Rob Price
Gutbrain Records
rob + gutbrain.com = email

2011 March 09 • Wednesday

John Wyndham returns to his great theme—the attempt by one species to dominate and destroy another—via a different route.

While his most famous books, such as The Day of the Triffids, The Kraken Wakes and The Midwich Cuckoos, tell stories of an invading species from outer space that comes close to wiping out the human species on Earth, The Chrysalids presents primitive humans who are religious fanatics and want to destroy more highly evolved humans.

The action takes place in the future, long after nuclear armageddon has come close to obliterating all life on the planet. In a part of Labrador, humans attempt to regain what they have lost but know nothing of history. The only two books they have are religious texts, of which one is the Bible.

They don’t realize that the occasional mutation of crops, livestock and human babies are caused by lingering radiation but believe it to be the Devil’s work. All such “deviations” must be destroyed. “Watch thou for the mutant!” is one of their commandments.

When certain children are born with the ability to communicate telepathically with each other, they keep this a secret among themselves, knowing that the exposure of their "deviation" would be fatal to them. Since they’re physically “normal” in every way, the task shouldn’t be impossible, though it would be difficult.

But with the birth of a baby girl whose telepathic gift is astonishingly powerful, exponentially greater than that anybody else's, secrecy cannot be maintained.

It’s similar in some ways to Leigh Brackett’s The Long Tomorrow and the first few chapters, in which the sinister and harsh organization of the characters’ world is gradually revealed, reminded me of Shirley Jackson’s famous short story “The Lottery”.

It took me a while to get around to this book, partly because of the cover. It turns out that this cover illustration has absolutely nothing to do with the book. Nothing whatsoever.

The title is also something of a mystery. I can't remember "chrysalids" or "chrysalis" appearing in the text at any point.

As always, the quality of Wyndham’s writing is extremely high. His prose is smooth and solidly constructed. There isn’t a single moment where the pace flags or the reader stumbles over a clunky sentence. He was one of those writers of both genius and economy—my favorite kind.

The first line is: “When I was quite small I would sometimes dream of a city — which was strange because it began before I even knew what a city was”.