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    The Machine Stops
    The Machine Stops
    The Machine Stops
    Ebook53 pages1 hour

    The Machine Stops

    By E.M. Forster

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    The Machine Stops - E. M. Forster - "The Machine Stops" is a science fiction short story (12,300 words) by E. M. Forster. After initial publication in The Oxford and Cambridge Review (November 1909), the story was republished in Forster's The Eternal Moment and Other Stories in 1928. After being voted one of the best novellas up to 1965, it was included that same year in the populist anthology Modern Short Stories.[1] In 1973 it was also included in The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Volume Two.The story, set in a world where humanity lives underground and relies on a giant machine to provide its needs, predicted technologies such as instant messaging and the Internet.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPhoemixx Classics Ebooks
    Release dateAug 4, 2021
    ISBN9783985945580
    Author

    E.M. Forster

    Edward Morgan Forster (1879–1970) was born in London and attended the Tonbridge School and King’s College, Cambridge. A substantial inheritance from his aunt gave Forster the freedom to pursue a literary career and travel extensively, and he wrote some of the finest novels of the twentieth century, including A Room with a View, A Passage to India, and Howards End. Queen Elizabeth II awarded him the Order of Merit in 1969.

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      Book preview

      The Machine Stops - E.M. Forster

      PUBLISHER NOTES:

      Quality of Life, Freedom, More time with the ones you Love.

      Visit our website: LYFREEDOM.COM

      Chapter

      1

      The Air-Ship

      Imagine, if you can, a small room, hexagonal in shape, like the cell of a bee. It is lighted neither by window nor by lamp, yet it is filled with a soft radiance. There are no apertures for ventilation, yet the air is fresh. There are no musical instruments, and yet, at the moment that my meditation opens, this room is throbbing with melodious sounds. An armchair is in the centre, by its side a reading-desk - that is all the furniture. And in the armchair there sits a swaddled lump of flesh - a woman, about five feet high, with a face as white as a fungus. It is to her that the little room belongs.

      An electric bell rang.

      The woman touched a switch and the music was silent.

      'I suppose I must see who it is', she thought, and set her chair in motion. The chair, like the music, was worked by machinery and it rolled her to the other side of the room where the bell still rang importunately.

      'Who is it?' she called. Her voice was irritable, for she had been interrupted often since the music began. She knew several thousand people, in certain directions human intercourse had advanced enormously.

      But when she listened into the receiver, her white face wrinkled into smiles, and she said:

      'Very well. Let us talk, I will isolate myself. I do not expect anything important will happen for the next five minutes - for I can give you fully five minutes, Kuno. Then I must deliver my lecture on Music during the Australian Period.'

      She touched the isolation knob, so that no one else could speak to her. Then she touched the lighting apparatus, and the little room was plunged into darkness.

      'Be quick!' she called, her irritation returning. 'Be quick, Kuno; here I am in the dark wasting my time.'

      But it was fully fifteen seconds before the round plate that she held in her hands began to glow. A faint blue light shot across it, darkening to purple, and presently she could see the image of her son, who lived on the other side of the earth, and he could see her.

      'Kuno, how slow you are.'

      He smiled gravely.

      'I really believe you enjoy dawdling.'

      'I have called you before, mother, but you were always busy or isolated. I have something particular to say.'

      'What is it, dearest boy? Be quick. Why could you not send it by pneumatic post?'

      'Because I prefer saying such a thing. I want——'

      'Well?'

      'I want you to come and see me.'

      Vashti watched his face in the blue plate.

      'But I can see you!' she exclaimed. 'What more do you want?'

      'I want to see you not through the Machine,' said Kuno. 'I want to speak to you not through the wearisome Machine.'

      'Oh, hush!' said his mother, vaguely shocked. 'You mustn't say anything against the Machine.'

      'Why not?'

      'One mustn't.'

      'You talk as if a god had made the Machine,' cried the other.

      'I believe that you pray to it when you are unhappy. Men made it, do not forget that. Great men, but men. The Machine is much, but it is not everything. I see something like you in this plate, but I do not see you. I hear something like you through this telephone, but I do not hear you. That is why I want you to come. Pay me a visit, so that we can meet face to face, and talk about the hopes that are in my mind.'

      She replied that she could scarcely spare the time for a visit.

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