CHAPTER XXXI

“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.

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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.

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