Disposable Lit Reviews

Penguin, 1955/1981
200 pp.
ISBN 0-14-00.1308-3

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Too often, the first horse out the gate in what turns out to be a new literary (or cinematic) trend, or even a whole new genre, ends up looking like a weak example of the form in the long run. The reason why is fairly obvious: The first one acts as the prototype, sketching out the possibilities of the subject matter or genre; later entries stand on its shoulders as they refine and innovate. Even if for no other reason, the original ends up seeming tired and trite because it’s been imitated so many times by more contemporary examples. We’ve already seen it all, before we see how it was done the first time.

Exceptions to this problem are noteworthy. H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine,, usually hailed as the first time-travel story, is also usually acknowledged as one of the best damned time-travel stories ever. Its still packs a wallop that can’t be diluted by a century’s worth of derivative novels, or even by half-assed movie “adaptations.”

Though less often touted as a masterpiece, John Wyndham’s The Chrysalids is similarly praiseworthy. It is, quite possibly, the first novel dealing with the post-apocalyptic, post-mutation future. And even though the literary children of this novel range from the Planet of the Apes movies to the novel Hiero’s Journey to the X-Men franchise, the original is good enough that its charms are not diminished by the legions of literary, cinematic, and pop-cultural works that draw from the ideas it established.

In this world several thousand years after the “Tribulation,” the human race still survives. But its greatest self-perceived threat isn’t disease or the mysterious effects of the Badlands that exist past the Fringes of the habitable lands. No, the biggest threat comes from within, from plants, animals, and even people who are Offenses and Blasphemies, who offend against the God-given True Image of man by their differences. In this beleaguered country in what once was the province of Labrador, guarding against mutation has become a major part of the religion:

…and each leg shall be jointed twice and have one foot, and each foot five toes, and each toe shall end with a flat nail… And any creature that shall seem to be be human, but is not formed thus is not human. It is neither man nor woman. It is a blasphemy against the true Image of God, and hateful in the sight of God.

Our young protagonist, David, is the son of probably the fiercest defender of the norm in the area, and grows up with the platitudes of the faith staring him in the face: KEEP PURE THE STOCK OF THE LORD. THE DEVIL IS THE FATHER OF DEVIATION. WATCH THOU FOR THE MUTANT! But none of them make as great an impression on him as meeting Sophie, a girl his age who is completely normal… except the sixth toe on each foot that she has to keep hidden. Suddenly, mutation has a human face.

But as close to him as that brings the problem of deviation and abomination, it gets even closer when he realizes that he qualifies as an abomination himself. He and some children in the area have always had the ability to “think together,” sending thought-shapes over distances when not physically present. They realize early that their invisible mutation is just as dangerous to them as a malformed limb — moreso, as the normals would both hate them and fear them. And when David’s sister Petra is born with the thought-speech ability far in excess of any they already knew, it’s only a matter of tim before David, his sister, and his friends will be expose to the holy hatred of his father and the whole community.

Wyndham is a wonderfully transparent stylist, slipping in all of the necessary exposition lightly and naturally, with the voice of an intelligent but rural protagonist. It’s a sign of his subtlety that the word used as the title of the novel is never mentioned or even alluded to in its pages; the reader has to figure out its connotation on his own.

And while the book could easily be painted as blanket condemnation of conservatism, events toward the end of the book make clear that the true target of Wyndham’s disdain is more than the simple “pull to center” of a conversative community and society, but the mindless creedalism and fear-driven hatred which can inform the God-fearing normals, the cobbled-together communities on the Fringes, and even the next wave of humanity, those who have developed the same thought powers as David and his friends — those people one could easily label “progressive.” The impulse toward exclusivity and xenophobia isn’t limited to any single spot or pole on the continuum, whether couched in the language of religious creeds or forward-thinking enlightenment.

Wyndham was never in a position to be hailed as being as seminal as Wells in any of his novels, and The Chrysalids, shamefully, is only in print sporadically. But his books are nonetheless just as important to understanding the history ideas in science fiction literature. And despite their influence, they remain damned fine reads.

Nathan Shumate