CLARE WINGER HARRIS (1891–1968) was a pioneering SF author who published more than a dozen genre stories in the late 1920s and early 1930s. She was the first woman to publish stories under her own name in SF specialist magazines and is remembered for providing SF with some of its first strong female characters. Born Clare Winger in Freeport, Illinois, she grew up reading the work of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Winger attended Smith College in Massachusetts, a school known for educating women in the sciences.6 After college Winger “made two trips to Europe and one to Egypt and Greece” (Harris, Away 11). She married the industrial engineer Frank C. Harris in Chicago in 1912. By 1920 Harris had three sons and lived in Fairfield, Iowa; on the back cover of her 1947 short story collection entitled Away from the Here and Now, she proudly proclaimed that all three of her sons had “inherited their mother’s love of science” and had grown up to become scientists and engineers (Harris, Away 11).

  Harris considered herself primarily a housewife and even listed her occupation as “none” with the census. However, she enjoyed a successful writing career throughout the 1920s. Her first novel, Persephone of Eleusis: A Romance of Ancient Greece, appeared in 1923 and her first SF story, “A Runaway World,” appeared in the July 1926 issue of Weird Tales. Dramatizing an apocalyptic future in which Mars and Earth leave their orbits and humans must use an atomic heater to stay alive until their planet settles around a new sun, “A Runaway World” demonstrates Harris’s ability to write action-packed, scientifically inspired tales. Given her optimism about the possibilities of science and technology, it was inevitable that Harris would publish most extensively in Hugo Gernsback’s new SF specialist magazines. The first story she published with him, “The Fate of the Poseidonia,” was written for a contest and appeared in the June 1927 issue of Amazing Stories.7 In introducing this story, Gernsback made his often-quoted comment about women in the genre: “That the third prize winner should prove to be a woman was one of the surprises of the contest, for, as a rule, women do not make good scientifiction writers, because their education and general tendencies on scientific matters are usually limited” (“Headnote to ‘The Fate of the Poseidonia’” 245). Harris went on to sell ten more stories to the Amazing franchise, and by 1929 Gernsback no longer expressed amazement at her writing but simply referred to her as “our well-known author, Mrs. Harris” (“Headnote to ‘The Evolutionary Monstrosity’” 70).

  Harris’s careful attention to science and technology is evident in “The Evolutionary Monstrosity,” which appeared in the Winter 1929 issue of Amazing Stories Quarterly and was accompanied by the newspaper article about bacterial evolution that inspired it. “The Evolutionary Monstrosity” is written in the tradition of Gothic science fiction and includes elements similar to those found in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) and H. G. Wells’s The Island of Dr. Moreau (1896)—among them, most notably, the character of the mad scientist who refuses to accept the shared standards of his community, preferring instead to pursue questionable lines of inquiry from the privacy of his isolated laboratory. Much like other women writing Gothic SF for genre magazines (such as Dorothy Quick, whose “Strange Orchids” is featured in this anthology), Harris uses her story to critically assess patriarchal scientific practices in a manner reminiscent of Shelley, whose novels can be “read as a warning about the dangers of female exclusion from science as well as about the powers of reproduction” (Roberts 25). However, Harris departs from Shelley in two key respects. First, she uses the character Dorothy Staley to show how even the most radical scientific practices might be beneficial if applied in moderation. Second, she draws on another popular nineteenth-century literary tradition, domestic fiction, to show how the home can become a space of scientific adventure and to imagine a new kind of compassionate hero who is the ideal partner for the modern woman.

  Like other women featured in this volume, Harris achieved a number of firsts within her chosen genre. In addition to being the first woman to publish in the SF specialist magazines under her own name, Harris may also have been the first author of either sex to create a taxonomy of SF themes: in a letter published in the August 1931 issue of Wonder Stories, Harris lists sixteen such themes, including some that were particularly relevant to her own historical moment, such as “ray and vibration stories” and “gigantic man-eating plants” as well as those that continue to engage readers today, including “the creation of synthetic life” and “natural cataclysms; extraterrestrial or confined to the Earth” (“Possible” 426–27). In 1947, she republished all her stories in “one of the earliest collections” by an SF writer from the Gernsback years (Bleiler and Bleiler 172). That collection, Away from the Here and Now, earned Harris an award from the Los Angeles Manuscripters. Today, feminist scholars credit Harris as one of the first authors to recognize SF’s potential for both scientific and social extrapolation, especially as it pertains to issues of sex and gender, and her stories appear in anthologies including Justine Larbalestier’s Daughters of Earth and Mike Ashley’s The Dreaming Sex.

  “The Evolutionary Monstrosity”

  Amazing Stories Quarterly, Winter 1929

  I

  I believe you three fellows are going to startle the world yet,” Professor Lewis of the biology department of our college remarked when we three students, who had termed ourselves the triumvirate, gathered in the laboratory at the close of class. “Marston, what was that theory of evolution you hinted at just before the bell rang? It sounded interesting.”

  Ted Marston laughed in a slightly embarrassed manner, though modesty was not ordinarily an outstanding attribute of Ted’s character. His environment, judging from the little information we were able to glean from time to time, had been one of poverty and squalor. He was working his way through college and had proved a credit to that institution.

