The Midwich Cuckoos

The Midwich Cuckoos
by John Wyndham


Blurb:

In the sleepy English village of Midwich, a mysterious silver object appears and all the inhabitants fall unconscious. A day later the object is gone and everyone awakens unharmed – except that all the women in the village are discovered to be pregnant. 

My Reaction: 
(First: I read this with Donald, and as is usually the case with "shared books", I didn't take notes-- so this may be sparse.  We'll see how much I remember...)

Did I like it?  ...Yes, on the whole, it was interesting.  However, I did find the book to be more reliant on philosophical discussions than I'd expected-- and while a little of that is ok, at some point it begins to lose its appeal.  When something does actually happen, most of the time it doesn't unfold "live" before the narrator.  Instead, it comes to us through yet another filter or two, well after the action has winded back down again.  Very civilized-- almost clinical-- but not quite so exciting to read.


A Few Random Points  (with SPOILERS):
--  I was struck by the way the male characters discuss the women of the village (and the way those female characters behave, in some instances).  It's obviously a product of its time (late 1950s), but still... (This is where notes would have come in handy.)  Maybe I'm just overly sensitive to it, as a woman, but it irked me a few times.  (I don't think Donald noticed it/gave it a second thought, incidentally.  He certainly didn't feel aggravated by it, and seemed a little surprised when I was.  Hmph! (g))   

--  I was annoyed... irritated... somethinged by the idea that most of the women would feel some type of (at least temporary) connection to the Children they bore, even when they knew that the Children had been "implanted"/forced upon them and were in no way "flesh of their flesh".  Maybe it's just another example of my failure to be the Perfect Ideal Woman, but no.  I don't think I would feel any lingering fondness or maternal instinct, in that circumstance.  The Children were nothing more than parasites. 

--  I suppose the idea of aliens with collective intelligence is appealing to authors.  We just finished reading Ender's Game, in which the Buggers (another alien species) also share some kind of hive mind. 

--  I spent most of the book thinking about how I would go about destroying the Children and wondering why why WHY the people in the book wouldn't just go ahead and get it over with.  Early on, I decided that you'd sneak the real people (i.e. non-aliens) out of town-- probably at night-- with as little talk/previous arrangement as possible, and then bomb/missile the place.  So... basically what the Russians did, only with an attempt to save as many human lives as possible.  Another possibility would be to poison them, assuming they're susceptible to the same poisons we are and that they all eat at the same time.  Yeah, I know the people in the book couldn't take such decisive action very quickly, or there'd be no story to tell-- but it frustrated me greatly to have to sit through long discussions of how people are so civilized now that they would be appalled at the thought of killing a "minority population"-- couldn't go through with it-- couldn't stomach it-- etc.  I guess I'm not that civilized-- nor would I want to be.  No, you need not apologize for killing off an invading alien species.  I wouldn't apologize for killing off an invading non-alien threat, either, for that matter. 

--  Obviously the Children have to be "dealt with" by the end of the book.  At some point, it becomes equally obvious that Zellaby will be the one to do so, even though he supposedly doesn't hate or even really resent them.  Actually, I was a little impatient with myself for not realizing he would be the one to do so, right away.  His advancing age is referred to so frequently!  He's so logical and practical!  Clearly he was designed for self-sacrifice.

--  I'm curious about the film adaptations of this novel.  Apparently the original was better than the remake.  (What a shocker.)  Both were titled Village of the Damned, which sounds much more "over-the-top horror" than The Midwich Cuckoos.  Speaking of the title, I don't believe there is ever an outright explanation of why the Children are referred to as cuckoos.  If you know what cuckoos do, then the comparison is obvious, but I have a feeling there are plenty of people walking around these days who would only think of either cuckoo-clocks or "crazy people".  ("I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!!")  In fact, they'd probably suspect you of trying to make a joke at their expense if you told them that a cuckoo is a real bird. 

"Two Doctors"

"Two Doctors"
from A Thin Ghost and Others
by M. R. James 

This short collection of ghost stories was published in 1919.   I'm blogging about them "as I go". 

SPOILERS FOLLOW!


Synopsis:
This is a tale of two doctors.  (Given the title, I trust that this comes as no surprise.)  One is a good, straightforward, God-fearing doctor.  The other... is not.


