The Machine Stops
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About this ebook
In a future version of planet Earth, most of the human population doesn’t venture above ground. Rarely do they even leave their own rooms, in which all of their needs are met by the Machine.
The Machine allows the humans to communicate “ideas” with one another, which is essentially their only activity. It doesn’t stop them from leaving their rooms, but they have little desire to do so anyway. They’ve started to believe the Machine is omnipotent and omniscient, not to be questioned. And when it begins to malfunction, they trust that it knows what it’s doing—forgetting they invented it in the first place . . .
From the author of A Passage to India, A Room with a View, and other classic novels, and a sixteen-time nominee for the Nobel Prize in Literature, this remarkable science fiction story, which was included in a Science Fiction Hall of Fame anthology, was published in 1909—yet becomes more relevant and thought-provoking with each passing day of the twenty-first century.
E. M. Forster
E.M. Forster (1879-1970) was an English novelist. Born in London to an Anglo-Irish mother and a Welsh father, Forster moved with his mother to Rooks Nest, a country house in rural Hertfordshire, in 1883, following his father’s death from tuberculosis. He received a sizeable inheritance from his great-aunt, which allowed him to pursue his studies and support himself as a professional writer. Forster attended King’s College, Cambridge, from 1897 to 1901, where he met many of the people who would later make up the legendary Bloomsbury Group of such writers and intellectuals as Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey, and John Maynard Keynes. A gay man, Forster lived with his mother for much of his life in Weybridge, Surrey, where he wrote the novels A Room with a View, Howards End, and A Passage to India. Nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature sixteen times without winning, Forster is now recognized as one of the most important writers of twentieth century English fiction, and is remembered for his unique vision of English life and powerful critique of the inequities of class.
Read more from E. M. Forster
Great Novels of E. M. Forster: Where Angels Fear to Tread, The Longest Journey, A Room with a View, Howards End Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Eternal Moment: And Other Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Room with a View Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Machine Stops Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A ROOM WITH A VIEW: THE WILD & WANTON EDITION Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Short Stories Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5The Longest Journey Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5Howards End Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Room With a View Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Where Angels Fear to Tread Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Room With a View Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWhere Angels Fear to Tread Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Celestial Omnibus Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The E.M. Forster Collection Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Machine Stops Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The E.M. Forster Collection: 10 Classic Works Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Celestial Omnibus and Other Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Reviews for The Machine Stops
250 ratings15 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I absolutely love this short story, but I'm not near as big a fan of the audio. The narration just didn't work for me.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A long short story/short novella from 1909 that is by far the most prescient piece of fiction I have ever read. Piercingly intelligent and brilliantly written. Vashti's skewed cultural norms ring true in a way that early scifi like this never does, and it reminded me of the really well thought out cultures in modern epic fantasy.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Audio book version. Great film too.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Who knew E. M. Forster wrote science fiction? Not me but fortunately my German friend did and brought this book to Winnipeg for me. It was a quick read as it is less than 50 pages but I found it interesting.The story is set in a future time when all the inhabitants of earth live underground and "The Machine" manages everything for them. They have clean air, communication, transportation, food and shelter. What they do not have is face-to-face meetings or at least they don't have them very often. Vashti is an older woman living in the Southern Hemisphere perhaps near or underneath what used to be Australia. She is described as "...a swaddled lump of flesh--a woman, about five feet high, with a face as white as a fungus." She has a son (Kuno) who lives in the Northern Hemisphere. As the story opens Kuno calls Vashti to ask her to come visit him. At first Vashti refuses but when Kuno stops communicating with her she relents. This involves taking a harrowing two day air-ship voyage. When she finally gets to see Kuno she discovers that he has been outside without permission from The Machine. Kuno is now at risk of Homelessness i.e. being sent out onto the surface which means death. Or does it? Kuno swears he saw someone else on the surface when he went up there. In the end it doesn't really matter.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Oh, was für interessanter früher Zukunftsroman (aus dem Jahr 1909)! Es ist ein kleine Dystopie, die vor der Entfremdung des Menschen und seiner Abhängigkeit von "der Maschine" warnt. Bemerkenswert ist die kaum antiquiert wirkende Sprache.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Chilling short dystopian story by the author much better known for Room With a View and a Passage to India. In the far future, humans live isolated lives in small cells underground, their every want and need provided for by the Machine. A woman Vashti, loyal to the Machine, is disturbed by her alienated son Kuno's visit to the outside world. But then the world breaks down around them.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5In The Machine Stops, humanity has moved underground, avoiding all personal contact with others and direct experience in general, instead preferring to exist in solitary conditions with all needs provided for by The Machine. Considering this short work was written in the very early 1900s it is remarkably prescient, e.g., the depiction of video communications much like those which exist today. Of course, the real message is that society must always beware of becoming too enamored and/or dependent upon technology. One wonders what the author would think if living today where seemingly everyone is obsessed with their smart phone.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5I can't imagine ever listening to it a 2nd time.This is an amazingly forethinking story about a time when people retreat to the solitude of their rooms, interacting with others only by way of connection to the Machine. But the dramatized performance reading of it was SO irritating. I first read the story about 10 years ago, and was really excited at the prospect of experiencing it again and in audio. And yet, it was worse than disappointing.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Classic science fiction. Humans now live in underground cells, physically isolated, yet connected through technology. The machine takes on a god-like role supporting and managing all aspects of life. An interesting book that is still relavent 100 years on, particularly with the advent of social media and virtual friendships.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Very good idea developed into a long story. Ending sort of grim though. Ahead of its time by a century.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ahead of time by a century. What a great imagination!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is a startling read. Not only did the author predict some of the Futuristic design aesthetics of the 1960's (hexagonal, Buckminster Fuller-ish geodesic architecture), he predicted the plastic, impersonal, antisocial consequences of the Communication Age. It's astounding that this was written in 1909. Makes for a short read, as well as a highly pertinent read for today's times.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Holy cow. Really it's a century old? But what it talks about is so perfectly contemporary. And the writing is not archaic, but rather fully engaging. One could call it science fiction, but somehow all the SF historians focused on Wells and Verne and Lovecraft and missed this.
So: euthanasia, Facebook, the disconnect from fresh air and other first-hand experiences, over-reliance on technology and automation, conformity, religion & spirituality, historians and researchers incestuous re-quoting and bickering interpretations, obedience and conformity, the meaning of family, eugenics -- wow - lots to think about. I have no idea why this isn't more famous. - Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5An interesting future vision of a time when people connect only via screens and wires, but otherwise live in complete isolation from one another. They become so dependent on the machine that they have built that they transform it into a deity, forget how to keep it running, and so are doomed when the machine finally breaks down. This is really more of an idea sketch than a story, as the characters are broad and the plot is thin. But considering the time at which this was written, Forster shows a remarkable prescience in imagining what could essentially be an extreme version of the Internet, and the dangers such technology poses.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Didn't think that such an old book could speak to the heart of men on subjects so modern.
The obsession with "becoming more spiritual", time and getting ideas from second or third hand. The dependency and hypocrisy in lifestyles, the flesh becoming weaker.
And humanity sinking in the dark.
All of this resonated deeply with me.
One of the best, if not the best, books that I have read this year.
Book preview
The Machine Stops - E. M. Forster
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, Kuna; 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.
‘Kuna, 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.
‘The air-ship barely takes two days to fly between me and you.’
‘I dislike air-ships.’