A review of The Etched City by K.J. Bishop

Title: The Etched City

Author: K.J. Bishop

Publisher: Bantam/Spectra

Cover art: (Paul Youll, design by Jamie S. Warren Youll) Richly horrific with what appears to be a festering chunk of meat covered in bees.

Length: 382 pages in trade paperback

Rating: 4 out of 7 (Perhaps we missed something but for now, this is what we've got: a good novel but nothing that awakened a compulsion or enlightenment such that we wanted to read it again)

Variations on this Theme

Things that Never Happen by M. John Harrison

Perdido Street Station by China Miéville (Inchoatus 6/7)

Veniss Under ground by Jeff VanderMeer (Inchoatus 5/7)

"Characters love to discuss theology, aesthetics and ethics, and they're prone to obsessive love affairs with inappropriate partners. They're also capable of committing cold-blooded and gruesome murder with little or no remorse. Despite the rather mannered language, this grim tale should strongly appeal to aficionados of literate dark fantasy."

--Publisher's Weekly

This is the first indication that our review might be terribly wrong. Theology, aesthetics, and ethics are subjects that Inchoatus loves to see seriously treated in speculative fiction. But for us, there is something ineffable missing in these discussions. Somehow, their immediacy steals some gravitas. Or perhaps the whimsical nature of some of the ruminations also leach some gravitas. As PW points out, this book should strongly appeal to readers of darker fantasy and should--by all accounts--strongly appeal to us. This is only one respected reviewer throwing their weight behind this novel with a very, very strong recommendation. In this case, we are swimming upstream against the critical body. Yet something about it just didn't reach us.

"In New Worlds (1964) Ballard said that speculative fiction would never achieve maturity until it possessed the moral authority of a literature won from experience. His observation was the nearest thing we had to a policy or a movement. Without doubt, Bishop's fiction has earned that authority. Moreover, like Ballard's, her characters often reflect new notions of morality. Up to their chins in murder and crime, they have scant chance of old-fashioned redemption. They aren't looking for it, and they don't take it when it's offered."

--Michael Moorcock, The Guardian

Another respected reviewer that disagrees sharply with us. Like PW, Moorcock recognizes a novel delving richly and deeply in to morality and redemption. This is another thing we usually like to celebrate in speculative fiction. We recognize these traits in the books. But as we mentioned above, there is something missing: we were not changed as a result of reading this book.

"The Etched City is a vivid and colourful novel, unafraid to experiment with itself and with its own form. It is a trippy novel; the unwary reader will be caught between layers of reality and unreality, and of myth and story, but it delivers satisfaction at its conclusion. It is simultaneously modern and old, taking in both the New Weird and the New Wave. Bishop demonstrates a maturity of writing and a control of the weird, in many of its shapes and forms, which is to be envied and enjoyed."

Iain Emsley, Revolution Science Fiction

Yet another respected reviewer that would seem to indicate we are wrong. Is there no one who will agree with us? We quote this review for its correct assessments of experimentation, "trippiness," and layers of reality. Perhaps these were the notions that were off-putting for us. In any event, we cite it in order to let our readers compare our position with that of others and make a sound decision on their own.

"The New Weird is a literary movement presently in progress. The writers involved are mostly novelists who are considered to be parts of the science fiction or speculative fiction genres. Its most notable authors include Justina Robson, M John Harrison, Steven Cockayne, Alastair Reynolds, Stephanie Swainston, and China Miéville.

The core idea of the New Weird is that literature should transcend the genre in which it is written, and therefore it is not only acceptable but encouraged that a writer blur the borders between genres. Many New Weird writings contain elements of science fiction, fantasy, and horror.

Critics of the New Weird note that the divisions of genre are built for a reason and that the traditional divisions of genre are based on which types of ideas work best together. Supporters speculate that the New Weird will follow the lead of Cyberpunk and become an important part of recent literary tradition."

--wikipedia

Just to help out in understanding the finer distinctions critics are attempting to place on the genre. It is firmly in this "New Weird" that Bishop is working.  It is interesting to see Miéville and Reynolds listed together… not sure we agree with that.

Bishop's novel has been published to an amazing burst of positive press. It's already enjoyed a couple of different editions in different countries and seems to enjoy universal acclaim from anyone who reads it. We have frequently in the past run counter to general critical opinion but it's more customary when one of two conditions exist: the author has already enjoyed some renown and seems to be getting a pass for a sub-par book and/or there is so much early positive press for a big release that the momentum seems to overwhelm any potential dissent. Neither of those situations seems to be the case here. City is a debut author originally published in a smallish press, which seems to belie those other trends of repeated "bleating" in the press and seems to indicate a real talent and a genuinely good novel. In fact, that's why we picked it up at all.

Yet, here we are giving it a pretty mediocre rating. And we could be flat dead-wrong. But for now we're going to stand our ground and tell you why we only delivered a very average score.

City could come under a host of various labels: horror, new weird, fantasy, dark fantasy… there always seems to be a new movement (almost always based in setting rather than style) in speculative fiction. It always seems like an attempt to distance "respectable" or "serious" work from more adolescent or serialized fare. Whatever the label, it is the case that the setting of City is where Bishop does some of her strongest work. We go from a blasted waste filled with temporary shanty-towns, refugees, and bandits to the city of Ashamoil where the bulk of the novel takes place. In reality, the opening of the novel acts like a prelude to the main act which occurs in Ashamoil. (Incidentally, it is in this opening act that comparison's are drawn to Stephen King's The Gunslinger). In many ways, the novel almost reads like an interlude or a dream taking place in the lifetime that carries on around and outside the city. It is the setting of Ashamoil that draws comparisons to VanderMeer's Ambergris and Miéville's New Crobuzon.

