Cover of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
    Fantasy

    The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

    by testsuphomeAdmin
    If you're looking for a deeply emotional and beautifully written story that explores themes of identity, love, and the passage of time, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab is a must-read. The novel follows Addie, a woman who makes a Faustian bargain to live forever, but in return, is forgotten by everyone she meets. As she navigates centuries of isolation, Addie grapples with the consequences of her immortality, finding fleeting moments of connection and, ultimately, a sense of purpose in her seemingly cursed existence. Schwab's lyrical prose, richly developed characters, and exploration of what it means to be remembered and to leave a legacy make this book a poignant meditation on life and the human desire to be seen. If you love stories that blend fantasy with deep emotional resonance, this one will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

    In August 2014, in New York City, Hen­ry is expe­ri­enc­ing an unprece­dent­ed sense of peace and hap­pi­ness despite being acute­ly aware of his impend­ing end. This tran­quil­i­ty stems from his deep con­nec­tion with Addie, a remark­able pres­ence in his life that has trans­formed his per­cep­tion of fear and mor­tal­i­ty. Their deci­sion to escape the sti­fling city for the upstate’s nat­ur­al allure leads to an inti­mate jour­ney, filled with reflec­tive moments and poignant recog­ni­tions of the life’s imper­ma­nence. On this trip, Hen­ry grap­ples with the con­cept of farewell, par­tic­u­lar­ly the ago­niz­ing deci­sion to not vis­it his fam­i­ly one last time, a choice that sym­bol­izes his accep­tance of fate and the relin­quish­ing of unre­solved good­byes.

    Amidst the seren­i­ty of their get­away, Hen­ry and Addie indulge in sim­ple plea­sures – buy­ing peach­es, wan­der­ing through state parks, and pic­nick­ing under the stars. These moments are tinged with intro­spec­tion, espe­cial­ly as Hen­ry pon­ders Addie’s long, tumul­tuous exis­tence, marked by both pro­found suf­fer­ing and intense beau­ty. Addie’s affir­ma­tion of her life’s worth despite its tri­als encap­su­lates the com­plex­i­ty of human expe­ri­ence – an acknowl­edg­ment of life’s inher­ent messi­ness and the invalu­able instances of joy amidst sor­row.

    Their return to the city does not bring an end to Hen­ry’s con­tem­pla­tions. A poignant evening with his friends Bea and Rob­bie at the Mer­chant bar offers a sem­blance of nor­mal­cy, yet under­neath lies Hen­ry’s inter­nal farewell, cam­ou­flaged by mun­dane con­ver­sa­tions and laugh­ter. His elab­o­rate pre­tense of an out-of-town vis­it serves as a covert good­bye, spar­ing his friends the bur­den of a for­mal farewell, there­by pre­serv­ing the nat­u­ral­ness of their rela­tion­ship in its final moments.

    Henry’s nar­ra­tive is a pro­found reflec­tion on life, love, and the accep­tance of death. His jour­ney with Addie, filled with love, regret, and accep­tance, against the back­drop of New York and its envi­rons, illus­trates the com­plex­i­ties of human emo­tion and the dif­fi­cult acknowl­edg­ments that come with let­ting go. Their sto­ry, inter­twined between moments of pro­found per­son­al insight and the uni­ver­sal quest for mean­ing, encap­su­lates the bit­ter­sweet sym­pho­ny of life, marked by fleet­ing joys, endur­ing pains, and the inevitable farewells that shape our exis­tence.

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    Cover of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
    Fantasy

    The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

    by testsuphomeAdmin
    If you're looking for a deeply emotional and beautifully written story that explores themes of identity, love, and the passage of time, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab is a must-read. The novel follows Addie, a woman who makes a Faustian bargain to live forever, but in return, is forgotten by everyone she meets. As she navigates centuries of isolation, Addie grapples with the consequences of her immortality, finding fleeting moments of connection and, ultimately, a sense of purpose in her seemingly cursed existence. Schwab's lyrical prose, richly developed characters, and exploration of what it means to be remembered and to leave a legacy make this book a poignant meditation on life and the human desire to be seen. If you love stories that blend fantasy with deep emotional resonance, this one will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

