Moon Pool

Moon Pool

4.5 61
by A. Merritt
     
 

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The pioneering bestselling classic by the father of pulp science fiction, and the literary inspiration for ABC's LOST, now back in print and featuring a new introduction by Lynette Porter.
Dr. Walter T. Goodwin is sailing back to New York after a botanical expedition to the South Seas when he meets his old friend, Dr. David Throckmartin. The heartbroken… See more details below

Overview

The pioneering bestselling classic by the father of pulp science fiction, and the literary inspiration for ABC's LOST, now back in print and featuring a new introduction by Lynette Porter.
Dr. Walter T. Goodwin is sailing back to New York after a botanical expedition to the South Seas when he meets his old friend, Dr. David Throckmartin. The heartbroken Throckmartin relates a haunting tale to Dr. Goodwin-a tale of a tropical island and a strange stone door through which a hypnotic otherworldly light shines. Throckmartin tells of how the light had captured his companions and of his own powerlessness to stop it.
When his friend disappears, Dr. Goodwin sets out to find the source of the mysterious moonlight. Little does he realize how formidable a foe he has pitted himself against. First published in 1918, The Moon Pool is commonly considered to be the inspiration of the ABC series LOST.
Now, Overlook is pleased to introduce this classic of science fiction. Lynnette Porter, Ph.D., bestselling author of Unlocking the Meaning of Lost, has provided an all-new introduction.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
The Wesleyan Early Classics of Science Fiction presents the first scholarly edition of A. Merritt's celebrated lost world novel, The Moon Pool, edited and with an introduction by Michael Levy. First published as a novelette in All-Story Weekly in 1918, it remains a landmark fantasy. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
First published as a novel in 1919, this path-breaking genre piece was praised by The New York Times, whose review of Merritt (1884-1945) is appended here. Also included in this new edition: a lukewarm introduction by SF star Robert Silverberg, who admits his "fatigue" of so many fantasy cliches found in Merritt's other-world narrative. On the other hand, Merritt was among the first (with Verne and Haggard, whom he most resembles) to speculate in fiction about the implications of the new science, archaeology, and anthropology at the turn of the century. This faux memoir records a botanist's tale of life in a lost "Atlantis" in the Pacific, a fantastic nether world controlled by forces of electricity and magnetism. The stock characters-from a chatty Irish adventurer to a scheming Russian scientist-bring to life a story that resembles too many movies to name. And scriptwriters might still find much to mine in this entertaining ode to love and sacrifice.
From the Publisher
"The Moon Pool is a lost-world novel in the tradition of Jules Verne, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Rice Burroughs, H. Rider Haggard, and James Hilton that manages to be spooky, spiritual, and silly all at once."—Belles Lettres
Times Literary Supplement
"Students of early science fiction will welcome the University of Nebraska Press's series Bison Frontiers of Imagination."—Times Literary Supplement
New York Times Book Review
“Fantasy, romance, adventure; something of mystery, something of the supernatural; a weaving together of ancient legends, older by far than any historical records, with the scientific knowledge of the present day; and side by side with these, yet far above and mastering them, the power of human love and willing self-sacrifice, the whole held together by a shimmering, glittering web of imagination . . . It marks the debut of a writer possessed of a very unusual, perhaps one might almost call it extraordinary, richness of imagination.”—New York Times Book Review

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781590200711
Publisher:
The Overlook Press
Publication date:
12/30/2008
Edition description:
Reprint
Pages:
288
Product dimensions:
5.30(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.80(d)
Age Range:
18 Years

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1. THE THROCKMARTIN MYSTERY

I AM breaking a long silence to clear the name of Dr. David Throckmartin and to lift the shadow of scandal from that of his wife and of Dr. Charles Stanton, his assistant. That I have not found the courage to do so before, all men who are jealous of their scientific reputations will understand when they have read the facts entrusted to me alone.

I shall first recapitulate what has actually been known of the Throckmartin expedition to the island of Ponape in the Carolines--the Throckmartin mystery, as it is I called.

Dr. Throckmartin set forth, you will recall, to make some observations of Nan-Matal, that extraordinary group of island ruins, remains of a high and prehistoric civilization, that are clustered along the vast shore of Ponape. With him went his wife to whom he had been wedded less than half a year. The daughter of Professor Frazier-Smith, she was as deeply interested and almost as well informed as he upon these relics of a vanished race that titanically strew certain islands of the Pacific and form the basis for the theory of a submerged Pacific continent.

