By Brian W. Aldiss
A castaway govt reputable is stranded on an island of synthetic monsters during this daring reimagining of the H. G. Wells technological know-how fiction classic
warfare is hell, and the clash tearing the realm aside should be humankind’s final. Set adrift on a makeshift raft in the midst of the South Pacific, the only real survivor of a sabotaged space-shuttle flight, undersecretary of nation Calvert Roberts is bound his existence is coming to an finish. yet destiny intervenes, depositing him dehydrated and part starved at the seashore of an uncharted island with a massive M etched right into a cliff wall. at the start it sounds as if to be paradise, yet Eden has a dismal part: the following, Dr. Mortimer Dart is taking part in God. A genius geneticist who's certifiably mad, he's referred to as grasp by way of the unspeakable creations of his predecessor—monstrous creatures, neither human nor animal yet a few nightmarish hybrid. but as terrible because the stranded govt professional reveals those abominations, it's the fact in the back of Dart’s experiments that sit back Roberts’s blood—for it is going to open huge a window onto an inescapable way forward for vacancy, ashes, and death.
one in all twentieth-century technological know-how fiction’s brightest luminaries, Grand grasp Brian W. Aldiss can pay homage to 1 of the genre’s such a lot cherished progenitors, the nice H. G. Wells, writer of The Time Machine, The conflict of the Worlds, and different technological know-how fiction classics. An Island known as Moreau is a gripping near-future story of inhuman experimentation, dystopia, morality, struggle, and mad technological know-how that honors and ingeniously updates Wells’s marvelous, darkish masterwork, The Island of health practitioner Moreau.
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Additional resources for An Island Called Moreau
By the time I was seventeen, I had lost two friends in the river, victims of gangland diﬀerences. Commerce still thrived in the docks and crime thrived with it. Frequently the two worlds were so thoroughly intertwined that many of us failed to grasp their fundamental character, even as that grand pivot of world trade began to decay, its monstrous body starved by the advent of carriers ﬂying goods more swiftly, more cheaply, to the newly wealthy consumers of the 1950s. Soon only crime was left. As the cranes rusted and the old sheds were stripped and vandalised, as the empty warehouses began to smell only of mould and rot, the Pool rapidly declined into a desolate waste of drifting garbage, scuﬄing rats and stinking, slimy lagoons.
Many of my friends earned their livings from the docks, not always legally. The smuggling of ﬁrearms and drugs is not new. By the time I was ﬁfteen, I knew people whose ships ﬂew virtually every known ﬂag. By the time I was seventeen, I had lost two friends in the river, victims of gangland diﬀerences. Commerce still thrived in the docks and crime thrived with it. Frequently the two worlds were so thoroughly intertwined that many of us failed to grasp their fundamental character, even as that grand pivot of world trade began to decay, its monstrous body starved by the advent of carriers ﬂying goods more swiftly, more cheaply, to the newly wealthy consumers of the 1950s.
Outside, the all-clear sirens begin to blast through the early morning light. It’s Christmas Day. I get up and ﬁnd that my mother is already building a ﬁre in the grate. She kisses me and wishes me a Merry Christmas. There 23 MICHAEL MOORCOCK are all my presents arranged around the bushy little tree with the candles burning on it. ’ I ask her. She smiles and shakes her head. ’ I know what I want. The large box. I rip the paper oﬀ it and see the familiar maroon red beneath. Slowly I take the top from the box and stare down at the camouﬂage green of the long-barrelled anti-aircraft gun.
An Island Called Moreau by Brian W. Aldiss