Embassytown - Book Review

 Embassytown has just won the 2012 Locus Award for Best Science Fiction Novel. In his thank you message, China Miéville described the book as a homage to some of the science fiction authors he grew up with and was influenced by, including Ursula le Guin, Robert Silverberg, Gene Wolfe, Octavia Butler, Samuel Delany, Michael Moorcock, Brian Aldiss, and Joanna Russ. This is quite a lot for Embassytown to live up to, but thankfully, it really does. (And I say that as a complete unashamed fangirl of Ursula le Guin, whose review was one of the main reasons I decided to read the book.)

Embassytown, by China Miéville, is a science fiction story about human interaction with an alien race called the Ariekei, whose Language (capitalised here on purpose, as it is in the book) is very different from any human language. The Ariekei, “insect horse coral fan things,” speak with two mouths but one consciousness, and they cannot lie. In fact, they cannot speak in, or seemingly even perceive of, abstractions. This makes communication extremely difficult, sometimes all but impossible. Only specific humans – the Ambassadors – can speak Language, and so all interaction with the Ariekei must go through them. One day, sent by Embassytown’s suspicious mother-planet, a strange and impossible new Ambassador arrives to speak to the gathered Ariekei diplomats. The consequences are unexpected, and devastating.

This is a book about language and its complexities, but also about the disturbing and shattering effects one society can have on another, the clash of two very different cultures, imperialism and power politics, and a colony struggling to find its independence. Finally, it is about the breakdown of the Ariekei culture, the attempts of the humans to prevent this for various reasons of their own, the Ariekei struggle to change their often simplistic worldview in an ever-increasingly complicated world, and the resulting mix of triumph, understanding and lost innocence this brings. However, it seems some readers have fixated a little too much on what the book’s Big Message might be, forgetting that it is also (and first and foremost) a truly fantastic, gripping and emotional story. By the end I had been taken on such a spiralling journey of shifting sympathies that I felt exhausted. But in a good way. The ‘can’t put down, staying up all night to see what happens’ kind of exhausted that only comes with a really compelling read. This is easily the best book I’ve read so far this year.

Polluto - This issue's 'Editor's Choice'!

Congratulations to Gio Clairval and Erin Stocks for their mesmerising tale of witchcraft, witchtrials, demons, and the love of one rope for one woman...

‘Hempish Love’ is this issue’s ‘Editor’s Choice’ story! We were impressed and enchanted by this tale’s unique narrator and original idea, as well as the authors’ confident, rich and vivid storytelling. Here’s a sneak peek (full story can be read in Polluto #9 ¾: Witchfinders vs The Evil Red).

I never wanted to be an executioner. My maker twisted me with habile hands, and as though it weren't enough, he twisted me some more until I became the perfect tool for the cruellest tasks. Maybe, if a fair woman had caressed me, singing words of love, I would have grown into something peaceful, I would have held flowers or led white foals to the water. Instead, here I am, hanging from a hook in this windowless chamber, ready to imprison wrists and shake limbs until my victims confess imaginary deeds. After thirty years spent performing the strappado, I wish my body unravelled, but when I appear to be tired my master strokes me with beeswax to soothe me, and I am like new: the perfect rope to extort false confessions.

Oh, yes, I wanted to die, my dear Polletto, until I saw the female of my dreams. I spied her first this morning as I hung from my ring fixed to the ceiling: a Dominican friar called Guido burst into the forensic vicar's adjacent office, towing Gostanza behind him.

He said, "Vicar, this woman slaughtered a new-born babe!"

The magistrate looked up from his codex. "Do you have proof of this, Fra' Guido?"

The good Dominican bowed. "Early this morning, I was walking across the Piazzetta Del Casseto when Gostanza came out of a house, her hands overflowing with rue and vervain, baskets dangling from her forearms. The incense of moscata walnut and pumpkin clung to her hair unbound and flowing like a young girl's mane despite grey streaks. I offered aid, and she allowed me to relieve her of two baskets.

