Fitz-James O'Brien lived only 33 years -- from 1828 till 1862 -- but in his brief life he left a mark that endures today. O'Brien endures because he was a remarkable writer. Remarkable indeed He had a way of blending of hard fact with almost-fanciful fantasy, juxtaposing technology and mysticism, creating convincing and scientific settings that play against the otherworldly romance. For all the weird fancifulness -- these days O'Brien is read mostly as a successor to Poe -- his work has qualities we now associate with science fiction: O'Brien clearly researched the field of microscopy before he wrote _The Diamond Lens_; it reads in places like hard SF. (Jacketless library hardcover.)

An absorbing and haunting collection of early science fiction tales by an Irish-American author Fitz-James O'Brien capitalized on the success of his predecessors Edgar Allan Poe and Mary Shelley in writing disturbing stories with demented protagonists, and this collection of three tales shows his mastery of the macabre. "The Diamond Lens" tells of a lone scientist's discovery of a microcosmic world within a drop of water, and his growing obsession with the beautiful Animula, a fair maiden within this world which he can see but never enter. His uncompromising pursuit of knowledge at any cost foreshadows the mad scientist familiar to readers in a multitude of works. In "What Was It?" an invisible man is discovered by residents of a boarding house. The residents' capture and investigation of the creature blends the fantastic with the scientific as they seek rational explanations for this extraordinary phenomenon. "The Wondersmith" is a macabre tale of an embittered toymaker who seeks revenge upon the society that has persecuted him by creating demonic mannequins and imbuing them with life in order to slaughter the masses— a fantastic melodrama in which the cunning Wondersmith is offset by the unassuming and unlikely hero Solon the hunchback, in love with the villain's daughter.

The Diamond LensBy Fitz-James O'Brien

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FROM a very early period of my life the entire bent of my inclinations had been toward microscopic investigations. When I was not more than ten years old, a distant relative of our family, hoping to astonish my inexperience, constructed a simple microscope for me by drilling in a disk of copper a small hole in which a drop of pure water was sustained by capillary attraction. This very primitive apparatus, magnifying some fifty diameters, presented, it is true, only indistinct and imperfect forms, but still sufficiently wonderful to work up my imagination to a preternatural state of excitement. Seeing me so interested in this rude instrument, my cousin explained to me all that he knew about the principles of the microscope, related to me a few of the wonders which had been accomplished through its agency, and ended by promising to send me one regularly constructed, immediately on his return to the city. I counted the days, the hours, the minutes that intervened between that promise and his departure.