Despite her undeniably good work in creating setting, these comparisons in cities is one of the first places where we disagree with the critical body. While Bishop's setting is impressively drawn, it is not omnipresent and doesn't operate like a character as reified as any other moving, speaking protagonist as Miéville and VanderMeer are able to do. In City, Ashamoil is still very much a setting or a pedestal upon which the rest of the tale rests. In New Crobuzon and Ambergris, the city holds secrets, causes action, and creates disturbances. Ashamoil is a static place without a well-drawn history, without a burbling sense of naturalistic evolution, and never seems to be an original cause. Instead, the original causes come from her characters. This isn't necessarily a defect--only that the comparisons to Miéville and VanderMeer are ultimately unflattering and unfair. It also indicates, to us at least, that the power of her novel is going to have to come from her characters.

The novel centers on Raule--a doctor who seems destined to a life of serving a clientele of ill-repute--and Gwynn--a mercenary for hire who is a strange mixture of courtier and amoral, self-interested, criminal. While Raule is very compelling in many ways: in her career, her attitudes, her notion that she has lost her conscience in a physically palpable way, and her professional idiosyncrasies, the novel ultimately evolves in to something very specifically about Gwynn. It is his actions to which Raule reacts, his direction that she either follows or obstinately declines, and ultimately his decisions which drives her life and thoughts.

Gwynn himself becomes a thug: a hired thug employed by one of the leading criminal elements of the city (Elm). He is rich (Elm pays him very well), an enthusiastic user of recreational drugs (though he doesn't seem addicted), and a remorseless killer. Somehow, his scruples about gentlemanly behavior in public company, his concern for his companions, and his obsession over his lover intermingle with his exclusively self-interested regard in preserving his own skin; his battles, executions, and decisions revolve around his ability to preserve himself.

Yet there is his relationship with the sphinx-like creature Beth Constanin. Somehow, in some ways, she is able to use the emotions and actions of Gwynn to transform herself in to something better (or worse, perhaps, for the world). And this is what City is really about: it is the relationship Raule has with Gwynn, that Gwynn has with Beth, that Gwynn has with the criminal gang, and the inter-relationships of the people that Gwynn and his criminal gang touch. It is a novel of these relationships interposed with sharply drawn sequences of dreaming that may not be dreaming, hallucinations that may be real, and sorts of magic that are somehow not quite real but have real consequences. It is in these relationships that the philosophical discussions of ethics and aesthetics occur.

Somehow, despite the fact that so many people responded so enthusiastically to this novel, this mixture of reality, dreaming, relationships, and philosophy set in this city of Ashamoil was not ultimately something we found interesting. It is certainly not the fault of any writing for the writing is very good. Rather, it seemed that Ashamoil and the denizens of it somehow existed in a timeless--almost effectless--world. We never had the impression that the philosophical discussions had any real impact on the courses their lives were following or the fate of the city or those within it. It seemed as if the relationships were bowled over by the exigencies of emerging conflicts that seemed pre-determined despite anything that any of the characters could have done or were doing. Somehow, aside from the personal lives of the people involved, all of their thoughts and doings seemed irrelevant. That irrelevancy sapped our interest.

And this irrelvancy led us to a very important conclusion: there is no heroism. One of the hallmarks about speculative fiction is that it celebrates, somehow, the heroic. It celebrates something to believe in, something to strive for, something important. Neither Gwynn nor Raule are ultimately important. Elm and his Horn Fan are ultimately unimportant. Ashamoil seems to be perfectly capable of continuing on without respect to anything these characters did or might have done (thus the intrlude quality). How can we be moved by lives lived un-remarked by history?

We could be wrong but someone will have to explain to us where the relentless determinism of this novel abates to the point where Bishop's examination of these characters becomes meaningful. Without that, it's hard to regard this novel as something great and compelling such that we would want to read it again in the future and those re-readings are the hallmarks of great novels. Without that, the novel becomes something more like a painting drawn with words than lives that live with us and teach us and affect us. 

One thing that the sub-genre of the "New Weird" seems to be doing is introducing adults to the genre of speculative fiction. Where it still seems faintly adolescent to be caught reading even something as renowned as Lord of the Rings, Bishop is operating in a novel that is purely adult: purely R-rated stuff dealing in adult themes. This is, of course, something we rather welcome. Yet despite the storm of positive press, it is our opinion that this book will go un-remarked by future authors. Where Miéville, VanderMeer and others are creating rules and tropes within a previously undiscovered territory, Bishop does not offer us anything to hang on to. This is considered her debut novel and it will be interesting to see how her writing evolves: her imagination is strong, her writing skilled, she now needs to create a subject and a place worthy of her devotion and talent. It is then that the coming authors will sit up, take notice, and their courses adjusted by her work.

Amazingly enough, readers who liked Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or enjoy listening to some of the "trippier" stuff from The Doors will probably like this novel. Rather than being about horror or horror elements, it is a more a novel of the state of the mind, of dreaming, of hallucinating, and of reifying those metaphysical thoughts bouncing around in your skull. Those readers looking to blur the edges of ethics and government and instead like to explore the minds of people who do not restrict themselves by conventional standards of civilization will be intrigued by the characters and the dialogue they undertake.

It is a mistake to consider this a horror novel... some horrible things happen but it is not the kind of supernatural horror to a civilization that Miéville brings in Perdido Street Station nor the kind of sickening horror proffered by VanderMeer in Veniss Underground. Fans of these books might be interested in seeing what Bishop has to offer but they will be disappointed if they go looking for similar elements. Those readers (like us) looking for heroism will find it utterly lacking. There is nothing to cheer for, nothing to hope for, just unrelenting violence and depredation which is the flaw in this book. If these themes are important to you, you will be disappointed.