There’s no denying that expectations play a big role in how
I see these books. Here we have a book
by an author whose work I've liked, who has the sort of social science perspective
that I love in my sf, and it’s one of the foundational works of the intriguing
“New Weird” sub-genre. I really wanted
to love this novel, and I’m pretty bummed that I didn’t.
It gets off to a great start. The main attraction here is the
world-building, and the opening chapters are chock full of it. The setting is the city of New Crobuzon on
the fantasy world of Bas-Lag. There’s
magic, steampunk technology, and a variety of weird, hybrid sentient species,
taken from different world myths. The
khepri have insect heads like an Egyptian god, the vodyanoi are frog people
from Russian folklore, the garuda have wings and bird heads and are inspired by
Hindi stories, the cactacae are cactus people based on the venerable folk story
Final Fantasy. There are
also odd-looking people called Remade, deformed in imaginative ways by magic
(er… “thaumaturgy”). The infrastructure
of the city is wonderfully described – part of it is in the massive skeletal
ribcage of a long-dead giant beast, it’s full of zepellins and trains, and there's a rich sense of the geography from the gritty streets to the high spire in the
center. Mieville’s descriptions not only
evoke a fully-formed urban aesthetic, but also a whole host of accompanying
suggestions of class and race, which are missing from most nobility-obsessed
high fantasy.
The protagonist is Isaac der Grimnebulin, a human scientist
who’s dissatisfied with academic life.
He lives in a bad part of town, and often visits an even worse part of
town to hang out with his artist friends, including his khepri girlfriend
Lin. Around the same time Lin and Isaac
both get big commissions. Lin is to
sculpt (out of khepri-mucous and berries) a statue of a horrifically
self-Remade druglord named Mr. Motley.
Isaac is to create a flying apparatus for a garuda who’s lost his wings,
named Yagharek. Improbably, these plot
lines come together when a super-drug producing Lovecraftian moth-thing escapes
Isaac’s care and rampages throughout the city.
Isaac must team up with Yagharek, sentient steampunk constructs, a
demented giant spider called The Weaver, and others, to hunt down the moths.
Yes, it’s self-consciously weird. I like that about the novel, but I think
there’s a fundamental schizophrenia here.
Mieville wants to have crazy beasties, perpetual motion machines, magic,
and steampunk, and he wants to tell a straightforward action tale. He’s not able to pull off both. Most of the book, including the entire second
half, bogs down in endless fights, chases, and climbs, and Mieville seems
committed to giving us a detailed play by play of every move. The hunt for the moth monsters comes to
consume the book, pushing aside its weirdness and any deeper significance. Did Mieville really come up with all of these
ingenious freaks just to have them team up for a super-battle?
Among the things that get lost in Mieville’s pursuit of
Weird action is social commentary. As I
said, there are rich suggestions of class and race as issues, and there’s a
vague critique of the city’s authoritarian government, but Mieville never
really develops these ideas. Mieville
has a Ph.D. in International Relations (though I guess he was still finishing up
when this came out), so I expected the novel to be about society on some level. It seems that Mieville is creating metaphors
in New Crobuzon, but they’re not particularly well-developed or evocative. Again, action and self-conscious weirdness
get in the way.
I can’t say I particularly cared about the characters
either. Isaac is grumpy, consumed by
work, and ambivalent about his feelings for Lin, which adds up to something
that’s certainly not generic, but not particularly compelling either. Everyone else is pretty much a cipher, at
least until the final chapter adds layers to Yagharek. Not being invested in the characters made
those endless second-half action sequences even more interminable. Weird also
gets in the way of the prose at times. Mieville shows flashes of his talent
here, and the descriptions are far richer than your average sf, but he comes up
with some off-putting metaphors (e.g. “his body wobbling like a bloated
testicle”) and strange diction (“his body was thin…with a healthy
emaciation”). I might applaud the
originality of his language if I wasn’t so busy throwing up. Add in the
aforementioned overwrought descriptions, and I wanted to yell at Mieville to
put the thesaurus down and get on with it.
It was almost like I could see Mieville finding his voice as
a writer throughout the novel. He
immediately turns the fantasy genre on its head, but then he doesn’t do much
with the new world he’s made. The ideas
are there, but they need to be more developed in less space (I suspect I’m
going to find many more books about a 1/3rd too long in this decade,
as pagecounts continue to grow, more due to trends in publishing than to any
actual artistic reason). I wanted this
book to be so much more than it is, but I am still going to check out the other
two Bas-Lag books.
Grade: B-
No comments:
Post a Comment