Red Weed

The red weed (also referred to as the red creeper or the red swamp) is a fictional plant native to Mars in the novel The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells. It is this plant that supposedly gives Mars its dull red colour. It is one of the several types of plants brought to Earth possibly accidentally by the invading Martians, but the only one that truly was able to adapt and grow widespread on Earth. When it is exposed to water, it grows and reproduces explosively, flooding the neighboring countryside as it clogs streams and rivers. The narrator mentions near the end of "The Man on Putney Hill" that the weed glows purple at night. He tries eating some, but it has a metallic taste. Though it engulfed the native plant life of Earth it also succumbed to the effects of Earth bacteria.

Wells' earlier short story, "The Crystal Egg", features a "dense, red weed" seen on Mars that also grows heavily on water, in this case a Martian canal.

As the book has been interpreted as criticism of imperialism, the red weed could symbolize the non-native fauna colonizers introduced to the Americas, Australia, New Zealand and other countries. In many cases, these introduced species overwhelmed the native fauna, especially in remote islands.

Wells may have been influenced by the theories of Camille Flammarion, who in 1873 claimed that Mars was red due to red vegetation growing on it.

Read more about Red Weed:  In Other Adaptations

Famous quotes containing the words red and/or weed:

    I don’t wanna live in a city where the only cultural advantage is that you can make a right turn on a red light.
    Freedom from labor itself is not new; it once belonged among the most firmly established privileges of the few. In this instance, it seems as though scientific progress and technical developments had been only taken advantage of to achieve something about which all former ages dreamed but which none had been able to realize.
    Hannah Arendt (1906–1975)

    In the core of God’s abysm,—
    Was a weed of self and schism;
    And ever the Daemonic Love
    Is the ancestor of wars,
    And the parent of remorse.
    Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)