    New York City
    Decem­ber 9, 2013
    XVI

    Hen­ry feels like an out­sider, both at home and now, as he returns to his cam­pus, an envi­ron­ment that nev­er felt like home to him. The fear of dis­ap­point­ment has always loomed over him, and it’s the same feel­ing he car­ries into the dean’s office, where a sur­pris­ing oppor­tu­ni­ty awaits. Three years pri­or, Dean Mel­rose had almost expelled him. Now, he’s offer­ing Hen­ry a tenure posi­tion in the the­ol­o­gy school, a chance that comes once in a life­time for many. This offer throws Hen­ry into intro­spec­tion about what he tru­ly desires, a ques­tion he’s been unable to answer since his school days.

    Ini­tial­ly buoyed by the joy of learn­ing, Hen­ry’s aca­d­e­m­ic jour­ney became daunt­ing as it demand­ed con­crete deci­sions about his future. Teach­ing seemed like a path­way to con­tin­ue his pas­sion for learn­ing, but doubts about his qual­i­fi­ca­tions and beliefs cloud his excite­ment. Hen­ry admits to the dean he does­n’t “believe in God,” a rev­e­la­tion that does­n’t deter the dean, who val­ues aca­d­e­m­ic dis­sent over reli­gious faith. How­ev­er, Hen­ry strug­gles with the idea of fit­ting into an expec­ta­tion, of being seen through a lens of what oth­ers want him to be, rather than who he tru­ly is.

    Leav­ing the dean’s office, Hen­ry grap­ples with the real­i­ty of the offer and his place in the world. He pon­ders over it as he returns to his rou­tine, feel­ing the weight of expec­ta­tions and the yearn­ing for authen­tic­i­ty. The bot­tle of whisky and the non-judg­men­tal per­cep­tions of those around him only add to his sense of alien­ation. Hen­ry is trapped in a cycle of expec­ta­tions and lies, from minor flat­ter­ies to sig­nif­i­cant life choic­es, illus­trat­ing the empti­ness of fit­ting into a mold­ed iden­ti­ty that does­n’t align with one’s true self. The chap­ter reflects Hen­ry’s inter­nal con­flict with soci­etal roles and expec­ta­tions, jux­ta­pos­ing his per­son­al truth against the back­drop of a world eager to see him through their lens, a theme that res­onates deeply in the nar­ra­tive.

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    Cover of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
    Fantasy

    The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

    by testsuphomeAdmin
    If you're looking for a deeply emotional and beautifully written story that explores themes of identity, love, and the passage of time, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab is a must-read. The novel follows Addie, a woman who makes a Faustian bargain to live forever, but in return, is forgotten by everyone she meets. As she navigates centuries of isolation, Addie grapples with the consequences of her immortality, finding fleeting moments of connection and, ultimately, a sense of purpose in her seemingly cursed existence. Schwab's lyrical prose, richly developed characters, and exploration of what it means to be remembered and to leave a legacy make this book a poignant meditation on life and the human desire to be seen. If you love stories that blend fantasy with deep emotional resonance, this one will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

    Le Mans, France, on July 31, 1714, serves as the set­ting where Addie revis­its the city for the first time in over a decade since she last came with her father. Upon her return, alone and with­out any of the com­forts of her pre­vi­ous vis­it, she imme­di­ate­ly encoun­ters the bustling life of the city but feels pro­found­ly dis­con­nect­ed and out of place. As she wan­ders, seek­ing some­thing famil­iar yet unknown even to her­self, she expe­ri­ences a series of minor calami­ties, includ­ing nar­row­ly avoid­ing a cart, annoy­ing a local woman, and find­ing the city vast­ly changed from her mem­o­ries.

    Her sense of alien­ation grows as she real­izes how much she, and the city, have trans­formed. The Le Mans she remem­bered with fond­ness now seems men­ac­ing and unwel­com­ing. Attempt­ing to sur­vive, she stum­bles upon an inn and decides to stealth­ily pro­cure resources from the sta­bles, lead­ing to an unfor­tu­nate con­fronta­tion with a sta­ble hand. Caught try­ing to take items from the sta­ble, Addie resorts to vio­lence to escape, injur­ing the sta­ble hand with a knife she found and con­se­quent­ly get­ting wound­ed her­self.