My Reaction:
Eh... I wasn't particularly impressed.  This was another that could've used a little more tidying up in spots.

The basic plot is clear enough, I guess... Here's my interpretation:  There are two doctors in one town, and it seems that they were getting along well enough until the long-faithful servant of one suddenly leaves his master (for reasons that are never fully explained, unless I missed something) and winds up in the service of the other doctor.  The first doctor also begins losing some of his patients to the second doctor-- all because of his own peculiarities, it would seem, though of course he holds his "rival" responsible.  Meanwhile, the first doctor has been dabbling in the spirit world and has apparently bartered his soul for unusual powers-- specifically, the ability to move objects without touching them (psychokinesis).  After tormenting his "rival" with a recurring nightmare (the description of which is the best part of a lackluster story), the first doctor eventually (somehow) murders the man by cocooning him in sheets and suffocating him with his own pillow, using his psychokinetic abilities, presumably, since the bedroom was securely locked at the time. 

I found this to be one of the weakest of the M.R. James stories I've read to date. 


A Couple of Things:
--  "It is a very common thing, in my experience, to find papers shut up in old books; but one of the rarest things to come across any such that are at all interesting."  So true!  The most interesting such thing I've ever come across in a book was an old recipe for tomato ketchup-- and technically, that wasn't a paper shut up in a book, but a note on one of the flyleaves. 

--  I confess that the last little bit of the story left me scratching my head.  I thought I understood that it wasn't a body that was missing (since it wasn't a case of a "resurrection man"), but for whatever reason, I failed to make the connection between a ransacked mausoleum and the dead doctor's luxurious sheets.  Listening to the appropriate episode of "A Podcast to the Curious" explains the inclusion of that tidbit-- but it also opens up a whole new can of worms.  How did he make sure the other man bought those sheets?  Why did he need to have those sheets on the bed... because... didn't he kill the other man by psychokinesis, which you'd think would work with any old sheets/pillow?  Or was the man killed by some other means?  ("Haunted sheets"!  Ha!)  It doesn't make a whole lot of sense.  I see why this story is among the least favorite for so many M.R.J. fans.

--  This was the last of the stories in this collection.  I seem to remember enjoying the other two M.R. James collections I've read (Ghost Stories of an Antiquary and Ghost Stories of an Antiquary: Part Two) more, over all, than this one-- but that could just be me looking at the past through rose-colored lenses.  Still, since they're are available (digitally) for free online, there's no reason not to read them all, if you're interested. 

"The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance"

"The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance"
from A Thin Ghost and Others
by M. R. James 

This short collection of ghost stories was published in 1919.   I'm blogging about them "as I go". 

SPOILERS FOLLOW!


Synopsis:
A man is forced to abandon his plans for a cozy family Christmas when an uncle he hardly knows vanishes without a trace.  Following the obligatory creepiness, the uncle's disappearance is finally explained.  Well, sort of. 


My Reaction: 
A weak title and a rather weak story to match-- particularly by M.R. James' usual standards.  It's certainly one of the odder ones, with loose ends left flapping in the breeze-- or are they red herrings left flopping on the shore?  I'm not completely sure what to make of it, to be honest.  I've "looked it up" online, hoping someone might have picked up on something I missed and offered some insight.  The most likely-looking thing I've found is this podcast, but based on the comments (because I've yet to give it a listen), it seems that everyone's a little puzzled by this one.  I guess it's left open to interpretation-- and unfortunately, when I read, I prefer connecting dots to doodling at random. 

A "Punch and Judy" show plays a key role in this story, which may have something to do with why I didn't love it.  I am completely mystified by the appeal of Punch and Judy (though I'm sure the fact that I'm American and had no exposure to it as a child doesn't help).  It's baffling!  It seems like a more primitive, less graphic version of "The Itchy & Scratchy Show".  I suppose a lot of "old-fashioned" (and to some degree even more modern) cartoons work on a similar level-- especially the old Warner Brothers cartoons... Wiley Coyote vs. the Roadrunner... Sylvester vs. Tweety Bird... Bugs Bunny vs. Everyone Else... Tom and Jerry... Of course, those were never my favorite characters, either.  I was definitely more of a Disney girl, back in the day. (g) I think I usually felt bad for Donald Duck when he was assailed by bees, ostriches, chipmunks, etc... Oh, and I definitely didn't like it when the incredibly irritating Chip 'n' Dale tormented poor Pluto... Ok, even old Disney cartoons followed the formula.  It's everywhere!

