The Shrinking Man

Sex and science fiction were uncomfortable bed fellows in the 1950's, and I was surprised to find sexual issues addressed with some sympathy in Matheson's story of Scott Carey; The Shrinking Man. Shrinking an inch a week even after 6 months is likely to cause problems in many marital situations and after a year with no sign of a halt to the shrinking then relationships sexual and otherwise would have to be rethought. Scott Carey is a proud individualist and fights for survival until the very end; this does not usually sit with a more sensitive soul and after all this is a science fiction novel written in the 1950's when male chauvinistic men of mettle were the norm. Now I do not read science fiction from over 60 years ago for its show more exploration of sexual mores, but I do "sit up" when personal sexual difficulties are not only discussed, but are integral to the story line. Scott Carey in the prime of life does not lose his sexual appetite with his shrinking, but of course finds it difficult to talk about it to his wife.

In I Am Legend: Matheson first successful novel there was an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia along with an increasingly desperate battle against impossible odds. This formula is largely repeated here: when we meet Scott Carey he is an inch high and is running across a desert, being pursued by a spider. As the book unfolds we learn through flashbacks that Scott has been trapped in the cellar for the last two and a half months and that his world has shrunk with his size. He is an inch tall and is resigned to shrinking one seventh of an inch per 24 hours and so by the end of the week he will cease to exist. We learn that a toxic mixture of radiation and insecticide has caused his condition and despite many weeks of treatment no cure has been found. He has remained at home being supported by his wife and his young daughter to the best of their abilities, but after he loses his job then the family face an increasingly difficult financial situation. The flash backs are interspersed with Scotts battle to stay alive in an increasingly hostile environment for the last seven days of his life. Finding water and food sets him off on climbing expeditions that test his physical abilities to their limit as well as extreme problem solving. These sections of the story are an adventure wonderland, but the interspersions of the back story are no less intriguing. They are mostly skilfully done and reveal aspects of Scotts character as well as an increasing alienation from a world that has grown too big for him.

One of the most poignant episodes is before eventually being trapped in the cellar, he is banished there by his wife who has to employ a child minder while she goes out to work. Scott has dealt badly with the publicity caused by his condition and does not wish to expose himself any further hence he must hide in the cellar. He fantasises about a beautiful 17 year old female child minder and when he finally catches sight of her he sees a dumpy teenager, but he still cannot control his desire and risks his life for glimpses of her from the high cellar window. This exploration of an inner life, conscious and unconscious puts this book firmly in the category of a novel, albeit a fantasy novel. Matheson has created a fantasy world that is full of realism and although the science is pure gobbledygook, his world is one of wonder. The Shrinking Man was published in 1956 and is now part of the science fiction masterwork series. The book has of course been made into a successful film "The Incredible Shrinking Man" scripted partly by Matheson.
This is a fantasy novel, although a dark and brooding one with gothic elements that might appeal to a crossover readership, Matheson has also made a name for himself in the horror genre and as a genre novel I rate it as a five star read. show less

Lo que hace Richard Matheson con ‘El increíble hombre menguante’ no es nada fácil. El mérito de Matheson radica en hacer creíble una historia a todas luces fantástica, la de un hombre que va menguando día a día; y lo hace tan bien que sufres con el protagonista y con todos los obstáculos y padecimientos por los que pasa, en una gran labor por parte de Matheson en la construcción psicológica del personaje.

La historia comienza con una especie de nube radiactiva (un recurso muy de moda en los años 50 del siglo pasado; pero no se trata de una novela de ciencia ficción, sino más bien de una obra enmarcada en el fantástico) que baña a Scott Carey. A partir de este momento, nota que va perdiendo altura y peso, unos show more milímetros cada día. Mediante flashbacks iremos asistiendo a los sufrimientos por los que va pasando Carey en el sótano en el que está encerrado cuando mide unos centímetros, y a los problemas por los que fue pasando con su familia hasta llegar al sótano.

