Review: Equations of Life, Simon Morden

Equations of Life (Book 1 of the Metrozone series)

Simon Morden

Orbit, 2011

ISBN 978-1-84149-948-2

You are now entering the London Metrozone. The time is 7:35, two decades after Armageddon. MIND THE GAP.

Protagonist Samuil Petrovitch is a young, brilliant, wise-cracking physics student living in the chaos and squalor of the Metrozone – the last city left in England after a nuclear war decimated the planet two decades previously. Refugees have flooded in from all over the world; makeshift flats are built from shipping containers; Hyde Park is filled with the dead and the dying. But among these terrible scenes move a cast of colourful and eccentric characters: laconic policemen, gun-toting nuns, crazed doomsayers, and huge immigrant criminal organisations, chief among them Marchenkho’s Ukranians and the Japanese Oshicoras. Petrovitch himself is a refugee from Russia, having fled the fallout to take up a place at Imperial College. There, he and his colleague Pif work away at the equations that will unlock ‘the theory of everything’, opening up the mysteries of the universe to humankind. That, and Petrovitch tries to keep his head down, stay unnoticed and, most importantly, not die. But the Metrozone won’t let him off that easily, and when Petrovitch accidentally saves the daughter of Hamano Oshicora, he is sucked into its dirty, double-crossing, and downright dangerous underworld. And there are more surprises waiting there than he’d bargained for…

Welcome to Simon Morden’s Metrozone series. If you’re on the lookout for a dystopian thriller with plentiful lashings of humour, Equations of Life could be your thing. It’s fun, fast-paced, and mischievous, crammed with gun battles, car chases, and general chaos. Fans of Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash will recognise its exuberant OTT-ness – and although Equations of Life does not reach the same level as this eminent forebear, it’s definitely an enjoyable romp.

Unfortunately, whilst I enjoy the occasional romp, my tastes veer more towards the character-driven side of the tracks. And I’m inclined to say that if you, like me, prefer stories that pack emotional punches rather than physical ones, you might want to look elsewhere. Morden’s characters are vivid and fun, but they weren’t fleshed-out enough for my liking. The emotional moments seemed to me stilted and rushed, as though Morden was eager to get them over with and launch us back into another gunfight. Whilst I realise that this maintained the book’s pace, and kept the adrenaline pumping throughout, it left me dissatisfied and unconvinced by the characters’ interactions. This was especially true of Sister Madeleine and Petrovitch; although I did warm to their friendship as the book continued, it was more a case of suspending disbelief rather than accepting their emotional arc.

Petrovitch himself was quite difficult to get a handle on. I definitely liked him and rooted for him, and especially admired the way Morden created him as physically frail, with a failing heart and bad eyesight – certainly not your standard action-hero, no sirree. Still, I wanted a bit more from him emotionally. The setup is promising: Morden hints that Petrovitch has a mysterious past, which is then slowly revealed as the book goes on. This is all well and good – except that I never really got a sense of how this past really affected Petrovitch, apart from in fairly superficial ways. What I found most grating, I think, was his continuous smart-ass manner. In places, Petrovitch’s one-liners were well placed, and very funny, but elsewhere I found myself wishing that he would stop being so goddamned precocious and express more doubt, more fear (especially considering that he’s supposed to be quite young). I would have loved, for example, for Petrovitch’s sarcastic nature to be revealed – at least partly – as a defensive front, a coping mechanism through which he deals with his and the world’s horrific circumstances. That would have been ace. But sadly, even when Petrovitch does open up to the other characters about his past, this doesn’t seem to be the case: he’s as witty as ever.

Perhaps I am being unfair. This is, after all, only the first book in Morden’s series, and it could be that I’m pre-empting him. But if so, I fear that the deeper character insights will come too late for readers such as myself.

Unfortunately, I had similar misgivings about the setting. The Metrozone is certainly a ‘cool’ idea in a morbid sort of way, and I do have a soft spot for the grungy post-apocalyptic aesthetic – but again I’d like for the book to have dug deeper under its surface. I mean, this place is awful, right? People have flocked there to avoid radiation poisoning, or because their home countries have been wiped off the map. People go to Hyde Park to die in hordes. And yet the horrors of the situation don’t really seem to impact on the characters or the storyline very much. OK, so they’ve lived there for a long time and they would be hardened to it to some extent, and sure, sister Madelaine cries when she and Petrovitch have to go through the park, but the feeling I came away with was that the post-Armageddon scenario was convenient. That is to say, it provided a nifty setting in which the characters could run free and bash/shoot/blow things up without real fear of imprisonment or consequences.