    Mirac­u­lous­ly, her wounds heal almost instant­ly, evi­denc­ing the super­nat­ur­al pact she has unknow­ing­ly embraced that grants her immor­tal­i­ty but at a twist­ed cost. This mag­i­cal restora­tion only under­lines her iso­la­tion and the bar­gain’s real impli­ca­tions. Despite the phys­i­cal heal­ing, the inci­dent leaves psy­cho­log­i­cal scars and rein­forces her real­iza­tion about her changed essence and exis­tence. Addie’s encounter in Le Mans ends with her leav­ing the city, bear­ing no phys­i­cal evi­dence of her ordeal but a deep­er under­stand­ing of her new, cursed life where she is doomed to be for­got­ten by those she meets, and any impact she makes is mys­te­ri­ous­ly undone.

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    Cover of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
    Fantasy

    The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

    by LovelyMay
    If you're looking for a deeply emotional and beautifully written story that explores themes of identity, love, and the passage of time, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab is a must-read. The novel follows Addie, a woman who makes a Faustian bargain to live forever, but in return, is forgotten by everyone she meets. As she navigates centuries of isolation, Addie grapples with the consequences of her immortality, finding fleeting moments of connection and, ultimately, a sense of purpose in her seemingly cursed existence. Schwab's lyrical prose, richly developed characters, and exploration of what it means to be remembered and to leave a legacy make this book a poignant meditation on life and the human desire to be seen. If you love stories that blend fantasy with deep emotional resonance, this one will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

    You are being pro­vid­ed with a book chap­ter by chap­ter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chap­ter. After read­ing the chap­ter, 1. short­en the chap­ter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any impor­tant nouns in the chap­ter. 3. Do not trans­late the orig­i­nal lan­guage. 4. Keep the same style as the orig­i­nal chap­ter, keep it con­sis­tent through­out the chap­ter. Your reply must com­ply with all four require­ments, or it’s invalid.
    I will pro­vide the chap­ter now.

    The Com­ing Race
    65
    destroy, through­out a dis­tance almost indef­i­nite; at least I put it mod­est­ly
    when I say from 500 to 600 miles. And their math­e­mat­i­cal sci­ence as
    applied to such pur­pose is so nice­ly accu­rate, that on the report of some
    observ­er in an air-boat, any mem­ber of the vril depart­ment can esti­mate
    unerr­ing­ly the nature of inter­ven­ing obsta­cles, the height to which the
    pro­jec­tile instru­ment should be raised, and the extent to which it should be
    charged, so as to reduce to ash­es with­in a space of time too short for me to
    ven­ture to spec­i­fy it, a cap­i­tal twice as vast as Lon­don.
    Cer­tain­ly these Ana are won­der­ful math­e­mati­cians- won­der­ful for the
    adap­ta­tion of the inven­tive fac­ul­ty to prac­ti­cal uses. 71 I went with my
    host and his daugh­ter Zee over the great pub­lic muse­um, which occu­pies a
    wing in the Col­lege of Sages, and in which are hoard­ed, as curi­ous
    spec­i­mens of the igno­rant and blun­der­ing exper­i­ments of ancient times,
    many con­trivances on which we pride our­selves as recent achieve­ments.
    In one depart­ment, care­less­ly thrown aside as obso­lete lum­ber, are tubes
    for destroy­ing life by metal­lic balls and an inflam­ma­ble pow­der, on the
    prin­ci­ple of our can­nons and cat­a­pults, and even still more mur­der­ous than
    our lat­est improve­ments.
    My host spoke of these with a smile of con­tempt, such as an artillery
    offi­cer might bestow on the bows and arrows of the Chi­nese. In anoth­er
    depart­ment there were mod­els of vehi­cles and ves­sels worked by steam,
    and of an air-bal­loon which might have been con­struct­ed by Mont­golfi­er.
    “Such,” said Zee, with an air of med­i­ta­tive wis­dom- “such were the fee­ble
    tri­flings with nature of our sav­age fore­fa­thers, ere they had even a
    glim­mer­ing per­cep­tion of the prop­er­ties of vril!”
    This young Gy was a mag­nif­i­cent spec­i­men of the mus­cu­lar force to
    which the females of her coun­try attain. Her fea­tures were beau­ti­ful, like
    those of all her race: nev­er in the upper world have I seen a face so grand
    and so fault­less, but her devo­tion to the sev­er­er stud­ies had giv­en to her
    coun­te­nance an expres­sion of abstract thought which ren­dered it
    some­what stern when in repose; and such a stern­ness became for­mi­da­ble
    when observed in con­nec­tion with her ample shoul­ders and lofty stature.
    She was tall even for a Gy, and I saw her lift up a can­non as eas­i­ly as I
    could lift a pock­et-pis­tol. Zee inspired me with a pro­found ter­ror- a

