The Invisible Author - An Overblown and Somewhat Pompous Rant

I had some time to kill while near my local bookshop, so, like any sane person, I went in. I wasn't after anything but thought I'd see what H.G Wells they had. I didn't expect much, just the latest Penguin or Wordsworth edition of The Time Machine or The War of the Worlds tucked away in the Classics section, but there was always a chance of The Country of the Blind and Other Stories, which I'm considering buying in physical form. There was no trace of any mention of his name whatsoever. It had never occurred to me that there would be a bookshop without at least one title of his in stock.

This disappointment I could have borne if not for the second shock I received today. I went to the local library to pick up some reserved items, including two books on Mr Wells' life and work. The librarian, as she waited for the computer to catch up, looked over the covers then asked, in all seriousness, 'Who's he?' She had to repeat the question, I couldn't comprehend it. Who is H.G. Wells? You work among books every day and you ask who H.G. Wells is? I mentioned The Time Machine and got an 'Oh' of recognition, but nothing could erase the horror I felt inside.

I console myself that I now have the two books I sought, and, as a bonus, I picked up Terry Pratchett's The Illustrated Eric, (illustrated by Josh Kirby of course) in a good quality ex-libris hardcover for 20c.

On a side note, this year I'll be writing a thesis on H.G. Wells.

Thanks for letting me share my overreaction, I'll let you decide how far my tongue is planted in my cheek.

Keep dreaming!

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