrysalids, The Midwich Cuckoos and one or two other best-sellers. This paperback is presumably the same collection as I have recently come by, from the house of Hodder, and it contains 5 of his earlier stories, before he struck oil with The Day of the Triffids. As a writer Wyndham/Beynon is a gentleman amateur, the modestly gifted product of the best English education. He disliked the term `science fiction', and it's probably fair to say that his knowledge of science was as near nil as makes no difference. I'd also say that that is no bar to the enjoyment of these stories. Stapledon probably knew next to nothing about science either, and that does not detract from his outright greatness nor did it prevent him from being admired by Arthur C Clarke himself, the educator of an age in matters of astronomy and physics. These 5 stories resemble Wyndham's better-known efforts in their fascination with space, time and the mystery of creation, written by an amateur to be read by amateurs sharing similar interests. It's what passed for science fiction half a century ago, and part of its charm for me is precisely its `period' feel. The first story, from which the collection gets its title, is on a familiar theme of time-travel, written at a time when the year 1941 was in the future just like the year 10.402, whenever exactly that might be on current numbering. The influence of Wells is strong and obvious, not just The Time Machine but The War of the Worlds too. The story is a fluent and agreeable read like everything its author did, although it peters out rather lamely. In fact one could probably say that about 4 of the 5 to some extent - they seem to be addressed to readers with a short attention-span. I'd make an exception for Child of Power, which is well and convincingly put together as a short story. The writer of the preface to my edition draws a parallel with The Midwich Cuckoos, but Beynon himself points up the much more significant example of Stapledon's Odd John, which probably underlies not only both of his own productions but even Clarke's mighty Childhood's End. Science fiction, to use the term loosely, has become far more scientific and far more sophisticated since Wyndham's time, although probably more sophisticated in general than properly scientific. This book took me back to an age of wide-eyed wonder and innocence about such matters. Stapledon had been and gone by then, and what Wyndham picked up from him was the superficial narrative aspects, ignoring the frightening depths that Stapledon peered into. The book made no demands on me and didn't cost me very much, so I can think of no reason for not recommending it.