The Truth About Pyecraft

H. G. Wells wrote a short story called The Truth About Pyecraft. He was a writer from England. He also wrote The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, and The Invisible Man. This story came out in 1903. Wells is famous for stories about aliens and time travel. But this story is a funny one. Still, it uses the same big imagination. It asks, "What if a wish comes true in the wrong way?"

The story happens in a club for men in London. The man telling the story watches Mr. Pyecraft. Pyecraft is the fattest man in the club. He is very, very big, and he wants to be thin very badly. He hears about an old recipe. The storyteller's great-grandmother got it in India long ago. It is a medicine for losing weight. Every day, Pyecraft asks for it. In the end, the storyteller says yes.

Wells often laughs at Pyecraft in this story. Pyecraft wants to sound smart. So he says strange foreign words, like "niente, nefas." They are a mix of Italian and Latin, but they mean nothing. You do not need to look them up. Wells uses them to make a little fun of Pyecraft. They are not words to learn.

Then two weeks go by. There is no news. After that, a short message comes: "For Heaven's sake come. Pyecraft." The storyteller runs to Pyecraft's home. There, he finds a big surprise. The recipe worked. But it worked in a very strange way.

What did the recipe really do? And how can Pyecraft live a normal life again? The story is short, but it has a very funny idea. Let's find out what it is.

In the London club, Mr. Pyecraft is the fattest man of all. He is very, very heavy. He eats and drinks more than anyone. He has teacakes with butter, sausages, beer, and sweet puddings. But he is not happy. More than anything, he wants to lose weight.

Pyecraft hears a story. Long ago, the storyteller's great-grandmother lived in India. She got strange recipes from doctors there. One of them is a medicine for losing weight. Pyecraft asks the storyteller for it every day. He says, "I will not tell anyone." He even says strange foreign words, like "niente, nefas." He wants to show that he is serious.

The storyteller does not want to give it to him. The recipe looks strange. Some of the things in it are hard to find. But Pyecraft asks again and again. In the end, the storyteller writes it down and gives it to him. Pyecraft takes the paper home. To him, it is a treasure.

Two weeks go by. The storyteller hears nothing from Pyecraft. He starts to think about it. Maybe Pyecraft stopped trying. Or maybe something very bad happened.

Then one morning, a short message comes. It says, "For Heaven's sake come. Pyecraft." It is a scary message.

The storyteller hurries across London to Pyecraft's home. A woman works in the house. She meets him at the door. Her face is white, and she does not understand what is happening. She has not seen Pyecraft for days. But she hears his voice from the living room. He asks for strange things, like small, light meals.

The storyteller goes in alone. At first, he sees nobody. The chair is empty. The sofa is empty, too. Then he hears Pyecraft's quiet voice. "Shut the door, old man. Shut the door."

The storyteller turns around. Then, slowly, he looks up.

Pyecraft is on the ceiling! His big body is stuck up there, like a fly on the white wall. The old recipe worked, but not in the way he wanted. Pyecraft is not thin at all. He is just as fat as before. But now he has no weight. Nothing pulls him down. So he cannot fall to the floor.

Soon the storyteller has an idea. He buys heavy boots for Pyecraft. He also buys heavy underwear for him to wear under his suit. With these on, Pyecraft can walk in the streets again. He looks like a normal man. But the medicine is still in his body. So he must never take off his clothes in front of other people.

Wells liked this kind of "what if" idea. A wish comes true, but in the wrong way. The story is funny. It is also a small piece of science fiction. It starts with one strange idea and follows it to the end. The end is silly and a little embarrassing. Here is the truth about Pyecraft: he got just what he asked for.

The Truth About Pyecraft is a short story by H. G. Wells, the English author who is also known for The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, and The Invisible Man. It was first published in 1903. Unlike Wells's famous stories about aliens and time travel, this one is a comedy. However, it shows the same playful imagination, asking "what if?" about an ordinary wish that goes terribly wrong.

