Iron Council
From LeoWiki
| Score | Title | Author | Genre |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9 | Iron Council | China Mieville | Urban Fantasy |
| Technophilia | 10 |
|---|---|
| Secularity | 10 |
| Quality | 8 |
| Xenophilia | 10 |
| Personal Tilt | 7 |
"I want to die for the engine I love -- one hundred and forty three" - a folk song
Two decades after the dreamplague of Perdido Street Station, the industrial metropolis of New Crobuzon bubbles with discontent. Guilds strike. Revolutionary cells meet and blabber. Militia patrol in grim uniforms.
The suffrage remains very limited. Power is still in the hands of the Fat Sun Party, with the xenophobic Three Quillers holding the balance of power. New Crobuzon is at war with the city-state of Tesh, and crippled veterans fill the streets.
New Crobuzon's industrialists have launched the construction of a railroad to span the continent. Hills have been levelled, swamps have been filled, mountains have been bored. Thousands of vodyanoi, human, cactus, and Remade workers have died.
In the meantime, an insurrectionary by the name of Cutter has set out on a journey to find a comrade -- or, as Mieville artfuly prefers -- a chaver called Jonah who is in turn looking for the legendary Iron Council.
The first part of the book is bone-fast. The search for Jonah rushes in a manic whirlwind of activity across Bas Lag. Mieville eventually lets up the pace and slows down to a point that lets the majesty of the universe shine through.
The usual playful nomenclature of Mieville is in full force. Exotica suprises and delights. Events echo real world ones without lapsing into allegory.
Terry Pratchett likes to mumble about the narrative imperative, but he doesn't really grasp it. Pratchett's wars end with the sides realizing that they know each other's first names or that they'd much rather play some footie or something trite like that. Everyone's a jolly swell bloke. Uhm, okay. Very gripping. Not.
Mieville, on the other hand, is possessed by the imperative. Iron Council has, in a way, run away from him. At times, the plot stops being a novel and becomes a tall tale or a Biblical myth. Hyperrealism mixes with airbrushed archetypes. China failed to add enough water to the concentrate and the result is a mix of juice and juice powder.
I recommend it, but not as much as I recommed The Scar.
For an alternate opinion, try bookslut.com: "Well, as evinced by his latest novel, Iron Council, my problem is that Miéville is just an abhorrently boring and pretentious novelist... What's frustrating isn't that Miéville is a bad writer. He's not. Throughout Iron Council, there are moments of near-genius, in which he nicely nails tough bits of dialogue or characterization. There is an entire section describing a radical play that reads as well as anything Kim Newman or Ellen Kushner could write. The man can write. He just chooses not to."