Mrs. Throckmartin, it will be recalled, was much younger, fifteen years at least, than her husband. Dr. Charles Stanton, who accompanied them as Dr. Throckmartin's assistant, was about her age. These three and a Swedish woman, Thora Helversen, who had been Edith Throckmartin's nurse in babyhood and who was entirely devoted to her, made up the expedition.

Dr. Throckmartin planned to spend a year among the ruins, not only of Ponape, but of Lele--the twin centers of that colossal riddle of humanity whose answer has its roots in immeasurable antiquity; a weirdflower of man-made civilization that blossomed ages before the seeds of Egypt were sown; of whose arts we know little and of whose science and secret knowledge of nature nothing.

He carried with him complete equipment for his work and gathered at Ponape a dozen or so natives for laborers. They went straight to Metalanim harbor and set up their camp on the island called Uschen-Tau in the group known as the Nan-Matal. You will remember that these islands are entirely uninhabited and are shunned by the people on the main island.

Three months later Dr. Throckmartin appeared at Port Moresby, Papua. He came on a schooner manned by Solomon Islanders and commanded by a Chinese half-breed captain. He reported that he was on his way to Melbourne for additional scientific equipment and whites to help him in his excavations, saying that the superstition of the natives made their aid negligible. He went immediately on board the steamer Southern Queen which was sailing that same morning. Three nights later he disappeared from the Southern Queen and it was officially reported that he had met death either by being swept overboard or by casting himself into the sea.

A relief-boat sent with the news to Ponape found the Throckmartin camp on the island Uschen-Tau and a smaller camp on the island called Nan-Tanach. All the equipment, clothing, supplies were intact. But of Mrs. Throckmartin, of Dr. Stanton, or of Thora Helversen they could find not a single trace!

The natives who had been employed by the archeologist were questioned. They said that the ruins were the abode of great spirits--ani--who were particularly powerful when the moon was at the full. On these nights all the islanders were doubly careful to give the ruins wide berth. Upon being employed, they had demanded leave from the day before full moon until it was on the wane and this had been granted them by Dr. Throckmartin. Thrice they had left the expedition alone on these nights. On their third return they had found the four white people gone and they "knew that the ani had eaten them." They were afraid and had fled.

That was all.

The Chinese half caste was found and reluctantly testified at last that he had picked Dr. Throckmartin up from a small boat about fifty miles off Ponape. The scientist had seemed half mad, but he had given the seaman a large sum of money to bring him to Port Moresby and to say, if questioned, that he had boarded the boat at Ponape harbor.

That is all that has been known to anyone of the fate of the Throckmartin expedition.

Why, you will ask, do I break silence now; and how came I in possession of the facts I am about to set forth?

To the first I answer: I was at the Geographical Club recently and I overheard two members talking. They mentioned the name of Throckmartin and I became an eavesdropper. One said:

"Of course what probably happened was that Throckmartin killed them all. It's a dangerous thing for a man to marry a woman so much younger than himself and then throw her into the necessarily close company of exploration with a man as young and as agreeable as Stanton was. The inevitable happened, no doubt. Throckmartin discovered; avenged himself. Then followed remorse and suicide."

"Throckmartin didn't seem to be that kind," said the other thoughtfully.

"No, he didn't," agreed the first.

"Isn't there another story?" went on the second speaker. "Something about Mrs. Throckmartin running away with Stanton and taking the woman, Thora, with her? Somebody told me they had been recognized in Singapore recently."

"You can take your pick of the two stories," replied the other man. "It's one or the other I suppose."

It was neither one nor the other of them. I know--and I will answer now the second question--because I was with Throckmartin when he vanished. I know what he told me and I know what my own eyes saw. Incredible, abnormal, against all the known facts of our science as it was, I testify to it. And it is my intention, after this is published, to sail to Ponape, to go to the Nan-Matal and to the islet beneath whose frowning walls dwells the mystery that Throckmartin sought and found and that at the last sought and found Throckmartin!

I will leave behind me a copy of the map of the islands that he gave me. Also his sketch of the great courtyard of Nan-Tanach, the location of the moon door, his indication of the probable location of the moon pool and the passage to it and his approximation of the position of the shining globes. If I do not return and there are any with enough belief, scientific curiosity and courage to follow, these will furnish a plain trail.