"'Was that Mona Astrea's abode?' I asked. As I balanced the baskets, bottles clinked together with ill-fated chimes. 'How went the birth?'

"'It went well.' But a frown creased Gostanza's features. At the moment, I did not understand why, but a suspicion gnawed at my heart. I yanked a bottle out and unstoppered it. I was right, vicar! Concoctions smelling like oil of bartram, crushed cloves, madreselva and betonica herbs . . . all ingredients used for unholy spells!

"Then the devilish woman flipped open the lid of the third basket. 'Accept this offer to quench your hunger,' she said in a sly tone. 'Duck baked with prunes in tuber oil.'

"The aroma of roast bird tickled my nostrils. No sooner had she placed a palatable morsel between my lips than my senses fled. When I regained consciousness, I was alone in a mossy alley, slumped against a wall. I stumbled back to Mona Astrea's house, following a worrisome inspiration.

"Astrea lounged upstairs, her belly slack with recent birth. The maga Gostanza, lips and hands stained red, leaned over a cradle. Inside it, a babe, pale and still. She had killed it!

"I suffered kicks and scratches," the friar concluded, "as I dragged Gostanza out of Astrea's abode and up the hill to this Palazzo."

The accused's eyes shone like little suns. Dried blood marred the corners of her mouth.

Upon hearing the friar's words, the soldiers who stood in the audience hall grimaced, whereas I died to taste such a woman—one of the evilest suspects ever. You see, Polletto, I've always wanted to torment an accused that had actually done something bad.

Guido bowed again, and from my vantage I noticed sweat beading on the friar's forehead. Now, the sweating could have been caused by the unseasonable heat, couldn't it?

The forensic vicar then sent for the inquisitor of Florence, Dionigi da Costacciaro. When the brown-robed Franciscan arrived, my master the executioner brought the accused before him, in this same chamber, my home. I was yanked from my perch, and laced twice around the witch's delicate wrist bones. My braided cords shivered in ecstasy. I wondered whether Guido's accusations were grounded indeed, for her skin had the texture of guilt.

Read more in this issue of Polluto.

Polluto - Blood, Sex and Witchcraft, and The Evil Red

Polluto issue 9 ¾: Witchfinders vs The Evil Red is now out! This was a particularly fun theme that has inspired all kinds of stories, with some completely unexpected interpretations. There is, of course, the Evil Red as communism, socialism, authoritarianism, secret police, and the welfare state. And, as usual, no Polluto author ever deals with a subject in familiar ways. A socialist paradise fuelled by severed pinkies? An alien drug that will end all war by instigating mass colour-blindness? There is guaranteed to be something new here to surprise any reader. There is witchcraft and magic, not to mention monsters and the undead. There is evil, fear, scapegoating, and denial. The Evil Red lurks in the darkest corners as well as boldly taking over the world.

Interestingly, one of the unifying ideas that connects many of these stories is the idea of powerful, and in particular sexually dominant, women. This is appropriate on several levels, as this is the ‘witchfinders’ issue (and what has scared men throughout the ages more than dominant women?) as well as the evil red (blood, sex, desire, passion). And our ‘witchy’ women are joined by a whole host of unexpected companions. Professor Dingleberry and his walking house, topped with its red coxcomb; vampiric ‘colour-eaters’ that feed on red; a man slowly disintegrating into numbers, thoughts and digital streams; a clay man rising from a river of blood; a libido-zapped librarian contemplating drawings found on Mars; and a bloodthirsty priestess controlled by her malevolent red chainsaw. And many more wait inside Polluto’s red-streaked pages.

Beginning with Cris O’Connor’s unique spin on the Wizard of Oz story, complete with Dorothy’s blood-soaked ruby slippers, and ending on Richard Thomas’ captivating and heartbreaking story of a haunted man in a broken world, Polluto issue 9 ¾ bewitches the reader from start to finish.

Next post... this issue’s ‘Editor’s Choice’ story!