The Enormous Word — Text and Context

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In Category - Other Worlds
Oberfield, William, McWilliams, Al, 1916-1993 [Illustrator] Project Gutenberg 2021 Not confirmed
Science fiction; Short stories; War stories; Human-alien encounters -- Fiction; Torture -- Fiction; Nuclear weapons -- Fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 6,300
Reading time 28 min
Text sections 1

For The Enormous Word — Text and Context, the stored edition analysis reports 6,300 words, 28 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 17.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

In William Oberfield's 1950 science fiction story, a desperate Earthman carries a box of refined uranium through a landscape controlled by alien invaders. The narrative shifts between frantic ground-level flight and the psychological pressure of omnipresent surveillance, building to a grotesque final confrontation that weaponizes the protagonist's own body.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.4/5

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

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  • Description quality20 pts
  • Title & short description10 pts
  • Source metadata20 pts
  • Text length15 pts
  • Chapters / structure15 pts
  • EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

Read the Text

One had to respect that power, if not admire it. Even now, they could bring quick death to every single Earthman by simply pressing a button somewhere in their one established city, in the Sahara Desert. Clever. It seemed they could do anything. Why wouldn't electric and internal combustion motors run since the coming of the space men? More important, how could their high-flying ships detect even the slightest unauthorized action on the ground below?

They had the world in their power, right enough, and even darkness brought the Earthmen no chance to strike back. The invaders called their ships back to the Sahara at dusk and at dusk all good little Earthmen went to bed, or went strangely to sleep where they stood.

Eberly called an end to his watchful reflections and darted into the open again like a frightened doe. This was the only chance and here, between the hidden place where determined men had worked tirelessly and ingeniously to refine only a small capsule of pure Uranium in a year and the hidden place where other learned men waited to incorporate the product into an atomic bomb that could destroy the city of the invaders completely, lay the greatest danger of defeat.

As he stumbled on toward his goal he cursed the power that made all modern conveyances impossible. This snail's pace across open country, under the cosmic microscope of the alien invaders, was maddening, with so much at stake. But it was no more so than the task of mining and refining ore or that of constructing an atomic bomb without the aid of modern machinery, no more so than being forced to live practically like wild animals as all must now do.

He swore to himself that a way would be--had to be--found to get that weapon across to the enemy once it was constructed. The steam engine had not been in use for years, but it would still work, and balloons, dirigibles, would still rise into the air. It might take another year or two years, but the invaders would learn that Earthmen don't give up easily. A way would be found!

Then it happened; the thing that made Winston Eberly curse and sweat and retract his noble thoughts. There would be no pitiful steam-powered dirigible or any other weapon carrier. What need for one, when the bomb, itself, would never be completed? The men waiting for the Uranium were never going to see it!

Without warning, something tugged at him, passed away and returned, unseen and weird. He took one straining step--two, and knew that he wouldn't take another. Like the petrified terror of dreams he strained against his unseen bonds, unable to lift or swing an arm.

Above his head a branch of a tree twisted and snapped, pulled away and hung suspended in mid-air. The branch remained the same distance above him as his feet left the ground. Its shadows still fell across him as the tops of trees swam below him.

Yes, it was the invaders. Up there, somewhere above him--he was unable to move his head to see where--they hovered safely out of reach of the fanatic hate of Earthmen and drew him up to them like a fish on a hook. He didn't mind for himself, but the U-235, a whole year of back-breaking work for his fellows, the very life, and freedom of Earth was being offered up to sad memories with him!

He choked back curses and sobs of frustration while he soared higher and tried to think. They would get the Uranium, those parodies of organic life, and that wasn't right. He had to get rid of it, hide it, throw it away! But how? How, when he was rising up through open air, unable to move a finger, could he dispose of it?

A dark shadow fell over him. An opening suction-cupped down around him and clanged shut. Only then did the terrible force that held him in its embrace subside. Only then was he able to move freely and his first thought, his first action, was to snatch the small box from his pocket and pry it open with shaking fingers.

He couldn't let the invaders profit in any way from the sweat of Earthmen. He had to dispose of that precious capsule at once! But--how? There were only smooth metal walls around him; no holes, no ledges, not a single hiding place for it and no way to get it out of the ship!

