The rather sleepy village of Midwich finds itself becoming even sleepier when all those in it – and nearby, within a precise circular boundary – fall suddenly into a state of unconciousness that lasts for over 24 hours.
In that time, aerial reconnaissance and photographs reveal not only that the affected area is a hemisphere, but also that, at the centre of it, a strange shape can be seen.
But as suddenly as the village was affected, everything returns – apparently – to normal. It's some weeks before the realisation grows that all the women in the village of child-bearing age are pregnant.
Nine months pass and the pregnancies run to their natural term, producing 61 "Children" – all with blonde hair, pale skin and golden eyes. As they start to grow, it becomes clear that they all have telepathic abilities.
John Wyndham's 1957 novel is a fascinating example of science fiction, bulging with philosophical discussion.
Midwich itself can be viewed as an emblem of England – it's an archetype. That it is sleepy is perhaps a suggestion by the author that England itself is sleep-walking into trouble.
We have an invasion that threatens the reigning culture – is that a symbol of immigration? The book was published a decade after the 1947 arrival of the Empire Windrush at Tilbury Docks, carrying West Indian immigrants, which has been viewed as a seminal moment in terms of the post-war development of a multi-ethnic culture in the UK.
Is the theme that of the Cold War? That's thrown into doubt because Wyndham reveals that similar events have happened across the world, including in the Soviet Union.
What is here is an exploration of morality and of morality versus survival, which bring to mind Nietzsche's ideas of morality meaning different things to different creatures (the frog and the eagle, for instance) depending on what is required for survival. And it's particularly interesting because Wyndham resists the temptation to make "the Children" obvious and simplistic 'baddies'. Rather, he challenges the reader to see them as every bit as much a victim of circumstances that they have had no control over as the host women who carried them.
And in terms of morality, it hints at the question of the morality of abortion being illegal, as several of the pregnant women, many of whom are unmarried, try to bring about abortions by, for instance, throwing themselves down stairs.
Yet if we consider the women as victims, then that also raises an intriguing theological question – do we consider, in the Bible story, the Virgin Mary to similarly be a victim? And if that was acceptable, why isn't this?
But even in a novel where women are so central to the plot, Wyndham doesn't bother creating any really rounded female characters, although he provides a number of brief 'lectures' by male characters on just how jolly wonderful women are.
Ultimately however, in its questioning, but avoidance of polemic, The Midwich Cuckoos remains a fascinating novel – and illustrates what is possible within the genre.
In that time, aerial reconnaissance and photographs reveal not only that the affected area is a hemisphere, but also that, at the centre of it, a strange shape can be seen.
But as suddenly as the village was affected, everything returns – apparently – to normal. It's some weeks before the realisation grows that all the women in the village of child-bearing age are pregnant.
Nine months pass and the pregnancies run to their natural term, producing 61 "Children" – all with blonde hair, pale skin and golden eyes. As they start to grow, it becomes clear that they all have telepathic abilities.
John Wyndham's 1957 novel is a fascinating example of science fiction, bulging with philosophical discussion.
Midwich itself can be viewed as an emblem of England – it's an archetype. That it is sleepy is perhaps a suggestion by the author that England itself is sleep-walking into trouble.
We have an invasion that threatens the reigning culture – is that a symbol of immigration? The book was published a decade after the 1947 arrival of the Empire Windrush at Tilbury Docks, carrying West Indian immigrants, which has been viewed as a seminal moment in terms of the post-war development of a multi-ethnic culture in the UK.
Is the theme that of the Cold War? That's thrown into doubt because Wyndham reveals that similar events have happened across the world, including in the Soviet Union.
What is here is an exploration of morality and of morality versus survival, which bring to mind Nietzsche's ideas of morality meaning different things to different creatures (the frog and the eagle, for instance) depending on what is required for survival. And it's particularly interesting because Wyndham resists the temptation to make "the Children" obvious and simplistic 'baddies'. Rather, he challenges the reader to see them as every bit as much a victim of circumstances that they have had no control over as the host women who carried them.
And in terms of morality, it hints at the question of the morality of abortion being illegal, as several of the pregnant women, many of whom are unmarried, try to bring about abortions by, for instance, throwing themselves down stairs.
Yet if we consider the women as victims, then that also raises an intriguing theological question – do we consider, in the Bible story, the Virgin Mary to similarly be a victim? And if that was acceptable, why isn't this?
But even in a novel where women are so central to the plot, Wyndham doesn't bother creating any really rounded female characters, although he provides a number of brief 'lectures' by male characters on just how jolly wonderful women are.
Ultimately however, in its questioning, but avoidance of polemic, The Midwich Cuckoos remains a fascinating novel – and illustrates what is possible within the genre.