The story is set in a gentlemen's club in London. The narrator keeps an eye on the fattest member of the club, Mr. Pyecraft. Pyecraft is enormous, and he is desperate to become thin. He has heard that the narrator's great-grandmother left behind an unusual recipe from India, a "loss of weight" cure from the East. Day after day, Pyecraft begs the narrator for it, and in the end the narrator gives in.

Throughout the story, Wells enjoys making fun of Pyecraft's attempts to look important. In order to sound educated, Pyecraft mutters foreign phrases such as "niente, nefas," a confused mixture of Italian and Latin that has no meaning in either language. There is no need to look these words up. Wells includes them to gently laugh at Pyecraft's vanity, not to teach you any foreign vocabulary.

Two weeks go by without a word. Then a telegram arrives: "For Heaven's sake come — Pyecraft." When the narrator rushes to Pyecraft's flat, he finds something completely different from what he expected. The recipe has worked, but in a way nobody could have imagined.

What has the recipe actually done? And how can a man in such a strange situation ever return to a normal life? Although Wells's tale is short, its central joke is one of the most charming "what if" twists in Edwardian comedy.

Mr. Pyecraft is the fattest man in the London club, weighing nearly thirty stone. He eats and drinks more than anyone, from buttered teacakes and sausages to beer and puddings, yet he is deeply unhappy. More than anything, he wants to lose weight.

Pyecraft has heard a rumour. The narrator's great-grandmother once lived in India, where she collected unusual recipes from local healers. Among her notes, there is said to be a "loss of weight" cure. Day after day, Pyecraft begs the narrator to give it to him, promising that he will tell no one. He even mutters foreign phrases, such as "niente, nefas," to show how serious he is.

The narrator is unwilling at first. The recipe looks odd, and some of the ingredients are difficult to get. Pyecraft, however, will not stop pleading. Finally, the narrator copies it out and hands it over, and Pyecraft carries the paper away as if it were treasure.

Two weeks go by, and the narrator hears nothing at all. He begins to wonder whether Pyecraft has given up, or, even worse, whether something has gone terribly wrong.

Then, one morning, a telegram arrives. The message is short and alarming: "For Heaven's sake come. — Pyecraft."

The narrator hurries across London to Pyecraft's flat in Bloomsbury. The housekeeper meets him at the door, looking pale and confused. She has not seen her master for days, although she has heard his voice from inside the sitting-room. He has been asking for unusual things, such as light meals and no heavy dishes.

The narrator goes in by himself. At first, he cannot see anyone. The chair is empty, and so is the sofa. Then Pyecraft's voice calls softly, "Shut the door, old man. Shut the door."

The narrator turns around, and then slowly looks up.

Pyecraft is on the ceiling. His huge body is pressed against the white plaster like a fly, stuck high above the room. The great-grandmother's recipe has worked, but not in the way he had hoped. Pyecraft has not lost any of his fat at all. What he has lost is his weight, in other words, the pull of gravity itself. He is just as large as before, but he can no longer fall.

The narrator soon comes up with a solution. He buys boots with lead soles and special heavy underclothes for Pyecraft to wear under his suit. Wearing these, Pyecraft can walk through the streets again and look completely normal. However, the cure is still inside him, so he must never undress where anyone might see him.

Wells loved this kind of "what if" idea, in which a wish comes true but in completely the wrong way. The story is a comedy, but it is also a tiny piece of science fiction: it takes one strange idea and follows it all the way to its silly, embarrassing ending. The truth about Pyecraft is that he got exactly what he asked for.

The Truth About Pyecraft is a short comic piece by H. G. Wells, the English novelist equally renowned for The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, and The Invisible Man. First published in 1903, it departs from the extraterrestrial invasions and temporal voyages for which Wells is celebrated, adopting instead a comic register, yet it exhibits the same impish imagination, posing a whimsical "what if?" about a mundane wish that backfires spectacularly.

