The Midwich Cuckoos (1957)

The Midwich Cuckoos (1957)

Author: John Wyndham | Page Count: 241

"You know, my dear, while it's proper for us to be concerned, the responsibility for a remedy isn't ours. If it ever was, and that is highly questionable, the authorities took it away from us a long time ago."

Wikipedia classes the 1950s as a 'transitional period' in the history of science-fiction literature, sitting between the 'Pulp' of the 20s and 30s and the 'New Wave' that gained popularity in the 1960s and 70s. It may lack a classy name, but the 50s wasn't short of genre classics.

Isaac Asimov's I, Robot (1950) and its first two sequels; Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 (1953); Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End (1953), Alfred Bester's The Stars My Destination (1956); and Wyndham's own The Day of the Triffids (1951) are some examples. Sci-fi literature fans will probably recognise them all.

I don't feel that The Midwich Cuckoos is quite as good as most of the books mentioned above, but it's certainly worthy to occupy a shelf directly adjacent them, as its enduring popularity proves.

Prior to the novel's peculiar happenings, the fictional Midwich was much like every other sleepy English village, with its fair share of housewives, academics, church-goers, and curtain-twitchers. It has roads that lead to neighbouring towns but no railroad or canal connects it to anywhere else. It isn't the kind of location one would expect a world-changing event to take place, but that didn't prevent it from actually happening one fateful autumnal day.

The basic premise sees an entire community affected by an uncanny event that puts all the women within a certain age bracket in a predicament that's unique to the female of the species. It's split into two parts structurally; while not exclusive to each one, mostly the first details what happens to the villagers, and the second explores what can or should be done about it.

It's told from the perspective of Midwich resident Richard Gayford, who was absent with his wife on the day everything changed and was therefore spared the fate of the others. Richard isn't a very interesting protagonist, but it's through him that we meet others, most notably Gordon Zellaby, an elderly resident from whom the majority of the novel's deeper, human concerns and philosophical musings originate. Zellaby's explications can be meandering and go off on tangents that leave his listeners baffled, but Wyndham uses the trait to best effect, strengthening the characterisation of what was for me the book's most memorable individual.

The ordinariness of the setting and the 'old fashioned' language, which was likely a product of Wyndham's public school education and middle class values, help elucidate the unnerving feeling within the narrative. Together, they successfully work around the restrictions that would've been placed upon an author at that time. In fact, many of TMC's themes are merely hinted at, and you'll need to read between the lines to uncover some of the more salient ones. [1] 

One final thing for new readers: you'll encounter the occasional archaic word or phrase (e.g., beldames; whither) that, depending on your age or experience, may require a dictionary look-up.  I was initially puzzled by certain acronyms and some Latin phrases, but not everyone will be.

[1] For clarity, that's 'public school' in UK parlance, which are schools not funded by the government. Folks in the US and Canada will know them as private schools.