The Kraken Wakes (1953)
John Wyndham
Penguin, London; ISBN: 0-14-001075-0; Pages: 240
(originally published as Out of the Deeps without the introduction)
Review © 2003 Branislav L. Slantchev
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth.
Thus, with an entirely misleading quote by Alfred Tennyson, Wyndham begins the story of scriptwriters Mike and his wife Phyllis. The quote is misleading because it gives the impression (as does the cover of the Penguin edition I have) that the story is going to be about some sea-monster who has come out in the late 20th century to plague shipping as it had done to 17th century sailors. In other words, I half-expected an eco-novel of the sort that Petur Bobev wrote back in Bulgaria (and which I enjoyed immensely).
But an eco-novel with ancient or mythical multi-tentacled creatures this is not. It is far, far better, and perhaps a lot more disturbing. After an inconspicuous beginning when a large number of unidentified lights plunge into the deepest parts of the world oceans, the plot thickens as humanity slowly realizes that the bottom of its watery continent is now occupied by a nameless, faceless, and utterly foreign form of life that has arrived from space in an apparent attempt to colonize the planet.
What the life had not reckoned on, of course, were the humans that lord it over all they can reach from their tiny islands in the sea. Naturally, the first (instinctive) reaction is to blow them out of the water. After all, one cannot have two intelligent species on the same planet. That, of course, while staunchly refusing to believe that these "xenobaths' can be intelligent at all. So we try investigation first, and then, when it proves ill-received, nukes.
Which would piss off any alien life form, no matter how different its intelligence is from ours. So they strike back. First, with a series of invasions of coastal villages and towns, in which they kidnap a lot of earthlings, for no apparent purpose but perhaps to do experiments on them and figure out our soft spots. Their biological "machines" that resemble tanks provide no clue to the identity of the life form and all attempts to capture one prove futile because they explode almost instantly (when hit by the sun?). So our best brains cannot come up with a fool-proof solution since they have no idea what it is that they are fighting.
But the xenobaths do figure out a way to get back at the pesky creatures in the upper regions. They melt the polar ice, which causes worldwide increase in the sea level, and thus entire regions of the world go under water. Wyndham concentrates on what happens in London. The breakdown of the social order, the emergence of anarchical self-organized communities that defend their small turf with everything they've got. But, as usual, he ends up on a note of cautionary optimism. Even though the old capital is almost entirely submerged, the stirrings of a new country slowly come to life, and with it the hope that the xenobaths, whatever the hell they are, will eventually be added to the long list of trophies in the halls of the Conquering Man. If there's one thing we're particularly good at, it is at killing stuff.
This novel ranks among the best by Wyndham, who displays an unusual flair for devastating Britain while preserving the utmost respect and admiration for its most resourceful people. Inordinately proud of what the Britons can accomplish if they just put their minds to it, Wyndham still gives a fairly terrifying picture of how humanity can find itself helpless against a common threat despite its love interlude with the atom and despite its perceived lordship over the Earth.
There's plenty of dry humor directed against the East-West relations, with the Russians and the Americans basically playing similar roles with different dialogue. I was quite fond of reading about the two sides attacking their respective patches of inexplicable fogs with nuclear weapons; the Russians claiming to be pacifying the (uninhabited) region, and the Americans claiming to be testing new weaponry in the (impenetrable) region. Although only a hint, the devastating consequences of this rivalry appear among the chief reasons for the untimely demise of much of the human race.
We never do learn who the newcomers are and what they want except to settle in our oceans. There is no communication, not even an attempt at it, and they remain as mysterious in their purpose as elusive in their form. Whether this makes for a more frightful experience, as the consensus claims, is a matter of personal preference. I can be thrilled just as much by a story in which we try (and fail) to find some modus vivendi with them. But that's another story.
Originally published as Out of the Deeps (perhaps a less poetic but also a less misleading title), the novel now has a short introduction that explains the origin of the title. It seems entirely superfluous, but what the heck. Here's a scan of the other cover. Note that this one is totally wrong because the description of the "tanks" in the book leaves no doubt that they were nothing like the metal contrivances depicted there.
July 23, 2003