    The Com­ing Race
    66
    ter­ror which increased when we came into a depart­ment of the muse­um
    appro­pri­at­ed to mod­els of con­trivances worked by the agency of vril; for
    here, mere­ly by a cer­tain play of her vril staff, she her­self stand­ing at a
    dis­tance, she put into move­ment large and weighty sub­stances. She
    seemed to endow them with intel­li­gence, and to make them 72comprehend
    and obey her com­mand. She set com­pli­cat­ed pieces of machin­ery into
    move­ment, arrest­ed the move­ment or con­tin­ued it, until, with­in an
    incred­i­bly short time, var­i­ous kinds of raw mate­r­i­al were repro­duced as
    sym­met­ri­cal works of art, com­plete and per­fect. What­ev­er effect
    mes­merism or elec­tro-biol­o­gy pro­duces over the nerves and mus­cles of
    ani­mat­ed objects, this young Gy pro­duced by the motions of her slen­der
    rod over the springs and wheels of life­less mech­a­nism.
    When I men­tioned to my com­pan­ions my aston­ish­ment at this
    influ­ence over inan­i­mate mat­ter- while own­ing that, in our world, I had
    wit­nessed phe­nom­e­na which showed that over cer­tain liv­ing organ­i­sa­tions
    cer­tain oth­er liv­ing organ­i­sa­tions could estab­lish an influ­ence gen­uine in
    itself, but often exag­ger­at­ed by creduli­ty or craft- Zee, who was more
    inter­est­ed in such sub­jects than her father, bade me stretch forth my hand,
    and then, plac­ing it beside her own, she called my atten­tion to cer­tain
    dis­tinc­tions of type and char­ac­ter. In the first place, the thumb of the Gy
    (and, as I after­wards noticed, of all that race, male or female) was much
    larg­er, at once longer and more mas­sive, than is found with our species
    above ground. There is almost, in this, as great a dif­fer­ence as there is
    between the thumb of a man and that of a goril­la. Sec­ond­ly, the palm is
    pro­por­tion­al­ly thick­er than ours- the tex­ture of the skin infi­nite­ly fin­er and
    soft­er- its aver­age warmth is greater. More remark­able than all this, is a
    vis­i­ble nerve, per­cep­ti­ble under the skin, which starts from the wrist
    skirt­ing the ball of the thumb, and branch­ing, fork-like, at the roots of the
    fore and mid­dle fin­gers. “With your slight for­ma­tion of thumb,” said the
    philo­soph­i­cal young Gy, “and with the absence of the nerve which you
    find more or less devel­oped in the hands of our race, you can nev­er
    achieve oth­er than imper­fect and fee­ble pow­er over the agency of vril; but
    so far as the nerve is con­cerned, that is not found in the hands of our
    ear­li­est prog­en­i­tors, nor in those of the rud­er tribes with­out the pale of the