Ambas partes están muy logradas, en una estructura perfecta. Vamos viendo cómo se deteriora la relación con su mujer, que parece pasar de amante a figura materna, y cómo Carey sigue teniendo impulsos sexuales, que no puede satisfacer; así como también se muestra lo difícil que es relacionarse con su pequeña hija, sobre todo cuando esta lo sobrepasa en altura. Son igualmente destacables los enfrentamientos a los que ha de enfrentarse con personas que lo atacan por su condición de monstruo, incluso cuando intenta pasar por un niño más.

En cuanto a lo que va aconteciendo en el sótano, es el corazón de la novela, donde se aprecia realmente el terror y la soledad del protagonista, su imposibilidad de huída y comunicación con el exterior. Y tendrá que hacer frente a peligros y dificultades sin límite: el gran enfrentamiento con una viuda negra, la búsqueda de comida y agua, el frío… Y todo ello en completa soledad, y no nos olvidemos, menguando día a día. El final, absolutamente memorable.

El libro se completa con cuatro relatos cortos:

La prueba. Gran relato, donde Matheson especula sobre un futuro distópico, en el que la sociedad ha decidido terminar con los viejos, teniendo que pasar por una prueba para saber la condición en la que se encuentran. Se trata de un cuento que no deja indiferente.

Mantage. Extraño cuento en el que asistimos a la vida de un escritor como si del montaje de una película se tratase. Y es que 85 minutos pueden dar para mucho.

El repartidor. Leyendo este cuento es inevitable pensar en la gran influencia que Matheson ha sido para Stephen King. Esta historia parace el germen de ‘La tienda’ de King.

El diablo sobre ruedas (Duel). Breve relato que dio pie a la película de Steven Spielberg, que cuenta el duelo entre un conductor que se dirige tranquilamente a San Francisco por negocios y un misterioso camionero.

Resumiendo, se trata de un libro donde se puede degustar ese sabor a historias clásicas, bien contadas, de uno de los maestros de la literatura fantástica. show less

This is the book filmed in the 1950s as The Incredible Shrinking Man. Matheson also wrote I am Legend, the short story Duel (filmed by Spielberg) and several episodes of The Twilight Zone—which is what this book reminded me of: a cut-down version would have made a good T Zone episode.
    It's a lot darker than the movie though; bleaker, Scott Carey's suffering more relentless. He endures hunger, cold and despair. Also, as his body shrinks, his ego shrinks with it: we see a strapping six-footer no longer able to satisfy his wife; and reduced, briefly, to living in a dollshouse. In its way, like I am Legend, it's a sort of Last Man Left On Earth story too: as he dwindles further, he leaves the human world behind altogether: show more loneliness becomes an even bigger enemy than that Spider.
    Incidentally, for anyone who likes Shrunk-Down stories, there's another (Cold War in a Country Garden by Lindsay Gutteridge, from the 1970s) which is about as different in tone as could be. show less

Much more so than the excellent movie, the book gets inside the guy's head, and conveys the horrors of his situation in almost unbearable, naked detail. It's like a nightmare you can't wake up from. This is Matheson hitting on all cylinders with the impact of a primal scream. The ending that seemed abrupt and far-fetched in the movie seems inevitable here. They don't make horror stories any better than this.

One of my favorite movies of all time is The Incredible Shrinking Man, and one of my favorite writers-- when I was a tween and a teen-- was Richard Matheson. Matheson wrote Rod Serling's introduction to The Twilight Zone (as well as a few episodes) and many other short stories and books that were turned into film. I grew up liking what the man could do with my imagination.

The novel The Shrinking Man is the basis for the movie I mentioned above, and I wanted to see how they compared. If you're talking to a book lover, you will normally hear that the book is always better than the movie. But that's not true. In this case, the film is superior to the book, and it's got everything to do with the main character, Scott Carey.

While out on a show more boat, Carey is covered in a mysterious, glittering mist that he later finds out is part radiation, part insecticide. He begins to shrink. Steadily. Until he lives in fear of the family cat. But he continues to shrink, until-- trapped in the cellar of their house-- he finds himself continually fighting off a very determined spider.

