We don't know who
he is, this author with the unusual first name. The paperback edition of his
mysteriously wonderful book, "The City & The City," contains no
author information whatsoever. Our daughter has recommended this book. It's
reputed to be on the boundaries of the real and the surreal, a murder mystery
and a fantasy. It slips in its alternative-reality premise carefully, along
with a murder here and the usual bureaucratic police context.
"I unsee
them," the narrator says a few pages into the story. An expression? A
neologism? A peculiarity of language -- part of the city argot? Our narrator's
city is called Beszel. The place has an Eastern European feel to it. Something about
the undramatic pessimism of the citizens says Balkans. The narrator makes a reference to
Turkey as some other place, not this one. Beszel the city is not a disguised portrait of a real place, but a
qualitatively different sort of place.
It is different
because it shares something with a neighboring city, named Ul Qoma.
Perhaps the tone there is slightly Middle Eastern or Asian, maybe even similar
to one of the Asian tigers since its economy is more prosperous, attracting
foreign investment; its architecture newer, more contemporary, lighted by
whatever comes after neon.
What these two
cities share is the same space.
To live in the
one, or the other, of these Siamese-twin cities, you must be able to
"unsee" whatever place or person does not belong to your city, even if it's in front of your eyes as it often is. To
fail to do so is to "breach." And if you are caught, the shadowy super-agents
of an uber-authority called by the same name, Breach, comes after you. You
disappear.
So the novel,on the philosophical level, is a
parable. Our
world is determined, it suggests, by what we choose to "see" and what
we choose not to see. In fact, it might be argued, all our cities, our places of
human habitation, are as many different places as the number of their
inhabitants. We make our "city" up for ourselves. A house, or
building, with people we don't know? We don't see them. We coexist on subways
by not looking too closely at strangers. We pass by one another on the
sidewalks in silence. We avoid the places some of the "others" seek
out, because they are others and we are more comfortable with "us."
"The City
& The City" imagines a rationalization of this mindset. It makes an
authoritarian, bureaucratic, legalistic polis from these aspects of living in our
own "real" worlds. The book's two cities each train their citizens
how to behave and how to unsee. In this respect, the book is an inspired work of speculative fiction.
Mieville's novel has a
mystery plot, a crime to solve. It's also a procedural of law enforcement
within these cities' fantastic premise. Assassins strike. International
corporations are powerful and shadowy. The cops don't always know who to trust.
But it's Mieville's
brilliant conception of two separate states, one space, and the rules everyone is
willing to follow to preserve their status quo that seizes our imagination and
feeds it to the end of the journey -- and keeps this book in our thoughts
after we put it down.
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