The artificial man — A Closer Reading

From Debate to Dismemberment

The early pages establish Gregory through his own words and others' recollections. He is described as 'masterful' and 'dominating,' traits that the narrative will later render sinister. The debate topic—'Resolved that bodily perfection is a result of right thinking'—is not mere background; it becomes the story's philosophical engine. Gregory's belief in mental control over physical fate is tested when he is carried off the field unconscious. The amputation is reported with clinical brevity: 'his right leg was amputated just below the h...' The excerpt cuts off, but the trajectory is clear. Harris does not dwell on the surgery; instead, she lets the gap between Gregory's earlier confidence and his sudden vulnerability create unease.

The Control Board and the Clockwork Gait

When Gregory reappears as the 'artificial man,' the narrative voice shifts to David Bell's horrified perspective. Gregory demonstrates his mechanical body by dismembering himself, then explains: 'With the exception of the right arm I now move my body by electricity.' The control board on his chest becomes a focal point—a vulnerability that Bell later tries to exploit. Harris emphasizes the clock-like precision of Gregory's movements and the 'metallic fingers' that grip like a vise. The prose becomes more visceral: 'Down, down, those relentless claws bore him.' The earlier abstract discussion of replacement organs is now embodied in a predator. The pacing accelerates as Bell struggles against an opponent whose parts can be 'mended and replaced' like an automobile.

Rescue and Retrospective

The final excerpted section shifts to a recovery scene. Bell wakes to find Rosalind and Lucius Stevens at his bedside. Stevens recounts the rescue: he alerted police, who arrived with 'automatics and crow-bars.' The rescue is told in past tense, creating distance from the earlier immediacy. Harris uses this retrospective narration to frame the artificial man as a 'demon' and a 'self-made Frankenstein.' The phrase echoes the story's title and reinforces the moral: Gregory's hubris has created a monster. The pacing slows again, but the threat lingers. The excerpt ends with Stevens saying he will 'never forget the sight,' leaving the reader with the sense that the horror is not yet contained.

Harris's story moves through three distinct registers: a speculative essay on medical progress, a character study of a brilliant but arrogant young man, and a horror narrative about a mechanical predator. The shifts in pace—from measured exposition to sudden violence to reflective aftermath—mirror the theme of control lost and regained. Readers should attend to how the narrator's voice changes: the early clinical tone gives way to Bell's visceral fear, then to Stevens's grim summary. The artificial man is less a character than a consequence, and the story's power lies in watching that consequence unfold.

There’s a particular ache in The Artificial Man when the student’s metal body starts humming its own quiet song. It reminded me of the steady hiss of steam in the old Frank Reade, Jr., With His New Steam Man in Central America — Reading Companion, where machinery feels less like horror and more like a patient, iron-fisted companion. Both linger on what we lose when we let things carry us.