Like Colson Whitehead's Zone One without the zombie camp and idiom, Theodore Savage is a dark, strange, and cruelly contemporary tale of The Ruin and the post-apocalyptic condition that follows. The book makes a spirited argument against science and machines, disputing itself viciously to the last word. -- Alexis Madrigal, The Atlantic "Miss Hamilton always writes forcibly, and her present novel deals with the heart shaking effects of the next war. It might, indeed, be used as a tract to convey an awful warning." -- The Spectator (1922) "A particularly effective and chilling version of a theme that dominates British speculative fiction between the wars." -- Anatomy of Wonder, Neil Barron, ed. "Hamilton is one of the first -- and among the darkest -- of those UK novelists whose vision of things was shaped by WWI, which they saw as foretelling the end of civilization." The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, Clute and Nicholls, eds.
It amazed him, looking back, to realize the swiftness with which ordered society had crumbled; laws, systems, habits of body and mindthey had gone, leaving nothing but animal fear and the animal need to be fed. Within little more than a week of the night when young Hewlett had called him to watch the red flashes and the glare in the sky, there remained of the fabric of order built up through the centuries very little but a military force that was fighting on two sidesagainst inward disorder and alien attackand struggling to maintain itself alive. Automatically, inevitablyunder pressure of starvation, blind vagrancy and terrorthat which had once been a people, an administrative whole, was relapsing into a tribal separatism, the last barrier against nomadic anarchy.... As famished destitution overran the country, localities not yet destitute tried systematically and desperately to shut out the vagrant and defended what was left to them by force. Countrymen beat off the human plague that devoured their substance and trampled their crops underfoot; barriers were erected that no stranger might pass and bloody little skirmishes were frequent at the outskirts of villages. As bread grew scarcer and more precious, the penalties on those who stole it were increasingly savage; tribal justicelynch lawtook the place of petty sessions and assize, and plunderers, even suspected plunderers, were strung up to trees and their bodies left dangling as a warning.... And a day or two later, it might be, the poison-fire swept through the fields and devoured the homes of those who had executed tribal justice; or a horde of destitution, too strong to be denied, drove them out; and, homeless in their turn, they swelled the tide of plunderers and vagrants.... Man, with bewildering rapidity, was slipping through the stages whereby, through the striving of long generations, he had raised himself from primitive barbarism and the law that he shares with the brute.