Novels that are works of art cherish ambiguity and invite interpretation. They are complex, they have multiple (even contradictory) meanings . They contain characters with something of the complexity of real human beings and/or wonderfully imagined grotesques. In Wells's later novels the characters tend to be types- and only types. I say "tend" because there are exceptions. Rud Whitlow, the hero/villain of The Holy Terror is a tremendous creation- surrounded by cardboard cut-outs.
I suppose I should now say, "what a shame", but I don't really feel it. Wells later books are sufficiently entertaining. They do what he wanted them to do- which is dramatise the ideas that were important to him. And how much more have we the right to expect? In his most productive decades, from roughly 1895 to 1915, Wells produced at least ten novels that deserve to be called masterpieces. This collection includes (of course) the SF stories on which his current reputation rests, but also brilliant social comedies like Kipps and The History of Mr Polly and landmark state-of-the-nation novels like Tono-Bungay and the (woefully neglected) Wife of Sir Isaac Harman. Ten is more than E.M Forster- another great novelist who got tired of his art- ever managed. Maybe those ten- or is it eleven or twelve?- exhausted him. When you've written a truly great novel do you really need to go on repeating the trick? The worst thing about the merely adequate fictions of the later decades is that they obscure the greatness of the work that went before.