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Zusatztext “I personally consider the greatest of English living writers [to be] H. G. Wells.” — Upton Sinclair Informationen zum Autor English author Herbert George Wells wrote more than fifty novels and several short stories. He was born on 21 September 1866, in Bromley, Kent, and was the fourth and last child of Joseph Wells. Wells married his cousin Isabel Mary Wells in 1891. In 1894 the couple got separated, and he fell in love with one of his students, Amy Catherine Robbins, with whom he relocated to Woking, Surrey, in May 1895. Wells' greatest collection of work, which was lamented by younger authors he had influenced, was produced before the First World War. Wells passed away in his residence at 13 Hanover Terrace, which had an overlooked view of Regent's Park, in London on August 13, 1946, at the age of 79 due to unidentified causes. Wells was cremated at Golders Green Crematory, and his ashes were scattered into the English Channel at Old Harry Rocks, which is located in Dorset and approximately 3.5 miles from Swanage. Klappentext A gripping and entertaining tale of terror and suspense as well as a potent Faustian allegory of hubris and science run amok, The Invisible Man endures as one of the signature stories in the literature of science fiction. A brilliant scientist uncovers the secret to invisibility, but his grandiose dreams and the power he unleashes cause him to spiral into intrigue, madness, and murder. The inspiration for countless imitations and film adaptations, The Invisible Man is as remarkable and relevant today as it was a hundred years ago. As Arthur C. Clarke points out in his Introduction, "The interest of the story . . . lies not in its scientific concepts, but in the brilliantly worked out development of the theme of invisibility. If one could be invisible, then what?”CHAPTER 1 THE STRANGE MAN'S ARRIVAL THE STRANGER came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking as it seemed from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. He staggered into the Coach and Horses, more dead than alive as it seemed, and flung his portmanteau down. "A fire," he cried, "in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!" He stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a ready acquiescence to terms and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn. Mrs. Hall lit the fire and left him there while she went to prepare him a meal with her own hands. A guest to stop at Iping in the wintertime was an unheard-of piece of luck, let alone a guest who was no "haggler," and she was resolved to show herself worthy of her good fortune. As soon as the bacon was well under way, and Millie, her lymphatic aid, had been brisked up a bit by a few deftly chosen expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses into the parlour and began to lay them with the utmost eclat. Although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that her visitor still wore his hat and coat, standing with his back to her and staring out of the window at the falling snow in the yard. His gloved hands were clasped behind him, and he seemed to be lost in thought. She noticed that the melted snow that still sprinkled his shoulders dropped upon her carpet. "Can I take your hat and coat, sir," she said, "and give them a good dry in the kitchen?" "No," he said without turning. She was not sure she had heard him, and was about to repea...
