The Scar by China Miéville (3.5 stars)

Yep, more Miéville, but I'm reading something else after this one. The Scar is a return to the Bas-Lag world from Perdido Street Station: re-made, cactacae, vodyanoi etc. but set outside of New Crobuzon, mostly in a floating pirate city reminiscent of 'Waterworld' called Armada. Unfortunately it is nowhere near as good as PSS.

Armada annoyed me from the outset. How does a bunch of boats lashed together in the open ocean survive a big storm, let alone centuries worth of storms? Why don't they smash into each other and sink? Miéville tries to address this, but the explanation is lame:

Channeled into canals between the vessels, Armada's waters jerked and pitched violently but could not form waves.

The world-building is there, and there's at least one very well-played casual reveal, but compared to PSS or Embassytown, it's nothing, and relies heavily on explanations from PSS. You can read this novel independently, but if you did you would probably wonder why he doesn't describe the fascinating races in more detail, it's because he did it in PSS. I actually think avoiding recapping was the right call.

Miéville does introduce some new races, the most interesting of which is the mosquito men and women. The descriptions of the mosquito women were amazing:

Gazing hungrily, the mosquito-woman stretches her mouth open, spewing slaver, lips peeled back from toothless gums. She retches, and with a shocking motion a jag snaps from her mouth. A spit-wet proboscis, jutting a foot from her lips. It extrudes from her in an organic movement, something like vomiting, but unmistakably and unsettlingly sexual.

A book set in the time when the world was plagued by these mosquitos would have been an amazing read, as would one based on Silas Fennec's spying on the grindylow, or one about the zombie city of High Cromlech. Instead we got just a taste of all of these and followed an improbable floating city to the edge of the known world, just for it to turn around and come back. It feels like Miéville realised he'd already hit 800 pages and didn't have the stomach to write the actual climax so he just turned the city around. Or did he? Maybe that's just one possibility and there is a different one where it doesn't suck. That might be clever but ruining the story to make a point about possibility mining is a huge cop out.

I've noticed a pattern in the Miéville novels I've read so far: he doesn't seem to like filling out the characters of his narrators. In this novel it is Bellis Coldwine. With that name I can only assume Miéville was attempting to head off criticism of her blandness by pointing out: 'yes, she is deliberately cold and whiny'. She is important in the plot at one point as a translator, but after that just bumps along, being basically useless but inexplicably often at the centre of the action, which is of course convenient for narration.

My final complaint is that the grindylow were way too powerful. There's no way New Crobuzon could be a threat to them, which undermines a major plot point.

Not a terrible book, but he has written much better.

3.5 stars.

Embassytown by China Miéville (5 stars)

I doubled down on Miéville and was dropped into the now-familiar confusion at the start of a new Miéville novel: an explosion of new terminology, gradual reveals, and complex world building. Some readers seem annoyed by this initial feeling of disorientation, but I love it, and I'm now so impressed by Miéville's skill with this style that I'm perfectly content to sit back and let him do his work. Language is also as you would expect from Miéville: why use 'rare' when you could use 'recherché'?

And in fact language is a central theme of the book. The Areikei, dual-winged insect-like aliens on whose planet Embassytown exists, speak with two mouths simultaneously. A complex means of communications using a pair of cloned humans linked by technology to be able to synchronise their speech has been devised, and a class structure has evolved around these sort-of-human 'Ambassadors' who communicate with the Areikei 'Hosts'. The disastrous conflict of the novel arises purely due the speech of a new Ambassador.

Miéville spends much of the book describing the Hosts's native tongue 'Language', and creates some interesting constraints such as a physical inability to lie, and a requirement that all phrases be constructed with similes, saying something is 'like' something else. Part philosophical, and part linguistic fantasy, I imagine it would appeal to students of those disciplines (although I did read one resounding criticism of the notion that a language could exist without the concept of 'that', which is a key part of the plot). I mostly enjoyed the forays into linguistics but occasionally found them boring, especially the meetings of the similes club. On the plus side I learnt some terms like 'cognate' and 'kenning'.