The narrative is set in a London gentlemen's club, where the narrator observes its most corpulent member, Mr. Pyecraft. Gargantuan and desperate to slim, Pyecraft has learnt that the narrator's great-grandmother bequeathed an arcane Indian recipe, an Eastern remedy for "loss of weight." He importunes the narrator for it relentlessly, day after day, until the latter finally capitulates.

Wells takes evident relish in puncturing Pyecraft's pretensions throughout. Eager to appear erudite, Pyecraft mumbles foreign tags such as "niente, nefas," a garbled amalgam of Italian and Latin that is meaningless in both. Readers need not consult a dictionary; Wells retains these phrases to satirise Pyecraft's vanity affectionately, not to impart any foreign vocabulary.

A fortnight elapses in silence. Then a telegram arrives: "For Heaven's sake come — Pyecraft." Hastening to Pyecraft's flat, the narrator encounters a scene utterly at odds with his expectations. The recipe has indeed taken effect, but in a fashion no one could have foreseen.

What precisely has the remedy wrought? And how might a man in so extraordinary a predicament ever resume a conventional existence? Brief as it is, Wells's tale hinges on one of the most beguiling "what if" conceits in all of Edwardian comic fiction.

Mr. Pyecraft is the most corpulent figure in the London club, tipping the scales at nearly thirty stone. He gorges himself more prodigiously than anyone else, on buttered teacakes, sausages, beer, and puddings alike, and yet he is thoroughly wretched, yearning above all else to shed weight.

A rumour has reached his ears. The narrator's great-grandmother, it transpires, once resided in India and amassed peculiar recipes from indigenous healers, among which is reputed to be a remedy for "loss of weight." Pyecraft implores the narrator to divulge it, day in and day out, solemnly vowing absolute discretion, and even muttering foreign tags such as "niente, nefas" to underscore his earnestness.

The narrator demurs. The recipe appears outlandish, and several of its ingredients are notoriously elusive. Pyecraft, however, is indefatigable in his entreaties. Eventually the narrator relents, transcribes the formula, and surrenders it, whereupon Pyecraft bears the paper away as reverently as if it were a priceless relic.

A fortnight passes without any word. The narrator begins to speculate whether Pyecraft has abandoned his quest or, more ominously, whether some calamity has befallen him.

Then one morning a telegram arrives, its message as terse as it is disquieting: "For Heaven's sake come. — Pyecraft."

The narrator hastens across London to Pyecraft's flat in Bloomsbury, where the housekeeper greets him at the threshold, ashen and bewildered. She has not laid eyes on her master for days, though his voice has issued from behind the sitting-room door, demanding curious provisions: light fare, and nothing in the way of heavy dishes.

The narrator ventures in unaccompanied. Initially the room appears deserted; both the armchair and the sofa stand vacant. Then Pyecraft's voice murmurs, almost plaintively, "Shut the door, old man. Shut the door."

The narrator turns, and then, with dawning apprehension, slowly lifts his gaze.

Pyecraft is on the ceiling, his colossal frame plastered against the white surface like a fly, marooned far above the floor. The great-grandmother's recipe has indeed taken effect, though hardly as he had envisaged. Pyecraft has not forfeited an ounce of his girth; what he has relinquished is his weight, the very pull of gravity. He remains as stout as ever, yet he is now incapable of falling.

The narrator promptly devises an expedient. He procures lead-soled boots and specially weighted undergarments for Pyecraft to wear beneath his suit, thus enabling him to perambulate the streets once more while appearing entirely unremarkable. The remedy, however, remains active within him, and he must never disrobe where he might be observed.

Wells relished precisely this sort of speculative conceit, a wish fulfilled but in an egregiously perverse manner. The story is a comedy, yet it is equally science fiction in miniature: a single outlandish premise pursued with rigorous logic to its absurd and mortifying conclusion. The truth about Pyecraft, ultimately, is that he obtained exactly what he had asked for.