Ok. I know what you’re thinking. You read that book in high school right?  Yes I did. But unlike any other book I read there (save for to Kill a Mockingbird), this one stuck with me all those years hence. Why is that?

Firstly, John Wyndham’s writing is just so clean, devoid of extraneous bits and bobs that weight down most contemporary prose. Readers who enjoy economy over luxury, can cruise down this story’s path, negotiating its twists and turns without grasping the wheel too tightly. And that makes for a pleasant journey.

Secondly, his ability to convey a message artfully, without preaching is amazing. Now it’s been at least a decade since I had read it last and that’s given me the opportunity to regard the Chrysalids with new eyes.  

And so my older and presumably wiser self set upon its pages and devoured them over a few nights. And there were two main questions that I wanted answered :

1. Would I see its underlining message much differently than before?
2. Would his ideas hold up over time?

Surprisingly, the answer is a resounding YES to both. And it was all because of a minor plot element whose significance had escaped my attention the first few times I had read it. Let me explain. 

Spoiler Alert

The plot goes something like this. A new and (presumably) superior breed of human being arises from the ashes of (presumably) a global nuclear catastrophe. Few in number, these mutants can communicate over distances using telepathy. These psychic interactions are intimate and personal. They allow each participant to understand the other’s pain, motivations, and innermost thoughts and so empathy flourishes before a misunderstanding can take root. And since it’s harder to get angry at someone you understand, interpersonal conflict is a rare thing.

Wyndham contrasts the innocence and virtue of the mutant children with the unwavering convention of the older men who form the body politic of their agrarian township. They are cast as religious, unwavering zealous, committed to the path of orthodoxy for the sake of genetic purity. Their intolerance of any variations to the human ‘norm’ put the children in harm’s way. And so, the book’s trajectory seems to target an anti-religious bulls-eye.  As if to say, doctrine is inflexible to change, particularly positive change, and only enlightened reason is wise enough to notice.

But then the ending sends it wide off this mark.

The children are pursued by the zealots, and just before their capture, are rescued by a wise people who are similarly endowed. They’ve traveled from their faraway colony of like-minded (pun intended) people and have mastered and integrated the telepathic skill into their enlightened society.  They hover above the final battle scene from a helicopter and drop a spongy substance that immobilizes the bad guys. Now, that’s an interesting choice. Guns, laser beams, nets, explosives, these are things I’d have expected them to use. Soapy bubbles? Not so much. Surely Wyndham chose this peculiar weapon for a reason? I was inclined to think it was chosen so that the wielder could inflict the least amount of harm on the victim. Like catch and release, he’d reveal later that the foam would melt away after some time and release the offenders from its grasp so they could ponder their misdeeds and get on with their lives. That’s what a wise, enlightened and understanding race of humans would do. Wouldn’t it?

Not in this novel.

The soapy, bubbles kill all that they touch – unless the rescuers quickly intervene. And when asked to explain why they didn’t, they effectively state – well, we’re the new thing in human evolution. Those guys are the Neanderthals. And you know what happened to them right?

So let’s get back to the two questions.

The novel’s underlying message is not as binary as – religion bad, reason good. If it were, one would expect the helicopter rescuers to show mercy to their adversaries. A kind of – let’s forgive them, for they know not what they do – type of response is what I would’ve expected or to quote something more contemporary – when they go low, we go high, response would be adequate. But they don’t. They resort to the same genocidal instinct that drives the bad guys. It’s an in-group, out-group dynamic, characterized by the feelings of comradery for those within the group, and an utter disdain for anyone outside of it. And it’s something you’d expect the enlightened, reasonable, and emphatic people to understand and thus avoid. But they don’t.

It’s easy to see how this idea still reverberates through our society. Examples, like the Tutsi and the Hutus are at the extreme of the spectrum, but there exists many more. Our current political discourse is another obvious one. We have lost the ability to hold conversations with those who don’t share our opinions and a willing media and anonymizing technologies provide the means and support for us to settle into our separate camps. And so, Wyndham’s The Chrysalids is not only more relevant than ever, it could be considered prophetic too.

 What happens when the old is swept away by the new, and to those that had previously suffered under it? Will their experience make them any more benevolent than their forbearers or will they suffer from the same ignorance? And, as was demonstrated in the novel, this problem is not automatically solved the more technologically advanced our society becomes.

Had I had the opportunity, I’d ask Wyndham – did he attempt to write an anti-religious narrative like it looks on its face, or, did he write something much more nihilistic? I think he did the latter. And it took me four tries to get it.


Cheers

​BG