My favorite books with uncanny children

The first literary paranormal suspense I’d ever read, this story absolutely devastated me when I discovered it as a sophomore in college—which is a compliment! 

The uncanny child is Paul, a young son so desperate for maternal affection that he races toward madness to win his mother’s favor and quiet the “whisperings” only he can hear. While that premise alone would be sufficient for a moving piece of literature, what affected me so deeply was that the adults who are aware of Paul’s mysterious abilities choose to use them for their own gain, with only superficial attempts to rein in the child’s manic obsession.  

Like Lawrence’s other works, this story speaks volumes about class and social expectations, but it’s the idea that a child could be driven to manifest psychic abilities—at the expense of his own health and sanity—that really packs a punch.

A dystopian zombie-type tale, this novel focuses on a hyper-intelligent child who is starved for affection—and non-vegetarian protein.

Melanie struggles to control her biological impulses, to be more than what the adults fear and to be seen as human instead of an abomination, because she’s capable of love. Yet, it’s her immense capacity for clear, rational thought that makes her oh-so uncanny. 

I’ve read the book—and watched the film—multiple times. If you don’t mind some gore, this story is much more than just a zombie sci-fi.

Really, what could be more uncanny than dozens of golden-eyed children conceived while an entire town was unconscious? To say nothing of the not-so-subtle complications of nature versus nurture as their mothers attempt—or avoid—bonding with their strange, unwanted progeny. 

From the mid-century English setting to the focus on male narrative perspectives, Wyndham contrasts what’s normal and abnormal, human and “other,” with a simple tale that spawns (pun intended) a fear of perfect, emotionally disconnected children who cannot—or will not—be loved. A classic, through and through.

Vanderah’s novel is an outlier on my list, because it’s actually a beautiful tale of found family—but that makes it a poignant counter to the others. 

Has Ursa, the uncanny child, merely assumed her “otherness” as a protective guise? Even by the end of the book, I found myself wondering whether the neatly wrapped up (and satisfying) story would have ended differently had the child been the narrator.  

More literary fiction than speculative, I recommend this novel for the lingering “what-ifs” that brought me back for a second read.

Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery” absolutely belongs on this list—not because the children appear to be strange or unsettling, but because they are hauntingly, terrifyingly normal.

With cheerily objective prose, Jackson captures a gathering of friends and families on a single morning where the children play and laugh until it’s time to participate in the community’s horrifying annual tradition. I don’t want to spoil the story by saying more, but I promise, this is a must-read for more than shock value. Nature versus nurture, indeed.