The Unsolved Mystery Behind The Time Machine Book Cover

by Liz Publika

Cover of the 1st British edition printing of The Time Machine by H.G. Wells | Source: Burnside Rare Books

Pictured here is the first true British edition of The Time Machine — a dystopian science fiction novella by writer and journalist H.G. Wells (1866-1946) — which was printed on May 29, 1895, as verified by leading science fiction bibliographer and rare book dealer L. W. Currey. It was issued in paperback at the exact same time as the hardcover cloth versions; what makes it rare is that few paperback copies survive today, since many were later stripped of their wrappers and rebound in cloth. But this book cover contains a mystery.

First, some context:

American book publisher and author Henry Holt (1840-1926) first printed The Time Machine as an independent novel shortly before May 7, in 1895, with the author being mistakenly credited as H. S. Wells. The error was corrected for the second printing.

English publisher William Heinemann (1863-1920) printed the version above. He is also generally understood to have bound and released 5,000 copies in paper wrappers and 1,000 in cloth between May and August of 1895 — as per Currey's bibliography — though other accounts put the split somewhat higher, at 6,000 and 1,500.

The Time Machine was the first Heinemann title issued with a bound-in catalog, reportedly added because the short text — which was under 40,000 words and under half an inch thick — needed physical bulking to look more substantial on shelves. As many as seven variations of the Heinemann first edition exist, distinguished mainly by how many catalog pages were bound in at the rear.

Heinemann is believed to have printed 10,000 copies in total, all dated 1895, but did not bind them all at once — binding more only as the market demanded, and adding updated catalog pages with each new batch, without ever changing the printed date. As a result, some copies bearing the "1895" date on the title page weren't actually bound and sold until after 1899, since their catalog pages include entries for books that weren't published until then.

Now, the problem:

Rare book experts use standard bibliographies — in this case, one by Currey — to verify first editions. An examination of the pictured book's inside reveals that the text, all 152 aged pages, trimmed edges, and the lack of a publisher's advertising catalog at the back are in fact what experts expect for the very first printing, called Issue A.

Inside of the 1st British edition printing of The Time Machine by H.G. Wells | Source: Burnside Rare Books

But even though the inside of the book checks out, the paper cover doesn't match any known version in the reference guides. Currey's guide describes the closest known wrapper version, called Binding D, as having a "heavy ornate border." But this copy has a plain and simple line border. In other words, it's a completely unrecorded variant, which is understandably an extremely exciting prospect for collectors.

Some plausible explanations:

Before making thousands of copies, publishers often printed small test batches to check the alignment or look of the book. Sometimes, they used a simpler, stripped-down cover layout for these internal or advance review copies before finalizing the elaborate, ornate design for the public release. The book in question may have been one of these.

It's also known that Heinemann printed 5,000 paperback copies but quickly realized that the cloth hardcover version was selling much faster. To capitalize, paper covers were actually stripped from many copies and rebound in cloth, while other soiled paper copies were rebound just to make them sellable. In the chaos of shifting, stripping, and rebinding these fragile sheets, the bindery may have produced a small, non-standard batch of paper covers using whatever basic layout was ready on the press.

Also, in 1895, printing a complex, ornate border required a specific engraved plate or printing block. If that block broke mid-run, or if the printer ran out of pre-printed ornate covers while they still had sheets of text left to bind, they would quickly set up a simple black rule (a standard line from their standard tray) to finish binding the remaining copies without delaying publication, which would explain the difference in visual complexity.

Of course, it's also entirely possible that L.W. Currey simply never encountered this specific variant when compiling his bibliography. Even the most thorough bibliographers can only document the copies they physically see or find in records; small regional or late-run batches frequently slip through the cracks of history until a copy like this surfaces on the market.

The copy remains unverified, and without additional examples surfacing, it may stay that way. The cover of The Time Machine, it seems, will remain a mystery for some time.

Note* Image available via Fair Use, source: Burnside Rare Books.