"All these sixty golden-eyed children we have here are intruders, changelings: they are cuckoo-children."
So speaks Gordon Zellaby, well-educated resident of the British village of Midwich when discussing the nature of a large group of highly unusual children born some nine years prior to village women of childbearing age.
The Midwich Cockoos, John Wyndham's 1957 masterfully constructed, highly philosophic tale of alien invasion was made into a science fiction horror film, Village of the Damned, in 1960 and then again in 1995.
Filming of the novel proved both fortunate and unfortunate - fortunate since the story became instantly famous; unfortunate because, being film, the horror elements and sensational visuals took over, thus relegating philosophy to the background.
Again, such a masterfully constructed tale. Spoiler alert: I'll touch on a number of revelations made in the course of the plot; however, I suspect many readers are already familiar with the happenings in Midwich, at least in broad outline.
The first mysterious occurrence is what people in Midwich refer to as the "Dayout," - within a certain invisible boundary surrounding Midwich, all living beings - humans, cows, birds, et al.- slump to the ground unconscious for a considerable time and thereafter regain consciousness with no apparent ill effects.
Some months afterwards, Midwich women discover they're pregnant and eventually give birth to a batch of babies with striking physical traits, including distinctive golden eyes. Equally alarming, none of the children have their mothers' features.
Of course, the villagers are all astir at what could have caused such an unaccountable phenomenon. Meanwhile, the men and women in neighboring towns chuckle knowingly, reckoning the folks in Midwich had themselves one of those fabled old farmers' hoots that turned naughty after midnight.
The babies grow into extraordinarily bright toddlers. Alarmed, sensing something definitely "off," Gordon Zellaby conducts experiments on these exceptional but odd toddlers and concludes, gulp, they don't have individual consciousness; rather, the 31 boys partake of one general consciousness (they share memories, learning skills and a hyper-awareness) and the 30 girls partake of another similar unified consciousness.
And so it goes until the Children (eventually recognized as a separate group, thus the capital "C") are living in their own village dormitory and receiving advanced instruction from a special teacher with a background in psychology and sociology.
Things come to a head when tragedy strikes: riding along a lane in his car, a villager, young Jim Pawle, turns a corner and accidentally runs over one of the Children. The Children's response is immediate and extreme: they cause young Jim to accelerate and crash into a wall, causing instant death. The law can place no blame on the Children. Dissatisfied with the verdict, Jim's brother grabs a gun and takes aim at the Children but immediately turns the shotgun on himself and fires.
Gordon Zellaby and others recognize the Children posses non-human powers of the mind. And, in important respects, they also acknowledge the Children's actions, even murderous, violent actions, are beyond the reach of the law.
Now the serious philosophical issues and implications are manifest and something must be done. Here are a couple of snatches of tension filled dialogue:
Mr. Leebody, the village vicar, addresses Gordon Zellaby, "But you have told me, and on the evidence I came to believe it, that the Children do not have individual spirits - that they have one man-spirit, and one woman-spirit, each far more powerful than we understand, that they share between them. What, then are they? They have the look of the genus homo, but not the nature." Zellaby acknowledges the conundrum, particularly since the law has not foreseen application to a non-human form of higher intelligence.
Mr. Leebody continues, "And from that one must go further. If they are another species, are we not fully entitled - indeed, have we not perhaps a duty? - to fight them in order to protect our own species?" Zellaby muses: all the interplanetary invasions he had read about in science fiction feature forthright attacks like H.G. Wells' Martians. He has never come across an account of an insidious invasion like the one they are evidently dealing with at the moment.
On top of everything else, shortly thereafter, a government official overseeing the Midwich phenomenon ever since the "Day Out," makes a shocking, startling revelation to Gordon Zellaby and a few others. What exactly? For John Wyndham to tell . . .
The Midwich Cuckoos - for someone like myself who enjoys a gripping story laced with philosophy, a novel not to be missed.
British SF author John Wyndham, 1903-1969
“But, as I understand it, your God is a universal God; He is God on all suns and all planets. Surely, then, He must have universal form? Would it not be a staggering vanity to imagine that He can manifest Himself only in the form that is appropriate to this particular, not very important planet?”
― John Wyndham, The Midwich Cuckoos
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