This is definitely an ideas and plot book, more than a characters book. We don't really get to know anyone deeply, even Avice our narrator. And there are times when the single point-of-view is quite painful, such as shortly after the turmoil is created by the Ambassador. Avice is basically hanging out at home and talking to other people who don't know what is going on, which makes for fairly tedious reading, while others desperately try to save their society. A second PoV at this point would have been great: Ez, Ra, Scile, or MagDa maybe. Ehrsul's character is and central to the story early on, but is barely mentioned as soon as the conflict starts, which seemed very strange. Perhaps Ehrsul's story is fodder for a sequel.

Speaking of sequels, there's plenty more that this (third!) universe has to offer: there's a great immer-travel beyond-the-final-frontier space-cowboy hunted-by-bremen-establishment novel begging to written. The concept of light-houses placed in the immer by unknown technologically advanced aliens is great.

My favourite part of the book was the description of the Hosts and their infrastructure battling addiction - it was fantastically imagined and described. I'd love to see this as a movie one day and watch a building grow ears to satisfy a heroin-like junkie craving.

5 stars!

The City & The City by China Miéville (4.5 stars)

If you haven't read The City & The City, just stop reading this and go read it. It is really hard to discuss the book without spoiling anything since even major concepts are only gradually revealed to the reader, so be warned I'm going to drop a bunch of spoilers.

Miéville's cities of Beszél (which incidentally means 'to speak' in Hungarian) and UI Quoma are fantastically created. They are reminiscent of East and West Berlin, but instead of a high concrete walls and guard towers, the walls between Miéville's two city-countries are seemingly purely psychological, built on a deep and pervasive fear of 'Breach'. Citizens of both cities learn to 'unsee', 'unsmell', and 'unhear' everything about the other city: it's traffic, people, buildings, and more.

The idea of two countries being in the same place but separated in the minds of their citizens is a barrier for the reader's suspension of disbelief, but it's a problem that is skillfully attacked by Miéville. He describes a number of challenges the two cities need to deal with such as 'foreign' traffic and emergency vehicles, traffic accidents involving 'foreign' vehicles, children who are inexperienced at 'unseeing', tourists, immigration, trade, and differing economic status of the two countries. His description of UI Qomatown in Beszél is a good example of how much thought he has put into this world:

The scents of Beszél UI Qomatown are a confusion. The instinct is to unsmell them, to think of them as drift across the boundaries as disrespectful as rain ("Rain and woodsmoke live in both cities," the proverb has it.)...Very occasionally a young UI Qoman who does not know the area of their city that UI Qomatown crosshatches will blunder up to ask directions of an ethnically UI Qoman Beszél-dweller, thinking them his or her compatriots. The mistake is quickly detected - there is nothing like being ostentatiously unseen to alarm - and Breach are normally merciful.

To explore the interactions between the two co-located countries, Miéville uses a murder investigation that necessitates international cooperation between Beszél's Inspector Tyador Borlú and UI Qoma's Senior Detective Quissim Dhatt. We only really get to know the main protagonist Borlú, other characters remain quite undeveloped, and the dialogue is fairly sparse and intense.

As noir crime fiction I felt it was fairly weak, and the very neat resolution to the whodunnit has prompted criticism from some readers, but they miss the point. The crime and its investigation was really an excuse to have some, otherwise very rare, international collaboration between the two cities. I was interested in the murder but I was fascinated by the larger questions it inspired: Who/what/where is 'Breach'? Was 'The Cleavage', when the two cities were created, a joining or a splitting (cleave can imply either)? Is the mental barrier between the cities purely psychological, or is there an element of magic/fantasy/sci-fi i.e. is there a biological or technological reason why the citizens of the cities can 'unsee' their foreign counterparts? Is Orciny real, a synonym for Breach, or something else entirely?

