The War of the Worlds, Part B: The Novel


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Luxurious Victorian mustaches! Wandering Raisinets! And does Dan know the difference between Tanzania and Tasmania? All this and more as the hosts discuss HG Wells' The War of the Worlds, arguably the most influential novel in the genre's history! [ 1:09:16 || 33.7 MB ]

To listen, click here: http://www.earth-2.net/podcasts/bookswithoutpictures/episodes/bookswithoutpictures_010.mp3

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Looks like Wendee will be taking both of our spots on Bigger on the Inside, as I too hadn't made the Martian / Dalek connection. That said, I've never read War of the Worlds, so I might be off the hook. (I have, however, seen the Tom Cruise movie.)

As for being outside sans shoes: Over the summer, I was walking home from 7-Eleven, having just returned some Redbox DVDs. As I crossed State Street, I saw a homeless man struggling to walk; he was half-shuffling, half-hopping. So I looked down at his feet and saw that though he was wearing shoes, they had virtually no souls. So he was walking barefoot on asphalt in the middle of a Chicago summer while crossing one of the busiest streets in the city. No one paid him any mind.

I couldn't let that stand.

By the time I walked over to him, he had ducked into a CTA subway entrance to catch some shade. He was sitting on the stairs, shoes off, rubbing his feet.

I called to him, "Hey, man."

He looked up.

"What size shoe are you?"

"Nine."

I sat down next to him, and took my shoes off. They were old and dirty and there was a slight hole in the toe, but they were in much better shape than the bottomless ones he had been wearing. "These are a twelve, so they'll be a little big."

I handed him my shoes, told him I wish I could have helped him some more, and went on my way.

It should be said, this was a Sunday, so I was dressed lazily: those old shoes, ratty socks, running shorts, and a worn-out T-shirt.

Home was a few blocks away, but not too far. Along the way, though, every tourist I passed looked at me in disgust (some even grasped their purses), while the Chicagoans looked away as we do. It was an odd, eye-opening experience, to say the least.

All that said, I image the crazy looks I received that day are akin to not wearing a hat in 1898.

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