Though I didn't love the story as a whole, the dream sequence was, I'll admit, quite effective.  Or in other words, creepy-crawly as all get-out.  I read this while walking on the treadmill, all alone in the house, and it definitely gave me one of those "well, isn't that creepy-- now I think I'll just casually glance over my shoulder to make sure all's as it should be" moments.  


Later:
I've now listened to the podcast (up to the point when the interview with the film-maker begins), and I found it very entertaining.  I'll certainly look into their other episodes-- at least the ones about the M.R.J. stories I've read.  

I agree with them that the basic gist of the story seems fairly straightforward-- that the uncle was murdered (somehow) by the Punch and Judy "players"-- that the uncle sent the creeptastic dream to his nephew as a clue/warning/call for justice-- and that the uncle finally came back for revenge against the men who'd murdered him, crushing one and chasing the other to his own death.  I suppose we'll just have to make our best guesses as to why they murdered the uncle, how (exactly) he was murdered (hanging, mauled by the dog, etc.), why they returned to the town in such short order, why the dog was important, what was up with the cheese (g), and so on.  

At least this strange story led me to an interesting podcast!

"An Episode of Cathedral History"

"An Episode of Cathedral History"
from A Thin Ghost and Others
by M. R. James 

This short collection of ghost stories was published in 1919.   I'm blogging about them "as I go". 

SPOILERS FOLLOW!


Synopsis:
During the renovation of a cathedral, an unusual discovery is made beneath the altar.


My Reaction:
Pretty good!


Specific Notes:
--  Part of the renovation called for the removal of... I don't know... a wall or screen or something.  (I couldn't picture some of the architectural details/elements referenced in this story, since I grew up going to a plain, not-very-old, American, Protestant building we simply called a "church"-- not a fancy-schmancy European "cathedral". (g))  Anyway, they were going to remove something, and not everyone was thrilled at the prospect:  "Some were of opinion that they should catch their deaths of cold in the return-stalls, unprotected by a screen from the draughts in the nave:  others objected to being exposed to the view of persons in the choir aisles, especially, they said, during the sermons, when they found it helpful to listen in a posture which was liable to misconstruction."

--  The incident of the woman sitting on the altar-tomb and later discovering that a portion of her skirt has (mysteriously) been torn away?  That time when the workers can't fill the hole in the tomb cover, because it keeps getting blown out?  How about when the kid sticks a thin roll of paper into the crack in the tomb and suddenly finds that it's either caught on something or being held by someone in the tomb?  And then when he manages to pull it out, finds the other end torn, wet, and blackened?    Creepy, all of 'em. 

--  The dog!  'It was about this time, Worby thought, that his little dog began to wear an anxious expression when the hour for it to be put out into the shed in the back yard approached.  (For his mother had ordained that it must not sleep in the house.)  One evening, he said, when he was just going to pick it up and carry it out, it looked at him "like a Christian, and waved its 'and, I was going to say-- well, you know 'ow they do carry on sometimes, and the end of it was I put it under my coat, and 'uddled it upstairs-- and I'm afraid I as good as deceived my poor mother on the subject.  After that the dog acted very artful with 'iding itself under the bed for half-an-hour or more before bed-time came, and we worked it so as my mother never found out what we'd done."  ...And then when there are eerie sounds in the night, "'that dog seemed to know it was coming; he'd creep out, he would, and snuggled into the bed and cuddle right up to me shivering, and when the crying come he'd be like a wild thing, shoving his head under my arm...'"  Poor little doggy... Bless that fictional character for sneaking the (fictional) dog into his room for the night!

--  Worby calls the mysterious night-time sound "the crying".  ~shiver~  The adults try to explain it away as cats, but Worby describes it as being "'ungry-like, as if it was calling after some one that wouldn't come.'"

-- Worby makes a point of mentioning that, though a particular spot is especially conducive to echos, the creepy, otherworldly "crying never made no sign of an echo at all".  This seems to stir up some vague memory of a legend that the sounds/voices of certain evil beings (demons? witches?) cannot echo, because nature, being the work of God, shuns them.  (Or did I just imagine hearing or reading that?)  Anyway, James must've had some reason for mentioning the lack of an echo...

