167 BOOKS IN REVIEW Full of Whoosh. Adam Roberts. H.G. Wells: A Literary Life. Palgrave Macmillan, LITERARY LIVES, 2019. x+452 pp. $24.99 pbk. $19.99 ebk. In this addition to Palgrave’s LITERARY LIVES, the publisher notes: “The books in this series are thoroughly researched and comprehensive, covering the writer’s complete oeuvre” while exploring its contexts “in an accessible and engaging way” (ii). Adam Roberts is certainly as comprehensive and engaging as anyone could wish, dealing in accessible language with 93 of the 107 books that H.G. Wells published over his long writing career. Just to have read Wells’s entire oeuvre is an achievement of which few Wellsians can boast (I certainly cannot.) It must be like taking on a marathon hike lasting months during which the weather gradually worsens, the trail becomes ever more overgrown, and the scenery gets drabber. In his Preface, Roberts explains why he undertook this daunting project. Like Wells, but a century later, he grew up on the Kentish periphery of London “a sickly, bookish youth” (viii) from an undistinguished background. Identification led to profound respect for Wells as a writer and “an equally genuine, if more conflicted, love for Wells the man” (ix). His passionate admiration for what he convincingly argues are Wells’s major achievements in almost every genre of prose fiction and non-fiction, and his qualified love for the small, ugly, bumptious, squeaky-voiced counter-jumper, whose personal behavior and public opinions still offend many people today, is evident everywhere in the book. Even if he cannot single-handedly restore Wells’s reputation or readmit him to the canon, Roberts does everything he can to register H.G.’s cultural influence on his time and to detail the benefits of reading widely in and about Wells. That said, there is a negative aspect of this book that I must deal with up front, because after all I am reviewing it in a particular context, namely for a scholarly sf periodical. Though this is a literary biography, Roberts notes at the start that “I make no claims to have uncovered any new material about Wells’s actual life” (v). This implies, of course, that as the book’s biographical aspect is largely dependent on existing studies, then its net worth is to be found in its literary commentary. Yet while this commentary is always engaging, it is not scholarly. Let me elaborate. Over the course of its 462 pages, Roberts does cite some of the major Wells biographical and critical studies. But consider: chapter 3 is entitled “Science Fiction” and deals with three works, The Time Machine (1895), The Wonderful Visit (1895), and The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896). Leaving aside for the moment two big generic questions raised by this grouping, let us look at the cited secondary sources for this chapter that, as is the practice in this volume, are listed in a Bibliography at the end of the chapter itself. There are only four entries in this chapter’s Bibliography, and only two—Norman and Jeanne MacKenzie’s 1973 biography of Wells and Leon Stover’s 1996 critical edition of The Time Machine—bear directly on the subject at hand. The generic questions that the chapter does not touch upon at all are: why is it now appropriate to discuss works of what Wells called scientific romance in a chapter entitled “Science Fiction”? And why is a 168 SCIENCE FICTION STUDIES, VOLUME 48 (2021) reading of The Wonderful Visit, a gentle proto-magical realist fantasy, included in this “Science Fiction” chapter, while discussion of, say, The War of the Worlds (1898), must wait until the next chapter, headed “Bicycles and Tripods”? As readers of SFS know, the bulk of Wells criticism is on the scientific romances, so one would think that Roberts, as both an academic and an sf novelist, would take particular care to build on existing work in these chapters. Is he deliberately downplaying the importance of the scientific romances in Wells’s oeuvre, as the author himself did later in life? No, I do not think so. It is simply that Roberts’s book is not intended as a work...