Entry tags:
Embassytown.
Miéville, China. Embassytown. New York: Del Rey, 2011.
This is, unequivocally, Miéville's best book yet.
I've loved most of Miéville's other novels, mind you, which is part of why this book was even more of a revelation to me. For the first time, all of Miéville's bowstrings are twanging in concert, and seeing all of his impulses and talents working in tandem to an end throws into relief how, in almost all of his earlier works--Kraken, I think, being an important near- or partial exception--he was clearly, fundamentally at war with himself. But peace has broken out now, and this book, much as Miéville's language in others was revelatory for other reasons, is, even on the level of prose, beautiful.
The word on this book, prior to its publication, was "Miéville does space opera," which on the most obvious level is true enough and, for a good chunk of the novel, actually had me hoodwinked as to what the book is really about. Being Miéville, multiple clichés of the genre are taken out back and put to rest for their own good en passant in this section, which I found amusing as someone who sympathizes with Miéville's complaints about the genre. Which is another way of saying that no one does worldbuidling better than Miéville, even when worldbuilding isn't what he cares about.
So, the narrative. Our protagonist--and first-person, at that, is Avice Benner Cho, one of the few natives of Embassytown who has an interest in, and succeeds at, getting out of her backwater world to the larger universe, as an immerser, one who can navigate the substrate medium that underlies all the universes past and present and binds the universe together. Before she leaves, Avice grows up in Embassytown, and as part of growing up she is asked to become a part of Language. Specifically, a simile.
Language is what the native sentient species of Embassytown, the Ariekei--called Hosts by the settlers--speak. It's the only language in the known universe in which words don't signify; words simply are, and it takes an enormous amount of work to maintain the structure of Ambassadors through which the Embassytowners can communicate with the Hosts. Without Avice and the other figures of speech like her, the Hosts could not use Language to express the concepts which Avice and others literally embody. Of course, the Hosts can't lie, and have no writing either.
As you might expect, in her kilohours in the out Avice has a host of fascinating experiences; and of course, it's her return to her homeworld with her nonex husband, a linguist, in tow, that sets up what happens in the meat of the novel.
This is a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant book. As![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks rightly notes, the sheer brilliance of the language Miéville uses may be the single most dazzling aspect of this book, but the plot is brilliant too, and consistently goes places you don't expect. Miéville zigs when you think he will zag, and this ingenuity extends to the characters--they are consistently three-dimensional, far more than the clichéd stock type you would expect from space opera. As usual, Miéville tosses off more brilliant, innovative ideas on one page than most authors have in a whole novel. The Hosts, too, alien though they indubitably are, eventually come into focus as agents in their own destinies, as does--not against her will and her learned habit of "floaking"--Avice too.
So, in short: go read it.
This is, unequivocally, Miéville's best book yet.
I've loved most of Miéville's other novels, mind you, which is part of why this book was even more of a revelation to me. For the first time, all of Miéville's bowstrings are twanging in concert, and seeing all of his impulses and talents working in tandem to an end throws into relief how, in almost all of his earlier works--Kraken, I think, being an important near- or partial exception--he was clearly, fundamentally at war with himself. But peace has broken out now, and this book, much as Miéville's language in others was revelatory for other reasons, is, even on the level of prose, beautiful.
The word on this book, prior to its publication, was "Miéville does space opera," which on the most obvious level is true enough and, for a good chunk of the novel, actually had me hoodwinked as to what the book is really about. Being Miéville, multiple clichés of the genre are taken out back and put to rest for their own good en passant in this section, which I found amusing as someone who sympathizes with Miéville's complaints about the genre. Which is another way of saying that no one does worldbuidling better than Miéville, even when worldbuilding isn't what he cares about.
So, the narrative. Our protagonist--and first-person, at that, is Avice Benner Cho, one of the few natives of Embassytown who has an interest in, and succeeds at, getting out of her backwater world to the larger universe, as an immerser, one who can navigate the substrate medium that underlies all the universes past and present and binds the universe together. Before she leaves, Avice grows up in Embassytown, and as part of growing up she is asked to become a part of Language. Specifically, a simile.
Language is what the native sentient species of Embassytown, the Ariekei--called Hosts by the settlers--speak. It's the only language in the known universe in which words don't signify; words simply are, and it takes an enormous amount of work to maintain the structure of Ambassadors through which the Embassytowners can communicate with the Hosts. Without Avice and the other figures of speech like her, the Hosts could not use Language to express the concepts which Avice and others literally embody. Of course, the Hosts can't lie, and have no writing either.
As you might expect, in her kilohours in the out Avice has a host of fascinating experiences; and of course, it's her return to her homeworld with her nonex husband, a linguist, in tow, that sets up what happens in the meat of the novel.
This is a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant book. As
rushthatspeaks rightly notes, the sheer brilliance of the language Miéville uses may be the single most dazzling aspect of this book, but the plot is brilliant too, and consistently goes places you don't expect. Miéville zigs when you think he will zag, and this ingenuity extends to the characters--they are consistently three-dimensional, far more than the clichéd stock type you would expect from space opera. As usual, Miéville tosses off more brilliant, innovative ideas on one page than most authors have in a whole novel. The Hosts, too, alien though they indubitably are, eventually come into focus as agents in their own destinies, as does--not against her will and her learned habit of "floaking"--Avice too. So, in short: go read it.