--  The Latin engraving-- "IBI CUBAVIT LAMIA"-- apparently means "There shall be the lair of the night monster".

"The Diary of Mr. Poynter"

"The Diary of Mr. Poynter"
from A Thin Ghost and Others
by M. R. James 

This short collection of ghost stories was published in 1919.   I'm blogging about them "as I go". 

SPOILERS FOLLOW!


Synopsis:
A fabric sample fallen out of an old diary seems like "just the thing" for some new curtains and inspires a man to have the pattern reproduced-- but there's something sinister in those sinuous lines... A.k.a. "The Legend of the Pernicious Print"-- or "The Tale of the Creepy Curtains"-- or "How Old Is Cousin Itt, Anyway?"  ;o)


My Reaction:
It's not one of my favorite ghost stories by this author, but not at all bad.  However, I did find the creepy moment perhaps a little too brief to justify the long build-up.  Also, the "explanation" didn't explain much-- but I'm used to that.  


Random Notes:
-- "It may be a disappointment to you to learn that Rendcomb Manor was new; that I cannot help."  Yes, a great disappointment.  What kind of ghost story takes place in a new house, darnit?!


--  "I am glad to say that all that was most valuable in it [the burnt house] had been saved, and that it was fully insured."  I suppose we, the Readers, are supposed to be antiquarians, ourselves, and therefore very concerned about any valuable antiques that might have been destroyed in the fire.  The mention of insurance is also a nice touch.  This will clearly be a completely logical, everyday sort of ghost story.  There will be nothing bizarre, like a hair-ghost that is carried through the medium of a fabric pattern design.  Nope.  No siree!

--  Mr. Denton's aunt, upon seeing his "new old" books-- the very ones that he bid on when he was supposed to be researching chintzes (the nerve!):  "Disgusting.  What did you give for them, I should like to know?  Over Ten Pounds?  James, it is really sinful.  Well, if you have money to throw away on this kind of thing, there can be no reason why you should not subscribe-- and subscribe handsomely-- to my anti-Vivisection League."  

--  The comic-relief tradesman who agrees to reproduce the printed fabric for the curtains: "I quite understand your wish to keep it exclusive: lends it a catchit, does it not, to the suite?"  

--  And then the artist's suggestion that there's something sinister about the design...  (What? You mean that perfectly harmless design that is reminiscent of human hair may not be good and wholesome?  Shame on you, sir!  There's nothing creepy about it-- at all!)--  The creepiest moment of them all:  "Then he dozed, and then he woke, and bethought himself that his brown spaniel, which ordinarily slept in his room, had not come upstairs with him. Then he thought he was mistaken: for happening to move his hand which hung down over the arm of the chair within a few inches of the floor, he felt on the back of it just the slightest touch of a surface of hair, and stretching it out in that direction he stroked and patted a rounded something.  But the feel of it, and still more the fact that instead of a responsive movement, absolute stillness greeted his touch, made him look over the arm. What he had been touching rose to meet him. It was in the attitude of one that had crept along the floor on its belly, and it was, so far as could be collected, a human figure. But of the face which was now rising to within a few inches of his own no feature was discernible, only hair.  Shapeless as it was, there was about it so horrible an air of menace that as he bounded from his chair and rushed from the room he heard himself moaning with fear: and doubtless he did right to fly."  


--  The door in the middle of the "long passage"-- intended to cut down on noise and a draught--  is perhaps unintentionally creepy.  In and of itself, I mean. Obviously it's meant to hold Denton up long enough for the hair-ghost to catch up to him and touch his back, which is certainly shudder-worthy.  But even the door itself, in such an odd place, is unsettling.  I don't know why, exactly, but if a long corridor is a little creepy, a long corridor bisected with a door seems even creepier.  

--  I happened upon an interesting blog review of the story that reminded me that while hair seems like an odd choice for an apparition, by Western standards, it's not quite so rare in Asia.  Think back to the use/importance of hair in some of the recent remakes of Asian horror films-- The Grudge and Dark Water, for instance.  Of course, the West has contributed Cousin Itt...