Alienated youth and alien impregnation

“I’m notoriously bad at telling people about my books,” British YA author David Owen admits. “I usually end up calling them ‘really depressing’, which probably does them a bit of a disservice, really. They’re definitely not sunny, but I think that’s part of their authenticity. I’m quite proud not to pull any punches, to write stories that are challenging, a bit unusual, a bit weird.”

His debut, Panther, found its weirdness in a mysterious beast prowling around a suburban area, echoing the narrator’s struggle with depression; his second novel, The Fallen Children (Atom, £7.99) focuses on alien impregnation. Despite the apparent disparity between the two novels, I suggest to Owen that they are quite similar, summarising both as “gritty contemporary realism with an otherworldly element that adds an extra dimension to the real issues.” He agrees: “A lot of people, upon hearing about it, have said that this book sounds very different to Panther, but I really do think it’s stylistically very similar, exactly as you describe. I like to have an element of magic realism/ otherworldliness/ weirdness as a hook to hang the story on. For me that dose of the unusual makes a story more interesting.”

The biggest flaw of Wyndham's book is that 65 women become pregnant but the entire story is told by men

At the same time, he is conscious that Panther was a little closer to home emotionally, whereas his experience with pregnancy (alien or otherwise) was a little more theoretical. “There were many times I didn’t feel as confident writing this book, and I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew, if I was writing about things I had no place writing about, and even if adding the supernatural element was disrespectful. But I believe it’s important as a writer to stretch yourself and write things that scare you, so I just had to face up to it, work closely with my editorial team and others who could offer advice, and make it work.”

The novel was inspired by John Wyndham’s classic sci-fi novel The Midwich Cuckoos, which Owen came to “in the worst way possible – by watching the second film adaptation, Village of the Damned, made in the ’90s by John Carpenter. It’s a terrible adaptation, stripping out all suspense, tension and subtlety in favour of shock and gore . . . but I was 11 years old when I saw it so I thought it was amazing!”

The core premise stuck with him, though. “The central idea – of a whole village being put to sleep and all the women waking up pregnant with something that might not quite be human – is just so creepy, so visceral, and the visual of the children with the golden eyes really stayed with me. I picked up the book shortly afterwards, and surprised myself by not minding that it isn’t really gory or sensational, but a bit more ruminative. In the book you can’t easily label the children good or evil, and that ambiguity makes it ripe for a fresh take.”

In Owen’s novel, it’s a block of inner-city flats rather than a village that falls asleep one ominous night, with four young women waking up the next morning to a strange sense of violation and possibly-dangerous creatures growing inside them. The narrators are mostly female – obviously enough, one might think, although it represents a departure from the original text. “The biggest flaw of Wyndham’s book is that 65 women become pregnant but the entire story is told by men. I knew that contemporising the story would only work if it was told predominantly by women, that their experiences in the book could be made universal to all young people.”

Writing from these perspectives was something Owen knew he had to tread carefully with; on the one hand writing women characters was something he was confident about, but on the other he was conscious that some of the issues – “violation, sexual assault, the way young women from certain backgrounds are viewed and treated” – were things he could “so easily get ... wrong if I wasn’t careful, if I didn’t approach these themes and details with sensitivity. But I also knew I couldn’t tell this story and shy away from those parts of it – I couldn’t be a coward.” Here editorial guidance and insights from a midwife friend were useful in terms of getting some of the gorier details about pregnancy right.

The responses the young women have to the pregnancies are mixed. Part of the otherworldliness of whatever is growing inside them is a powerful sense of self-preservation, prompting a sense of protectiveness on the part of their mothers. The naming of the girl who is most unsettled by her forced pregnancy was intentional – Siobhan. “I did deliberately choose an Irish name for her,” Owen says, “because her part of the story is so steeped in the ongoing battle for reproductive rights, and the history of this battle in Ireland is something I learned a lot more about while writing the book.” At the same time he felt that “making her actually Irish might be a little on-the-nose!”

The characters as a whole feel very British to him: “They’re racially/ethnically diverse, which is important thematically, but they’ve all been cast in the same role within British society – young people from disadvantaged backgrounds who will always be judged, blamed, and vilified for their own perceived failings, regardless of circumstance. The disdain aimed at these people by certain sections of society and the media feels like a distinctly British thing to me.”

Good YA fiction squares up to the biggest issues and tackles them head on, with no bullshit, and I love that

Throughout the novel, the lack of opportunities for the young protagonists and the negative expectations for them is made very clear, and Owen’s empathy for today’s youth is evident. “The UK needs to do so much more to look after its young people. As things are, young people are being failed, and it could have dire consequences for the future of the UK.” He believes there needs to be more practical education in schools about mental health and sexuality, and is in favour of lowering the voting age. “It’s absurd that 16-17-year-olds, who by necessity are more politically aware and active than ever, have no say in shaping their futures.”

Although Owen is still at the early stages of his next project, YA is very much where his heart lies. "There's an honesty about YA fiction that I find it difficult to adequately describe. Good YA fiction squares up to the biggest issues and tackles them head on, with no bullshit, and I love that. It acknowledges that young people want to engage with the most difficult issues facing them and the world today, and the challenge is to do that in a way that is engaging and exciting, telling a good story as well as exploring serious issues." He adds, "Perhaps it's a delusion of grandeur, but it's nice to think I might play some small role in helping young people to change the world."
Claire Hennessy is a writer, editor and creative writing facilitator. Her latest YA novel is Like Other Girls (Hot Key Books)