Also, there were many things about the setting that didn’t work for me, at least not unless I was given more explanation… For example: there are still cars and computers and all kinds of things being produced in, or shipped into, the Metrozone. Is this feasible? I mean, who’s making them? Where? How are they getting their resources when the world’s gone to sh*t? How do people still have money to buy them? Haven’t the banks collapsed? And how come Petrovitch and Pif are still using paper with apparent abandon – has the environment not been affected by this world-changing nuclear war (which didn’t happen all that long ago, remember)? Or was it, despite being called ‘Armageddon’, not actually ‘that bad’? Is the world already well on the way to recovery? TELL ME MORE I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS IS ALL WORKING.

Again, I may be pre-empting Morden here; later books will hopefully weave in more detail. But as a fan (and student) of apocalyptic literature, I didn’t get a sense of why it mattered that Equations of Life was set in a post-fallout scenario.

But perhaps I’m taking this all too seriously. Equations of Life isn’t The Road, after all – and it’s not meant to be. It’s energetic, it’s amusing, and it will keep you reading. (It’s also got a really funky cover. I mean, look at that! So awesome.) If those qualities tick your boxes, then hop on for the ride – just ignore the gaps.

Review: Kraken, China Miéville

Kraken

China Miéville

Pan Books, 2010

ISBN 978-0-33398-951-7

In his May 2011 interview in The Guardian, China Miéville describes Kraken as ‘an attempt to channel a sort of hopefully enjoyable ill-disciplined exuberance that I felt I had been moving away from’. Kraken was a last hurrah, he seems to be saying, before the release of the more pared-down Embassytown.

And what a hurrah it is.

It would be foolish to try and better China’s own description of his book – ‘exuberance’ is definitely the word for this rollicking London romp. Gods, saints, cults; weird, fantastic, and terrifying creatures and beings; amazing and vivid settings hidden under the everyday fabric of our good capital… and Kraken has more besides. Miéville immerses the reader in his unique imaginative world, plunging us – along with his protagonist Billy Harrow, the everyman-who’s-not-quite-an-everyman – into a tale of conspiracy, gang-warfare, danger and, of course, magic. Though of course we can’t have a word as over-used as ‘magic’ hanging around in a Miéville novel, and Miéville shows his characteristic intelligence and ironic sense of humour by introducing us instead to ‘knacking’. If you’ve ‘got a knack’, you’ve got a gift.

Billy Harrow doesn’t think he’s got a gift – apart from the job he loves at the Natural History Museum. But when the prize exhibit – the painstakingly preserved giant squid – goes missing, Billy finds himself caught up in a whole lot of craziness…

There’s oodles to love about Kraken. And, as a book crammed with a myriad of ideas, characters, and locales, it’s hard to pick out the highlights. It’s basically all a highlight. But, as that’s not an especially useful thing to say in a review, I’ll try to pinpoint some favourite parts. Setting-wise, I loved the house filled completely with ocean water. Knack-wise, the charmed iPod had me in fits of giggles. Character-wise, the duo Goss and Subby, along with their boss, the Tattoo, were absolutely terrifying but wonderful creations. And, well, you gotta love Collingswood – it was good to find the ‘spunky female sidekick’ drawn beyond that stereotype via Miéville’s complex plotting and brilliant (and often hilarious) dialogue.

After such a rollicking tale, it’s always a risk that the conclusion won’t live up to the preceding narrative. But with Kraken, this isn’t an issue. So as not to give things away, I’ll just say that I really enjoyed the way Miéville handled the novel’s climax. Central to the book throughout, and particularly pertinent when it comes to its ending, is Miéville’s ironic engagement with the tropes and traditional ‘logic’ of the fantasy genre. These self-conscious, and to some extent self-deprecating, references make for a fun but intelligent read. And, let’s face it, it’s nice to be made to feel clever. (Oh, to be as clever as China Miéville! One can only dream…)

So, after that gushing of enthusiasm, I come to my one negative point – a negative that probably stems from the fact that I am not as clever as China Miéville. For, amongst the dashings about London, the clashings between cults, the complex incentives of the different gangs, the protagonist, and the police force, I have to admit that there were places where I felt a little – shall we say – lost at sea? Keeping on top of the various motives behind the many groups that populate Kraken’s London proved a little difficult – something I expect would be exacerbated if you were to read the book over a longer period of time. It may be that Kraken is best read in as few sittings as possible, rather than to and from work on the tube. Or perhaps I was just being a bit of a moron… But even so, such moments of confusion didn’t detract much from my enjoyment, and I always found myself back on track before long.