  “Oh, it’s a little far-fetched, professor, and I’m afraid my two highbrow pals here will think I’m cuckoo,” and he tapped his head significantly, “but the idea’s been grinding away in my brain for several days now.”

  “Out with it, Ted,” said Irwin Staley jocosely. “Remember this triumvirate holds no secrets from itself. All thoughts are shared.”

  Irwin was the son of a wealthy New York broker and had been raised with every luxury that the modern age was capable of producing. His was a brilliant mind, too, but it somehow lacked the initiative that necessity had instilled into the being of Theodore Marston.

  “Well, if you insist,” replied Ted more seriously. “It’s something like this. I wonder if evolution isn’t the result of a certain bacterial growth which slowly and continuously changes the cellular structure of living organisms, causing the formation of new tissue and organs and breaking down the old.”

  “Poppycock and fiddlesticks!” ejaculated Professor Lewis. “Environment must also play a part in evolutionary change, for evolution is adaptability to environment, and Darwin was right in his theory of the survival of the fittest.”

  I’ll admit I was dumbfounded by Marston’s assertion, but not so Irwin Staley.

  “Ted,” he cried with enthusiasm, “you’ve got the right dope. It sounds so reasonable. But can you prove it?”

  “I sure will,” he answered, “if only for the satisfaction of convincing those doubting Thomases,” indicating the professor and myself, who looked our incredulity.

  “The only way you can prove it,” I said, “is to develop specimens more rapidly than environment could possibly change them.”

  “That is precisely what I intend to do,” he said.

  II

  I, Frank Caldwell, could boast of no extremes either in environment or hereditary. My people were middle class, my father being a factory owner in a small town in Iowa. My collegiate rank was slightly above the average, though I showed a decided preference for biology, in which study my two friends excelled.

  Following graduation I became Professor Lewis’s assistant, after the position had been refused by Marston. It seems the enthusiasm that Ted Marston felt had been shared, as I feared, by Irwin Staley, who placed at his chum’s disposal ample funds for the purpose of developing his theory of evolution. Thus the “triumvirate” dwindled temporarily to two, while I, troubled with no new, fanciful ideas, taught my classes with no inkling of what was to come.

  One warm day in June at the close of the school year, I received a letter from Ted and Irwin, who were at the latter’s specially equipped laboratory, endeavoring to carry out Ted’s great scheme for proving to the world the primary causes of evolutionary changes in mankind.

  The letter ran as follows:

  Dear Frank,

  A meeting of the triumvirate is called for the first possible moment you can get here. We want you in on this. We are in a position to convince you whether you will or no! You can be of real assistance to us in the carrying out of our plans. Don’t delay.

  Ted and Irwin

  I had vaguely planned a European trip for the summer, but abandoned the rather hazy idea upon receipt of my friends’ letter. My curiosity was unquestionably aroused. Had the two succeeded in isolating the “evolution germ” and in putting their theory to a test? It seemed incredible and yet stranger things have happened.

  Wonderingly, and not wholly without excitement, I presented myself at the Staley mansion, which stood secluded in the center of a twenty-acre estate. I was surprised to have the door opened, not by a servant, but by Mrs. Staley herself, and I could tell at once by her manner that something was the matter.

  Irwin had always been proud of his mother, and justifiably so, for she was a woman of keen intellect and young in appearance for her years. She was obviously nervous when she bade me be seated for a moment, before going out to the laboratory on the rear of the estate. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but I felt that she wanted to approach me upon what was a vital subject to her, but that she lacked the courage to do so. I finally decided to “break the ice” myself.

  “How are Irwin and Ted getting along with their experiments?” I asked. I knew the subject had to be broached, painful though it was.

  She looked away with a quick, nervous movement that had something of fear in it, then she seemed to gain control of herself.

  “Frank,” she said earnestly, “can’t you stop them? It is my opinion they are guilty of great desecration. One cannot so distort God’s laws without evil results.”

  At once my old habit of defending my friends came to the front.

  “But is it distortion?” I countered. “They are breaking no natural laws. They are merely speeding them up. Where would we be today, Mrs. Staley, had we failed to speed up and control the use of electricity? Left to its natural manifestations, it would not turn the wheels of our machinery nor send our voices to remote parts of the world.”

  “Well, I do not know,” she said miserably, “but I cannot feel that it is right.”

  Suddenly she stiffened and gave vent to a muffled scream. “It is coming. I can feel it near!”

  Before I had time to question her meaning, I felt rather than saw a malign presence in the room. I turned from the woman, who was now frightened into speechlessness, to gaze down into a pair of evil eyes a few inches above the floor.

  “My God, what is it?” I cried, sharing her terror in spite of myself.

  My fright seemed to cause her to find voice, and she replied, scarcely above a whisper. “It was once my beautiful tabby cat, Cutey.”

  “Cutey!” I gasped. “What a name for that!”