    The Com­ing Race
    67
    Vril-ya. It has been slow­ly devel­oped 73in the course of gen­er­a­tions,
    com­menc­ing in the ear­ly achieve­ments, and increas­ing with the
    con­tin­u­ous exer­cise, of the vril pow­er; there­fore, in the course of one or
    two thou­sand years, such a nerve may pos­si­bly be engen­dered in those
    high­er beings of your race, who devote them­selves to that para­mount
    sci­ence through which is attained com­mand over all the sub­tler forces of
    nature per­me­at­ed by vril. But when you talk of mat­ter as some­thing in
    itself inert and motion­less, your par­ents or tutors sure­ly can­not have left
    you so igno­rant as not to know that no form of mat­ter is motion­less and
    inert: every par­ti­cle is con­stant­ly in motion and con­stant­ly act­ed upon by
    agen­cies, of which heat is the most appar­ent and rapid, but vril the most
    sub­tle, and, when skil­ful­ly wield­ed, the most pow­er­ful. So that, in fact,
    the cur­rent launched by my hand and guid­ed by my will does but ren­der
    quick­er and more potent the action which is eter­nal­ly at work upon every
    par­ti­cle of mat­ter, how­ev­er inert and stub­born it may seem. If a heap of
    met­al be not capa­ble of orig­i­nat­ing a thought of its own, yet, through its
    inter­nal sus­cep­ti­bil­i­ty to move­ment, it obtains the pow­er to receive the
    thought of the intel­lec­tu­al agent at work on it; by which, when con­veyed
    with a suf­fi­cient force of the vril pow­er, it is as much com­pelled to obey as
    if it were dis­placed by a vis­i­ble bod­i­ly force. It is ani­mat­ed for the time
    being by the soul thus infused into it, so that one may almost say that it
    lives and rea­sons. With­out this we could not make our automa­ta sup­ply
    the place of ser­vants.
    I was too much in awe of the thews and the learn­ing of the young Gy
    to haz­ard the risk of argu­ing with her. I had read some­where in my
    school­boy days that a wise man, dis­put­ing with a Roman Emper­or,
    sud­den­ly drew in his horns; and when the emper­or asked him whether he
    had noth­ing fur­ther to say on his side of the ques­tion, replied, “Nay,
    Cae­sar, there is no argu­ing against a rea­son­er who com­mands ten legions.”
    74 Though I had a secret per­sua­sion that, what­ev­er the real effects of vril
    upon mat­ter, Mr. Fara­day could have proved her a very shal­low
    philoso­pher as to its extent or its caus­es, I had no doubt that Zee could
    have brained all the Fel­lows of the Roy­al Soci­ety, one after the oth­er, with
    a blow of her fist. Every sen­si­ble man knows that it is use­less to argue

    The Com­ing Race
    68
    with any ordi­nary female upon mat­ters he com­pre­hends; but to argue with
    a Gy sev­en feet high upon the mys­ter­ies of vril,- as well argue in a desert,
    and with a simoon!
    Amid the var­i­ous depart­ments to which the vast build­ing of the
    Col­lege of Sages was appro­pri­at­ed, that which inter­est­ed me most was
    devot­ed to the archae­ol­o­gy of the Vril-ya, and com­prised a very ancient
    col­lec­tion of por­traits. In these the pig­ments and ground­work employed
    were of so durable a nature that even pic­tures said to be exe­cut­ed at dates
    as remote as those in the ear­li­est annals of the Chi­nese, retained much
    fresh­ness of colour. In exam­in­ing this col­lec­tion, two things espe­cial­ly
    struck me:- first, that the pic­tures said to be between 6000 and 7000 years
    old were of a much high­er degree of art than any pro­duced with­in the last
    3000 or 4000 years; and, sec­ond, that the por­traits with­in the for­mer
    peri­od much more resem­bled our own upper world and Euro­pean types of
    coun­te­nance. Some of them, indeed remind­ed me of the Ital­ian heads
    which look out from the can­vas­es of Tit­ian- speak­ing of ambi­tion or craft,
    of care or of grief, with fur­rows in which the pas­sions have passed with
    iron ploughshare. These were the coun­te­nances of men who had lived in
    strug­gle and con­flict before the dis­cov­ery of the latent forces of vril had
    changed the char­ac­ter of soci­ety- men who had fought with each oth­er for
    pow­er or fame as we in the upper world fight.
    The type of face began to evince a marked change about a thou­sand
    years after the vril rev­o­lu­tion, becom­ing then, with each gen­er­a­tion, more
    serene, and in that seren­i­ty more 75terribly dis­tinct from the faces of
    labour­ing and sin­ful men; while in pro­por­tion as the beau­ty and the
    grandeur of the coun­te­nance itself became more ful­ly devel­oped, the art of
    the painter became more tame and monot­o­nous.
    But the great­est curios­i­ty in the col­lec­tion was that of three por­traits
    belong­ing to the pre-his­tor­i­cal age, and, accord­ing to myth­i­cal tra­di­tion,
    tak­en by the orders of a philoso­pher, whose ori­gin and attrib­ut­es were as
    much mixed up with sym­bol­i­cal fable as those of an Indi­an Budh or a
    Greek Prometheus.
    >From this mys­te­ri­ous per­son­age, at once a sage and a hero, all the
    prin­ci­pal sec­tions of the Vril-ya race pre­tend to trace a com­mon ori­gin.

