Christopher Priest - The Inverted World

“But it’s only your perception,” she said.

“And I perceive that you are wrong. I know what I see.”

“But you don’t.”

A few minutes later a large crowd of men passed us, heading south towards the city. Most of them were carrying the possessions they had taken with them to the bridge site. None of them acknowledged us.

I walked faster, trying to leave her behind. She followed, leading her horse by its harness.

The bridge site was deserted. I walked down the river-bank to the soft, yellow soil and walked out along the surface of the bridge. Beneath me the water was calm and clear, although waves still broke on the bank behind me.

I turned and looked back. Elizabeth was standing on the bank with her horse, watching me. I stared at her for a few seconds, then reached down and took off my boots. I moved away from her, to the very end of the bridge.

I looked over at the sun. It was dipping down towards the north-eastern horizon. It was beautiful in its own way. A graceful, enigmatic shape, far more aesthetically satisfying than a simple sphere. My only regret was that I had never been able to draw it successfully.

I dived from the bridge head first. The water was cold, but not unpleasantly so. As soon as I surfaced an incoming wave pushed me back against the nearest bridge pile, and I kicked myself away from it. With strong, steady strokes I swam northwards.

I was curious to know if Elizabeth was still watching, so I turned on my back and floated. She had moved away froni the ridge and was now riding her horse slowly along the uneven surface of the bridge. When she reached the end she stopped.

She sat in the saddle and looked in my direction.

I continued to tread water, waiting to see if she would make any gesture towards me. The sun was bathing her in a rich yellow light, stark against the deep blue of the sky behind her.

I turned, and looked towards the north. The sun was setting, and already most of its broad disk was out of sight. I waited until its northern spire of light had slipped down below the horizon. As darkness fell I swam back through the surf to the beach.

The notion that provides the basis of this novel first came to me in 1965. For eight years I wrestled with it, and in so doing talked out the idea to many of my friends. To them I at last offer my thanks for listening, and the hope that the book is worth their while. Such was the extent of my boorishness that there are too many people to list individually, but I owe especial thanks to the following friends:

Graham Charnock, who suggested the guilds.

Christine Priest, who persuaded a computer to draw me a hyperboloid planet.

Fried. Krupp GmbH, of Essen, who unknowingly provided the computer.

Kenneth Bulmer, who listened longer and more patiently than most, and who gave me positive encouragement to write first the story and then the book.

Brian Aldiss, who wanted the city to go the other way.

Virginia Kidd, who finally convinced me I might be on to something when she told me the physics had a hole so large a city could be driven through.