I will now proceed straightforwardly with my narrative. For six months I had been on the d'Entrecasteaux Islands gathering data for the concluding chapters of my book upon "Flora of the Volcanic Islands of the South Pacific." The day before, I had reached Port Moresby and had seen my specimens safely stored on board the Southern Queen. As I sat on the upper deck that morning I thought, with homesick mind, of the long leagues between me and Melbourne and the longer ones between Melbourne and New York.

It was one of Papua's yellow mornings, when she shows herself in her most somber, most baleful mood. The sky was a smoldering ocher. Over the island brooded a spirit sullen, implacable and alien; filled with the threat of latent, malefic forces waiting to be unleashed. It seemed an emanation from the untamed, sinister heart of Papua herself--sinister even when she smiles. And now and then, on the wind, came a breath from unexplored jungles, filled with unfamiliar odors, mysterious, and menacing.

It is on such mornings that Papua speaks to you of her immemorial ancientness and of her power. I am not unduly imaginative but it is a mood that makes me shrink--I mention it because it bears directly upon Dr. Throckmartin's fate. Nor is the mood Papua's alone. I have felt it in New Guinea, in Australia, in the Solomons and in the Carolines. But it is in Papua that it seems most articulate. It is as though she said: "I am the ancient of days; I have seen the earth in the throes of its shaping; I am the primeval; I have seen races born and die and, lo, in my breast are secrets that would blast you by the telling, you pale babes of a puling age. You and I ought not be in the same world; yet I am and I shall be! Never will you fathom me and you I hate though I tolerate! I tolerate--but how long?"

And then I seem to see a giant paw that reaches from Papua toward the outer world, stretching and sheathing monstrous claws.

All feel this mood of hers. Her own people have it woven in them, part of their web and woof; flashing into light unexpectedly like a soul from another universe; masking itself as swiftly.

I fought against Papua as every white man must on one of her yellow mornings. And as I fought I saw a tall figure come striding down the pier. Behind him came a Kapa-Kapa boy swinging a new valise. There was something familiar about the tall man. As he reached the gangplank he looked up straight into my eyes, stared at me for a moment and waved his hand. It was Dr. Throckmartin!

Coincident with my recognition of him there came a shock of surprise that was definitely--unpleasant. It was Throckmartin--but there was something disturbingly different about him and the man I had known so well and had bidden farewell less than a year before. He was then, as you know, just turned forty, lithe, erect, muscular; the face of a student and of a seeker. His controlling expression was one of enthusiasm, of intellectual keenness, of--what shall I say--expectant search. His ever eagerly questioning brain had stamped itself upon his face.

I sought in my mind for an explanation of that which I had felt on the flash of his greeting. Hurrying down to the lower deck I found him with the purser. As I spoke he turned and held out to me an eager hand--and then I saw what the change was that had come over him!

He knew, of course, by my face the uncontrollable shock that my closer look had given me. His eyes filled and he turned briskly to the purser; then hurried off to his stateroom, leaving me standing, half dazed.

At the stair he half turned.

"Oh, Goodwin," he said. "I'd like to see you later. Just now--there's something I must write before we start--"

He went up swiftly.

"'E looks rather queer--eh?" said the purser. "Know 'im well, sir? Seems to 'ave given you quite a start, sir."

I made some reply and went slowly to my chair. I tried to analyze what it was that had disturbed me so; what profound change in Throckmartin that had so shaken me. Now it came to me. It was as though the man had suffered some terrific soul searing shock of rapture and horror combined; some soul cataclysm that in its climax had remolded his face deep from within, setting on it the seal of wedded joy and fear. As though indeed ecstasy supernal and terror infernal had once come to him hand in band, taken possession of him, looked out of his eyes and, departing, left behind upon him ineradicably their shadow.

Alternately I looked out over the port and paced about the deck, striving to read the riddle; to banish it from my mind. And all the time still over Papua brooded its baleful spirit of ancient evil, unfathomable, not to be understood; nor had it lifted when the Southern Queen lifted anchor and steamed out into the gulf.

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What People are saying about this

Gary K. Wolfe
“As one of the most popular early works at the very birth of pulp magazines, The Moon Pool represents the tastes of this period. The introduction constitutes the major piece of Merritt scholarship to appear in recent decades.”
John Huntington
“This edition of The Moon Pool is a rare accomplishment: a scholarly edition of a piece of pulp fiction. Levy’s edition does a service to the whole genre.”

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