    The Com­ing Race
    69
    The por­traits are of the philoso­pher him­self, of his grand­fa­ther, and
    great-grand­fa­ther. They are all at full length. The philoso­pher is attired
    in a long tunic which seems to form a loose suit of scaly armour, bor­rowed,
    per­haps, from some fish or rep­tile, but the feet and hands are exposed: the
    dig­its in both are won­der­ful­ly long, and webbed. He has lit­tle or no
    per­cep­ti­ble throat, and a low reced­ing fore­head, not at all the ide­al of a
    sage’s. He has bright brown promi­nent eyes, a very wide mouth and high
    cheek­bones, and a mud­dy com­plex­ion. Accord­ing to tra­di­tion, this
    philoso­pher had lived to a patri­ar­chal age, extend­ing over many cen­turies,
    and he remem­bered dis­tinct­ly in mid­dle life his grand­fa­ther as sur­viv­ing,
    and in child­hood his great-grand­fa­ther; the por­trait of the first he had tak­en,
    or caused to be tak­en, while yet alive- that of the lat­ter was tak­en from his
    effi­gies in mum­my. The por­trait of his grand­fa­ther had the fea­tures and
    aspect of the philoso­pher, only much more exag­ger­at­ed: he was not
    dressed, and the colour of his body was sin­gu­lar; the breast and stom­ach
    yel­low, the shoul­ders and legs of a dull bronze hue: the great-grand­fa­ther
    was a mag­nif­i­cent spec­i­men of the Batra­chi­an genus, a Giant Frog, ‘pur et
    sim­ple.’
    Among the pithy say­ings which, accord­ing to tra­di­tion, the
    philoso­pher bequeathed to pos­ter­i­ty in rhyth­mi­cal form and 76sententious
    brevi­ty, this is notably record­ed: “Hum­ble your­selves, my descen­dants; the
    father of your race was a ‘twat’ (tad­pole): exalt your­selves, my descen­dants,
    for it was the same Divine Thought which cre­at­ed your father that
    devel­ops itself in exalt­ing you.”
    Aph-Lin told me this fable while I gazed on the three Batra­chi­an
    por­traits. I said in reply: “You make a jest of my sup­posed igno­rance and
    creduli­ty as an une­d­u­cat­ed Tish, but though these hor­ri­ble daubs may be of
    great antiq­ui­ty, and were intend­ed, per­haps, for some rude cara­ca­ture, I
    pre­sume that none of your race even in the less enlight­ened ages, ever
    believed that the great-grand­son of a Frog became a sen­ten­tious
    philoso­pher; or that any sec­tion, I will not say of the lofty Vril-ya, but of
    the mean­est vari­eties of the human race, had its ori­gin in a Tad­pole.”
    “Par­don me,” answered Aph-Lin: “in what we call the Wran­gling or
    Philo­soph­i­cal Peri­od of His­to­ry, which was at its height about sev­en