This book can be very interesting to read. How can a man who's literally shrinking away to nothing be able to provide for his wife and his daughter? How are his wife and daughter going to be able to cope with this situation? There's a lot of good food for thought within the book's pages. Unfortunately, one thing almost completely ruined The Shrinking Man for me-- Scott Carey.

Now, don't get me wrong. I tried to cut Carey as much slack as I possibly could. After all, how on earth would I know how I'd react if the same thing happened to me? But it was a very difficult thing to do. Scott Carey is one of the most juvenile, thoughtless, self-centered, violent-tempered, unlikable, whiny characters I've come across in years. It got to the point where I was rooting for the spider to win but feeling guilty about it because the spider probably would've suffered from horrible heartburn.

So just remember. The book isn't always better than the movie. The Shrinking Man is a case in point. show less

I just happened to finish rereading this as I got the news of Richard Matheson's death. Sad news, indeed. His body of work hasn't been consistent, but it has been entertaining, and I suspect I have not read enough of it.

*There are spoilers in the last paragraph of this review.*

The Shrinking Man offers a somewhat contrived what-if scenario: what if a man started shrinking 1/7 of an inch every day? This could have been a gimmicky conceit, but Matheson turns it into a meditation on what it means to be a man. The hero's masculinity is chipped away each day by fractions of an inch, and the story chronicles his growing helplessness and frustration as he loses all of the authority he had been so accustomed to -- at first, over his wife; then, show more his daughter and other children; then, over household pets; and finally, over all animals such as birds and spiders. He is banished from work and his marital bed, then made to live in a dollhouse, and finally condemned to the cellar. The only way he can reassert his masculinity is to devise ways to survive, even though he feels like he has a clear end date.

In a lot of ways, The Shrinking Man reminds me of the much better Matheson novella, I Am Legend. Each stays in the head of a solitary hero, isolated by unnatural events beyond his control, struggling to hold onto his sanity and his sense of self.

The Shrinking Man is clearly a product of its time, an anguished and often cynical view of the emasculation of men in a changing era. Matheson does hold out hope in the end, that the Shrinking Man may not be completely extinguished by the forces around him, but may instead discover new worlds where he can reinvent and reassert himself. Depending on how the reader feels about masculinity, this may or may not be a happy ending. For me, it was an unexpected ending, and one that elevated this short novel well above a mere gimmick. show less

It’s a Small World ...

Most probably know this novel in its film form, which author Richard Matheson helped adapt to the screen. However, it is worth reading the original novel version because some aspects of the it never made it to the screen or were changed (such as the child molestation scene or his infidelity with Clarice).

Reading the novel provides you with a deeper understanding of the conflict shrinking, that is, becoming less a man, arouses in Scott Carey. His self-image, you might argue, is very 1950s and dated. While this may be true for a portion of the population, expectations change slowly for many people, and so Scott’s increasing feelings of inadequacy, his loss of his manly privileges, his sense of personal failure show more in not being able to provide for his family or make love to his wife, and his compensation strategies, particularly that of being primal male living by his wits (most strongly reflected in overcoming his spider fear and then dispatching his bane, the black widow, in the cellar). Ultimately, after much shrinkage and even more self-self-flagellation over his plight, Scott comes to terms with himself and looks forward to exploring new worlds, down to the subatomic.

The novel’s also interesting for the way Matheson has structured it. He divides the story between Scott as a seventh-inch man trapped in the basement of a house scavenging for food and water while fending off his personal imagined fears and the real fear of the black widow, and the process of Scott’s shrinking. In each scene of Scott reducing, we learn more about the indignities he has suffered and the concerns he has endured. With each scene, we grasp a bit more about his plight and how he finally ended up in the basement, forever separated from his family. (The film version is traditional linear storytelling.)

While classified in the science fiction genre, The Shrinking Man is as much, or perhaps more, a psychological thriller and a primer on the social structure and male exceptions of the 1950s. All in all, worthy of being included in the Library of America editions, and of your time. show less