Of these questions we only really get some resolution about Breach and Orciny. Breach is invisible, pervasive, extremely secretive and seems to possess limitless power when there is a 'breach': a failure to observe the city boundaries, which could be as simple as looking directly at a building in the other country.

I had seen Breach before, in a brief moment. Who hadn't? I had seen it take control. The great majority of breaches are acute and immediate. Breach intervenes...Trust to Breach, we grow up hearing, unsee and don't mention the UI Qoman pickpockets or muggers at work even if you notice, which you shouldn't, from where you stand in Beszél, because breach is a worse transgression than theirs.

After all of his experiences of travelling to UI Qoma and entering Breach I expected Borlú to question whether keeping the split between the cities was actually a good idea, whether Breach was morally in the right or just a brutal enforcement of a ridiculous and pointless segregation, or even just to voice some self doubt about becoming part of that enforcement. But he never does. I'm still not sure how I feel about that: to some extent it seems in keeping with his character, he shows no sympathy for the unificationists, and perhaps there is even some fantasy/sci-fi explanation (government brain modifications?) for this deficiency, but it is at odds with his willingness to break the rules to protect Yolanda Rodriguez.

Nonetheless, an intriguing concept well executed.

4.5 stars.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón (3.5 stars)

Zafón certainly has some talent, and this is an impressive debut. I have a soft spot for books that love books:

Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.

The Shadow of the Wind is a complex gothic love story that tended a little more towards soap opera than I would have liked. The improbable coincidences are, for the most part, carried by Zafón's strong writing. He creates some downright creepy scenes in the abandoned Aldaya mansion, and I loved his descriptions of Barcelona (you can see all the places he mentions on a Google map compiled by a fan).

I found it impossible not to love Fermin's character, the cheeky old soul, but like many other improbable things in the novel, the way Daniel decides to risk his father's business by offering him a job based on one encounter when Fermin was a drunk homeless person seems silly.

Early in the novel I was also annoyed by what seemed to be lackadaisical intimidation by the mysterious man with the scarred face - does he care about destroying these books or doesn't he? He appears to have years to spend just hanging outside the bookshop, and creating an occasional creepy encounter. This actually gets explained reasonably well at the end of the novel, so I relinquish the objection :)

But the biggest weakness of the book is the large amounts of exposition that are unceremoniously dumped into the flow of the story. These sections felt like very lazy background filling. On a number of occasions Zafón essentially writes a biography of the character and delivers it on thin pretext in a large chunk, instead of letting us learn about the character through experience, or meting out the necessary history more naturally. The meeting with Father Fernando Ramos was a particularly jarring example where Ramos exposes Daniel and Fermin as frauds pretending to be related to Carax, but then proceeds to tell them his entire life history and very personal details over dozens of pages anyway.

Despite these problems I did enjoy the novel, and was surprised by most of the (many) twists, but I would have loved it with less exposition and a darker, less Bold and the Beautiful, ending.

3.5 stars.

Sword and Citadel by Gene Wolfe (2.5 stars)

I have to admit to being slightly lost for words about what to say of the third and fourth Books of the New Sun. I'm apparently not the only one. After reading a few reviews of these novels, it seems there's little substance between enraptured "this justifies the existence of science fiction" and "it's confusing and boring". Those who sing high praises certainly don't try and interpret what is going on, they are content to talk of "staggering scope" and Wolfe's unique genius.

The true analysis and discussion has been happening on urth.net since 1997 (and presumably elsewhere before that since the books were published in the 80s) by a dedicated group of fans who have each read the book many times. I poked around in the archives for a few hours, and there's a lot of interesting stuff there, the theory that Nessus is Buenos Aires was interesting, and rang true to me. Dorcas being a vampire I decided I didn't buy, but there was much interesting discussion about blood bats....If it's in the book, it has probably been discussed there.