    The Com­ing Race
    70
    thou­sand years ago, there was a very dis­tin­guished nat­u­ral­ist, who proved
    to the sat­is­fac­tion of numer­ous dis­ci­ples such ana­log­i­cal and anatom­i­cal
    agree­ments in struc­ture between an An and a Frog, as to show that out of
    the one must have devel­oped the oth­er. They had some dis­eases in
    com­mon; they were both sub­ject to the same par­a­sit­i­cal worms in the
    intestines; and, strange to say, the An has, in his struc­ture, a swim­ming-
    blad­der, no longer of any use to him, but which is a rudi­ment that clear­ly
    proves his descent from a Frog. Nor is there any argu­ment against this
    the­o­ry to be found in the rel­a­tive dif­fer­ence of size, for there are still
    exis­tent in our world Frogs of a size and stature not infe­ri­or to our own,
    and many thou­sand years ago they appear to have been still larg­er.”
    “I under­stand that,” said I, “because Frogs this enor­mous are,
    accord­ing to our emi­nent geol­o­gists, who per­haps saw them in dreams,
    said to have been dis­tin­guished inhab­i­tants of the upper world before the
    Del­uge; and such Frogs are exact­ly the crea­tures like­ly to have flour­ished
    in the lakes and morass­es of your sub­ter­ranean regions. But pray,
    pro­ceed.” 77 “In the Wran­gling Peri­od of His­to­ry, what­ev­er one sage
    assert­ed anoth­er sage was sure to con­tra­dict. In fact, it was a max­im in
    that age, that the human rea­son could only be sus­tained aloft by being
    tossed to and fro in the per­pet­u­al motion of con­tra­dic­tion; and there­fore
    anoth­er sect of philoso­phers main­tained the doc­trine that the An was not
    the descen­dant of the Frog, but that the Frog was clear­ly the improved
    devel­op­ment of the An. The shape of the Frog, tak­en gen­er­al­ly, was
    much more sym­met­ri­cal than that of the An; beside the beau­ti­ful
    con­for­ma­tion of its low­er limbs, its flanks and shoul­ders the major­i­ty of
    the Ana in that day were almost deformed, and cer­tain­ly ill-shaped.
    Again, the Frog had the pow­er to live alike on land and in water- a mighty
    priv­i­lege, par­tak­ing of a spir­i­tu­al essence denied to the An, since the
    dis­use of his swim­ming-blad­der clear­ly proves his degen­er­a­tion from a
    high­er devel­op­ment of species. Again, the ear­li­er races of the Ana seem
    to have been cov­ered with hair, and, even to a com­par­a­tive­ly recent date,
    hir­sute bush­es deformed the very faces of our ances­tors, spread­ing wild
    over their cheeks and chins, as sim­i­lar bush­es, my poor Tish, spread wild
    over yours. But the object of the high­er races of the Ana through

    The Com­ing Race
    71
    count­less gen­er­a­tions has been to erase all ves­tige of con­nec­tion with
    hairy ver­te­bra­ta, and they have grad­u­al­ly elim­i­nat­ed that debas­ing
    cap­il­lary excre­ment by the law of sex­u­al selec­tion; the Gy-ei nat­u­ral­ly
    pre­fer­ring youth or the beau­ty of smooth faces. But the degree of the
    Frog in the scale of the ver­te­bra­ta is shown in this, that he has no hair at all,
    not even on his head. He was born to that hair­less per­fec­tion which the
    most beau­ti­ful of the Ana, despite the cul­ture of incal­cu­la­ble ages, have
    not yet attained. The won­der­ful com­pli­ca­tion and del­i­ca­cy of a Frog’s
    ner­vous sys­tem and arte­r­i­al cir­cu­la­tion were shown by this school to be
    more sus­cep­ti­ble of enjoy­ment than our infe­ri­or, or at least sim­pler,
    phys­i­cal frame allows us to be. The exam­i­na­tion of a Frog’s hand, if I
    may use that expres­sion, account­ed for its 78keener sus­cep­ti­bil­i­ty to love,
    and to social life in gen­er­al. In fact, gre­gar­i­ous and ama­to­ry as are the
    Ana, Frogs are still more so. In short, these two schools raged against
    each oth­er; one assert­ing the An to be the per­fect­ed type of the Frog; the
    oth­er that the Frog was the high­est devel­op­ment of the An. The moral­ists
    were divid­ed in opin­ion with the nat­u­ral­ists, but the bulk of them sided
    with the Frog-pref­er­ence school. They said, with much plau­si­bil­i­ty, that
    in moral con­duct (viz., in the adher­ence to rules best adapt­ed to the health
    and wel­fare of the indi­vid­ual and the com­mu­ni­ty) there could be no doubt
    of the vast supe­ri­or­i­ty of the Frog. All his­to­ry showed the whole­sale
    immoral­i­ty of the human race, the com­plete dis­re­gard, even by the most
    renowned amongst them, of the laws which they acknowl­edged to be
    essen­tial to their own and the gen­er­al hap­pi­ness and well­be­ing. But the
    sever­est crit­ic of the Frog race could not detect in their man­ners a sin­gle
    aber­ra­tion from the moral law tac­it­ly recog­nised by them­selves. And
    what, after all, can be the prof­it of civil­i­sa­tion if supe­ri­or­i­ty in moral
    con­duct be not the aim for which it strives, and the test by which its
    progress should be judged?
    “In fine, the adher­ents of this the­o­ry pre­sumed that in some remote
    peri­od the Frog race had been the improved devel­op­ment of the Human;
    but that, from some caus­es which defied ratio­nal con­jec­ture, they had not
    main­tained their orig­i­nal posi­tion in the scale of nature; while the Ana,
    though of infe­ri­or organ­i­sa­tion, had, by dint less of their virtues than their