  I have always been very fond of cats, and at one time was nicknamed “old maid” because of the fondness I showed for the species. But this unnamable horror! It stood upright on two clumsily padded feet. Furless, its flesh the color of a decaying corpse, it seemed to me a miniature ghoul. The lidless eyes stared up into mine with an implacable hatred. But it was what I presume had once been whiskers that held my half-reluctant, half-fascinated attention. They bristled separately as though imbued with individual volition.

  Suddenly a shrill whining voice spoke and I forced my eyes whence it came. It issued from the tiny, malformed object on the rug—from the travesty of feline beauty as we know it.

  “You are wanted in the laboratory. Come at once.”

  Yes, that hairless, furless object, no bigger than a mouse, that stood on two feet and gazed at me with deep malevolence, had issued a command, and I could do naught but obey!

  I turned to Mrs. Staley, but she was sitting with her head buried in her arms, so I silently left her and followed “Cutey” from the room.

  As I entered the reception hall I heard the approach of a light footfall. I must have jumped unknowingly for my nerves were a-jangle after the experience of the last few minutes, and a peal of merry laughter tore my eyes from Cutey.

  A girl was standing at the foot of the stairs regarding me with a quizzical smile. My first impression of her was that she was beautifully and expensively clothed, and I am not a man who ordinarily observes clothes before people. In this particular instance, however, the clothes really possessed more personality than their wearer. The girl was pretty in an insipid, baby-doll way. I knew at once that she was Irwin’s sister for she was a feminine counterpart to her brother, minus Irwin’s rather attractive personality.

  “Isn’t Cutey a dear?” she asked with a giggle.

  “I don’t quite agree with you—er—Miss Staley?” I asked stepping toward her.

  “Yes, I’m Irwin’s kid sister and I suppose you’re Frank Caldwell. Irwin’s mentioned you so often. But I don’t see why you don’t like Cutey. She’s quite intelligent, you know.”

  “Ye—es, I don’t dispute that Miss Staley, but she seems to lack some necessary qualities to make her attractive,” I said, and to myself I thought, “and so does a certain young lady!”

  “Your mother seems genuinely distressed over this evolution business, Miss Staley, and well she may be. I think it has gone too far,” I continued.

  “Gone too far!” she echoed. “Why it’s only just begun, and by the way, call me Dot and I’ll call you Frank. It’s easier.”

  “Why what else have Irwin and Ted done along this line?” I asked, ignoring her remark.

  “It isn’t Irwin,” she corrected. “It’s Ted,” and at the mention of the latter’s name she smiled simperingly, I suppose to give me the impression that there was an understanding between them.

  “Well, he’s welcome to her,” I thought. Aloud I said, “It seems to me your mother’s feelings should be considered in this matter and I know she disapproves.”

  “Oh, mother’s so fussy,” she replied as she tripped to the full-length mirror and surveyed herself critically but with very evident ultimate approval. “Ted is really doing something wonderful for humanity, you know. At least that’s what he says, and I like to believe him.”

  Suddenly I looked at Cutey, my gaze drawn in that direction involuntarily. The round, blinkless eyes of the cat (if I can call it such) were regarding me with impelling magnetism, and all the long whiskers were pointed toward me. With a brief “good-bye” to Dorothy Staley, I opened the door and followed the feline horror into the open. As I shut the door behind me, I heard Mrs. Staley call her daughter to her.

  III

  “If I could but kill it!” I thought as I followed the thing along the flower-bordered path. “Is it a representation of the future? God forbid the development of such life upon this globe! It would seem that the evolutionary processes minus the modification of environmental influences point toward retrogression instead of progress. Man dare not tamper with God’s plan of a general, slow uplift for all humanity.”

  At length the laboratory appeared ahead of me and I hurried toward it, with something of joy at the prospect of meeting my old chums once more. Forgotten for the moment was the diminutive horror that had once been a cat, as I eagerly grasped the hands of Ted and Irwin, who drew me into the building with many expressions of cordiality.

  “Quite some workshop, eh?” queried Ted with an air of pardonable pride.

  “Indeed it is,” I replied fervently. “I wish the college had half the equipment you’ve got here.”

  Irwin’s brow puckered into a little frown. “I have neglected dear old Alma Mater. They would appreciate some more paraphernalia there, wouldn’t they, Frank?”

  “Indeed they would,” I echoed heartily. “The department’s running down, and poor Professor Lewis is about at his rope’s end.”

  It was now Marston whose brow clouded, but not with remorse.

  “Lay off the sentimental Alma Mater stuff, Irwin,” he said. “They’ve got enough equipment there to educate the mediocre college boy. Your money and energy can do more good here.”

  I was not a little shocked at Ted’s depreciative words—he who had always been such a loyal alumnus of the university! It displeased me to find none of the former joviality and loyalty that had characterized him in college days.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to voice a protest against the preferable equipage of a private laboratory over that of a public institution, but on Irwin’s account I stayed the impulse.

  “Well,” I said finally, in well-controlled tones, “how are the evolution bugs ‘evoluting’?”

  Ted and Irwin exchanged hasty glances, and I looked at Ted, for it was evident he was the spokesman and mastermind.

  “What did you think of Cutey, if I may answer your question with another?” Ted Marston asked with a half smile.