At the end of Shadow and Claw I was full of questions, and although I didn't enjoy the read, I have to admit I was intrigued. This was a complex puzzle with many twisty passageways. By the end of the fourth book some of that feeling of intrigue remained, but I honestly just didn't care that much what happened anymore.

Here's a collection of 'ends' of sorts that may or may not be correct (sort of spoilers watch out). So Baldanders is like a reverse Frankenstein who created his own doctor, the Claw is a thorn, or maybe nothing special at all, and whenever you go up or down, or through a corridor there is probably time travel involved. Oh and maybe there are two Severians, or at least a complex time-travel relationship with himself. Great. I understand approximately nothing more.

If I was to read it at least two more times I might have a chance. Even Severian/Wolfe tells me to:

Have I told you all I promised? I am aware that at various places in my narrative I have pledged that this or that should be made clear in the knitting up of the store. I remember them all, I am sure, but then I remember so much else. Before you assume that I have cheated you, read again, as I will write again.

At least this time I was very aware of what I was getting into. There continued to be plenty of 'autochthons', 'zoanthrops', 'cultelarri', 'deodands' and 'remontados': i.e. ancient english words sprinkled throughout the text that the kindle dictionary was woefully ill-equipped to handle. And the alzabo makes a real-life appearance in a chilling experience where Severian fights it as it speaks with the voices of the family it has just consumed:

More hideous than the speaking of a corpse could ever be, I heard the voice that had called "Open, darling," at the door. It said: "Yes, I am injured. But the pain is nothing much, and I can stand and move as before. You cannot bar me from my family forever." From the mouth of a beast, it was the voice of a stern, stamping, honest man.

I had a little chuckle at the blatant Deus Ex Machina call-out of Master Malrubius in a spaceship:

None but the poor playwrights do it, they say, but those who say so forget that it is better to have a power lowered on a rope, and a play that ends well, than to have nothing, and a play that ends badly. Here is our rope - many ropes, and a stout ship too. Will you come aboard?

Another favourite passage of mine was storytime with the Ascian in the field hospital. It seemed straight out of Catch-22.

If Wolfe deliberately placed all the clever plot points and hidden references attributed to him by fans, it is an amazing piece of work. Even if he didn't, and his intention was just to create a story that was sufficiently complex and open to interpretation that fans would be analysing it frame by frame like the Zapruder film for decades to come, that's certainly impressive in its own way. Unfortunately it is still a pretty horrible read.

2.5 stars.

Shadow & Claw by Gene Wolfe (3 stars)

Boy did I not know what I was getting myself into. The first two books of The Book of the New Sun, an award-laden series by Gene Wolfe, The Shadow of the Torturer and The Claw of the Conciliator, were a present from a friend and I jumped in with naive gusto.

I'm really not going to be careful with spoilers, so if that bothers you stop reading now.

I loved Wolfe's description of the Citadel, and his excellent portrayal of the professionalism and dedication of the torturers to their guild, where the flaying of skin to the bone of a 'client' is discussed by master torturers in a professional and passionate manner akin to computer science professors at a top university debating the merits of a particularly interesting algorithm.

They might be intensely interested in their art, but they completely distance themselves from the justice of the essentially random and senseless punishments they are carrying out. It is explained that 'clients' arrive carrying:

...his or her papers and thus his or her fate. All of them had broken the seals and read those papers, of course; and some had destroyed them or exchanged them for another's. Those who arrived without papers would be held until some further word concerning their disposition was received - probably for the remainder of their lives. Those who had exchanged papers with someone else had exchanged fates; they would be held or released, tortured or executed, in another's stead.

Gradually hints are dropped and you come to the realisation that this society is not medieval, but set in the far far distant future on Earth as our Sun is dying and technology has peaked. Society has fallen back to a feudal level ruled by an upper class with some control over high technology, while most of the populace cannot distinguish such technology from magic. Wolfe has been called the master of the casual reveal, and I felt that many times, here's a casual line dropped by Severian:

The lights of the oubliette are of that ancient kind that is said to burn forever, though some have now gone out.