I’ve not read enough of Miéville’s books to compare Kraken to his earlier works – I’ve read The Scar, and got through roughly 2/3 of Perdido Street Station before uni work interrupted – but I will be interested to see how Kraken compares to his more recent books. The City and the City and Embassytown are both definitely on my to-read list.

Oh, and here’s something Miéville fans will enjoy, which China himself has said is awesome. (You can find that interview on io9, here.)

Review: A Madness of Angels, Kate Griffin

A Madness of Angels
Kate Griffin
Orbit, 2009

ISBN 978-1-84149-733-4

Make me a shadow on the wall…

I have been curious for a while about Kate Griffin’s Urban Magic series (or Matthew Swift series, as it’s called on Amazon). I’d heard very good things about it, and I also remember a time – years back – when my mum pointed out an article in the paper, saying, ‘Look, Jess, she’s only 14 and she’s getting a novel published!’ ‘She’ was of course Catherine Webb (aka Kate Griffin), and that novel was Mirror Dreams. I still haven’t read that one, but was eager from then on to see what the published writings of someone so near my own age were like.

And ohgosh, Kate Griffin’s A Madness of Angels is better than I ever expected.

The plot starts off with the somewhat clichéd scenario of the protagonist – Matthew Swift, sorcerer – waking up, confused and disorientated. The disorientation arises from the fact that although he seems to be in his own home, it also seems not to be his own home any longer. And the confusion stems from the equally disconcerting fact that he used to be, well, dead – that, and the fact that he no longer seems to be the sole inhabitant of his body and mind… Electric blue angels also gaze out through his eyes.

Griffin pulls us relentlessly through her plot, and through a fantastic, supernatural Londonscape full of warlocks, magicians, necromancers, trash-monsters (aka ‘litterbugs’), graffiti-spells, and lots of dynamic, exciting – and often quite gritty – action. (We quickly forgive the slight cliché of the start.) Matthew Swift, having technically been dead for two years, must find out why he’s been brought back, and by whom. And, of course, revenge the one responsible for his death – and, as it turns out, many others – in the first place. But what will be the cost of his crusade?

This is a great book. Griffin’s London is full of wonderful, chilling surprises, and I enjoyed the urban metaphors that constituted the logic of her magic system. (Jacob of Drying Ink has reviewed the series’ magic system over at Grasping for the Wind.) What’s more, Griffin reveals the magic’s features in a skilful and sophisticated manner, teasing it out gradually in the action sequences, avoiding the pitfall of info-dumps. But what I was probably most impressed with was the sheer quality of the writing that underpinned the novel. Griffin’s prose is consistently fantastic, with some wonderful and original turns of phrase. Her descriptions don’t fall into the trap of focussing on the visual, instead engaging all of the senses and really immersing us in the rush and buzz of her London world. If I was going to be really picky, I might pull her up on some over-verbose sections, but on the whole it was a complete joy to be carried along by her words.

My only real criticism is that I’d have liked some more emotional character development, especially from Matthew. This isn’t to say that the characterisation is bad (it most definitely isn’t) but more that the scenario in which Griffin places her protagonist – lost in the world, with very few friends – means that there aren’t many characters with whom he interacts with on a truly personal and emotive level; she doesn’t give herself much chance to really show Matthew’s inner feelings. There’s a wonderful section when he goes to visit Elizabeth Bakker – and we get tantalising hints at their previous relationship before his death – but I would have liked more moments like these. I wanted to get to know Matthew better through his reactions to others.

Griffin set herself a challenge with Matthew from the start, of course, with the whole possession thing. But she deals with this exceedingly well, letting the vulnerable curiosity of the essentially ‘new-born’ angels seep out of Matthew’s otherwise savvy and quick-witted personality. This does mean that the protagonist’s character is rather elusive, but Griffin uses this to her advantage, drawing us onwards as she gradually reveals more about him and the angels both. As I said above, I think the difficulty is more due to the lack of deep interaction with other characters, than the actual writing of Matthew him(them)self. At any rate, I expect my small complaint will become defunct as I read on through the series – which I thoroughly intend to.

Conclusion: A thrilling, exuberant novel packed full of surprising ideas and sustained by brilliant writing. Doesn’t quite reach the heights of psychedelic awesomeness that characterise China Miéville’s Kraken, but it comes admirably close – and if you enjoyed Miéville’s novel, you should check out Griffin’s. I’d also direct fans of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere to it.