    The Com­ing Race
    72
    vices, such as feroc­i­ty and cun­ning, grad­u­al­ly acquired ascen­dan­cy, much
    as among the human race itself tribes utter­ly bar­barous have, by
    supe­ri­or­i­ty in sim­i­lar vices, utter­ly destroyed or reduced into
    insignif­i­cance tribes orig­i­nal­ly excelling them in men­tal gifts and cul­ture.
    Unhap­pi­ly these dis­putes became involved with the reli­gious notions of
    that age; and as soci­ety was then admin­is­tered under the gov­ern­ment of
    the Koom-Posh, who, being the most igno­rant, were of course 79the most
    inflam­ma­ble class- the mul­ti­tude took the whole ques­tion out of the hands
    of the philoso­phers; polit­i­cal chiefs saw that the Frog dis­pute, so tak­en up
    by the pop­u­lace, could become a most valu­able instru­ment of their
    ambi­tion; and for not less than one thou­sand years war and mas­sacre
    pre­vailed, dur­ing which peri­od the philoso­phers on both sides were
    butchered, and the gov­ern­ment of Koom-Posh itself was hap­pi­ly brought
    to an end by the ascen­dan­cy of a fam­i­ly that clear­ly estab­lished its descent
    from the abo­rig­i­nal tad­pole, and fur­nished despot­ic rulers to the var­i­ous
    nations of the Ana. These despots final­ly dis­ap­peared, at least from our
    com­mu­ni­ties, as the dis­cov­ery of vril led to the tran­quil insti­tu­tions under
    which flour­ish all the races of the Vril-ya.”
    “And do no wran­glers or philoso­phers now exist to revive the dis­pute;
    or do they all recog­nise the ori­gin of your race in the tad­pole?”
    “Nay, such dis­putes,” said Zee, with a lofty smile, “belong to the Pah-
    bodh of the dark ages, and now only serve for the amuse­ment of infants.
    When we know the ele­ments out of which our bod­ies are com­posed,
    ele­ments in com­mon to the hum­blest veg­etable plants, can it sig­ni­fy
    whether the All-Wise com­bined those ele­ments out of one form more than
    anoth­er, in order to cre­ate that in which He has placed the capac­i­ty to
    receive the idea of Him­self, and all the var­ied grandeurs of intel­lect to
    which that idea gives birth? The An in real­i­ty com­menced to exist as An
    with the dona­tion of that capac­i­ty, and, with that capac­i­ty, the sense to
    acknowl­edge that, how­ev­er through the count­less ages his race may
    improve in wis­dom, it can nev­er com­bine the ele­ments at its com­mand
    into the form of a tad­pole.”
    “You speak well, Zee,” said Aph-Lin; “and it is enough for us
    short­lived mor­tals to feel a rea­son­able assur­ance that whether the ori­gin of

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