Marsha Green The Chrysalids KEEP PURE THE STOCK OF THE LORD; WATCH THOU FOR THE MUTANT. These are the words to which the citizens of Waknuk adhere with an almost cult like fervency, and therein lies the crux of the matter… On a superficial level, John Wyndham’s 1955 sci-­‐fi novel ‘The Chrysalids’ is simply a post-­‐apocalyptic novel set in what appears to be a religiously fundamentalist, colonial-­‐
esque society. However, when more closely scrutinised, unsettling parallels to our reality are brought into focus with the casual way in which those considered “blasphemies” (those with mutations or any kind of difference really) are sterilised, killed or exiled, the discrimination eerily reminiscent of how modern society ostracises those considered ‘undesirable’ to the majority at large. The novel, written at a time in which the horrors committed under the ‘rule’ of Eugenics in world war two were still painstakingly recent to the public consciousness and when the concept of Genetics was just beginning to emerge Wyndham illustrates through allegory many of the worries that commonly held by the public: would our genes eventually dictate how society perceives and treats us? A train of thought that was well explored by the 1997 film Gattaca. It is a credit to the author that even despite knowing how closely the book reflects a twisted image of real-­‐life (albeit an extremist version), we still find ourselves repulsed by the sanctimonious self-­‐superiority so avidly displayed by those ‘in charge’, (continuing a well worn tradition in the vein of Logan’s run -­‐ don’t trust anyone over twenty), well done – they are supposed to repulse and disgust us to the extent that we insist that we would never act in such a fashion…. Well, hindsight makes hypocrites of us all I suppose. Despite its fascinating undertones, The Chrysalids is not a book I would recommend on its literary merits alone. The prose, whilst well constructed, could oftentimes be dreary and hard to digest (rather like muesli) with lumbersome monologues on human nature bandied about. The plot, whilst solid in the beginning, travels from the realms of the allegorical to the absurd; as I suppose most things do when telepaths are added – I mean really, there was nothing in the premise about some kind of nuclear apocalypse -­‐frontier era X-­‐Men. This said Wyndham handles it with grace using telepathy as a metaphor for the young people’s freedom and allowing for the characterisation to bloom. Perhaps the saving grace of the novel is the characterisation. Each character is distinct with their own unique quirks and struggles, from David, the main character beginning to question his father’s religious zeal, to Sophie, the ‘blasphemous’ girl with six toes who befriends him of which David thinks "A blasphemy was, as had been impressed upon me often enough, a frightful thing. Yet there was nothing frightful about Sophie. She was simply an ordinary girl -­‐ if a great deal more sensible and braver than most." Or Rosalind whom through the telepathy David summarises to be “longing for escape, gentleness, and love; grown afraid now of what she had built for her own protection; yet more afraid still, of facing life without it.” As the title suggests, this is a story about growing and breaking free -­‐as does a butterfly when it emerges from its own self built chrysalis. However, the characters’ struggles are not self made, but of society’s restriction. Perhaps the most poignant quote from the novel comes not from the cumbersome speeches on human nature but from Uncle Axel’s simple statement in which the entire book can be summarised ‘whose is the true pattern and who’s the mutation?’