Just as I was starting to feel comfortable in this world, and ready to learn more about the Torturers, Witches and follow Severian as a journeyman, the book lurches into a series of increasingly mad, and seemingly disconnected adventures. What's going on? Here's a mini summary:

Someone in armor gives you a seed and suddenly you jump in a cab and steal the most important artifact of a religion, on the way to Hunter S. Thompson's Botanic Gardens where you wander through a desert and a naked jungle hut discussion before coming to a lake full of bodies, get collected by a guy who is searching for his dead wife with a row boat and a grappling hook for well, possibly forever, and pick the nastiest, deadliest piece of flora which will be your weapon in an upcoming fight to the death that you somehow agreed to.

So this is why you should probably read the Wolfe hints for beginners, and Neil Gaiman's advice. It feels like you're trying to solve a puzzle being described by a narrator who is fond of LSD and lying.

Now I could no longer be sure my own mind was not lying to me; all my falsehoods were recoiling on me, and I who remembered everything could not be certain those memories were more than my own dreams.

And it is a beautifully crafted and complex puzzle, which has hooked me into buying the next two books. But I have many questions in my troubled, troubled mind:

What is the nature of Severian's allegiance to Vodalus? When asked about it he says 'I saved him once' and that symbols 'invent us', with reference to the coin given to him by Vodalus. He says he 'backs into the throne', which I assume means he becomes the Autarch? Does the Autarch actually exist at present, or was this business about mirrors and light 'creating' something mean that the Autarch doesn't yet exist? Severian met the androgynous Autarch in the house of Secrets, but I really don't know what to make of that, does taking the Autarch's life mean killing him/it or something else? (note the contradiction in the meaning of the word Autarch and its use as a monarch-like figure) Or is Severian Vodalus? Oh wait, the coin has a 'worn, serene, androgynous face on its obverse' so perhaps the Autarch is real but Vodalus is a construct created by the Autarch? Dorcas and Severian are described as innocence and death, but it seems like it should be the other way around? Did Dorcas kill Jolenta?

But despite all this deep thought-provoking analysis, the truth is I definitely didn't enjoy large parts of this book. It is very very wordy, and difficult to read: it's been called the Odyssey of Science Fiction. And while there is a lot of depth and mystery, and little secrets to unlock, I'm sure not every boring and diversionary little anecdote was essential to the story:

Must it not be then that in darkness order grows ever less, flowers leaping from nothingness into a girl's fingers just as by light in spring they leap from mere filthiness into the air? Perhaps when night closes our eyes there is less order than we believe. Perhaps indeed, it is this lack of order we perceive as darkness, a randomization of the waves of energy (like a sea), the fields of energy (like a farm) that appear to our deluded eyes-set by light in an order of which they themselves are incapable-to be the real world.

Perhaps indeed, it is such passages that detract from an otherwise 5 star novel? It feels like much of the book is padding to provide nooks and crannies for Wolfe to stash his secrets. I found reading Dr. Talos's play especially painful, possibly since it reminded me of boring English classes that sucked all the enjoyment out of Shakespeare.

I've heard the books are best on your second or third re-read, but if this novel was truly great, as many claim it is, it would be great the first time. It's a remarkably interesting and complex puzzle, but not a great novel.

3 stars.

Best of 2012 as read by G

In 2012 I attempted to improve my sci-fi education. Some progress made, but still lots to do. I also upgraded to a Kindle Paperwhite and frickin love it: the light, smaller size, time to read and x-ray, in that order.

The best (5 stars):

• Hyperion by Dan Simmons
• A Deepness in the Sky by Vernor Vinge
• A Storm of Swords by George R.R. Martin

Special mentions (4.5 stars):

• Perdido Street Station by China Miéville
• The Quantum Thief by Hannu Rajaniemi
• Wool Omnibus by Hugh Howey
• A Fire Upon The Deep by Vernor Vinge