The story opens with a panicked internal monologue—Winston Eberly urging himself to run, hide, and crawl between cover while scanning the sky for glinting alien ships. This breathless, second-person imperative voice immediately establishes a hunted, claustrophobic atmosphere. The prose mirrors the protagonist's fractured state: short, staccato sentences punctuated by feverish self-encouragement. Oberfield grounds the science-fantasy premise in visceral physical detail—sweat, thirst, cuts, and the weight of a small box in Eberly's pocket containing refined U-235, the story's central object.

The Landscape of Pursuit

The narrative's structure alternates between two spatial registers: the ground-level, fragmented flight of Eberly and the omniscient, overhead menace of the blue-skinned invaders. The opening sequence is a series of dashes between hiding places—a big tree, shadows, open ground—each pause accompanied by a skyward check for glinting metal. This rhythm of concealment and exposure creates a pulse of tension that never fully relaxes. The invaders' control is total: they have shrouded Earth in a radiation that induces unconsciousness, destroyed all refined uranium, and rendered electric motors useless. Their city in the Sahara Desert serves as an unseen axis of power, from which they can detect any unauthorized action. The landscape itself becomes a trap, with no safe zone and darkness offering only a temporary, enforced truce as the aliens recall their ships at dusk.

The Box and the Body

Central to the plot is the small box of U-235, which Eberly treats almost as a talisman. He slaps his pocket and murmurs to it, calling it "good old U-235" and promising it will "pull us out of this mess." This object condenses the resistance effort—a year of hidden labor to refine a single capsule—and becomes the story's MacGuffin. Yet the narrative's most striking turn shifts focus from the box to Eberly's own body. Captured and subjected to a radiation generator, he feigns cowardice, then weaponizes a bodily function: his burp. The climax transforms a mundane, involuntary act into a destructive force that levels the alien stronghold, knocking gulls from the sky and rattling windows in Italy. This grotesque escalation undercuts the technological menace with absurdist, visceral humor.

Voice and Alien Dialogue

Oberfield gives the invaders a distinctive, broken English that marks them as foreign and arrogant. The torturer speaks in stilted phrases: "Oh, you are not think us are so weak now!" and "We see how you say burp when you get this!" This dialogue, combined with the watchers' murmured self-praise, paints the aliens as cruel but brittle, easily goaded by insults to their pride. Eberly exploits this, taunting them as "cowards who run from their home world." The linguistic contrast between Eberly's fluent, frantic interior monologue and the aliens' halting speech reinforces the power dynamic—and its reversal. The story's title, "The Enormous Word," may echo this verbal duel, though the excerpts do not explicitly define the phrase.

Recurring Motifs: Radiation and Surveillance

Two motifs recur throughout the excerpts: radiation and surveillance. Radiation appears first as the aliens' weapon—a shroud that brings unconsciousness and death—and later as the torture device aimed at Eberly. It is also the substance of the U-235 box, a double-edged power that the Earthmen have secretly refined. Surveillance is constant: the aliens detect "even the slightest unauthorized action" and can sense Eberly's emotions, dragging him to their city. The sky is never empty of potential watchers, and the narrative's repeated skyward glances reinforce this paranoia. These motifs converge in the final scene, where Eberly's burp—a bodily emission—mimics a radiation burst, turning the surveillance technology back on itself in a single, devastating release.

Readers should attend to the story's tonal shifts: it moves from survival thriller to absurdist comedy without warning, and the ending's sudden, almost cartoonish violence may feel jarring. The excerpts leave unresolved questions about the aliens' origins and the fate of other humans, but the focus remains tightly on Eberly's subjective experience. The narrative rewards attention to its physical details—the weight of the box, the texture of the ground, the quality of light—which ground the fantastical premise in a gritty, immediate reality.

That moment in Oberfield’s story, when the weight of everything becomes too physical to carry—it stayed with me for weeks. I found myself thinking about how bodies remember what minds try to forget, especially under pressure. There’s a quieter version of that in the way Fish Fry — A Closer Reading treats small rituals as their own kind of survival, and I haven’t stopped turning it over since.

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