Fantastic Metropolis

My 2003 was a bad year for reading, and it was interesting to notice that quite a few other contributors to the Listmania! feature had their reading habits likewise disrupted by work and/or worries of all kinds. For the first time in many years, I started several books that I couldn’t finish, not because they were bad, but simply that I couldn’t concentrate enough to fully appreciate them. It’s very likely that I’ll give them another go in 2004, assuming this will be a better year. Still, and even though I didn’t read as many books as I would have liked, I think I read more books that I did like than in previous years.

To top that list, I don’t think I could pick any titles other than M. John Harrison’s chilling novel Light (Gollancz, 2002) and his collection Things That Never Happen (Night Shade Books, 2002). I’ve been a fan of Harrison’s meticulous prose since I first read his Viriconium cycle years ago, and I’m happy to say that my admiration for his work has been further consolidated by these two books.

2003 was also the year I discovered the work of Edward Whittemore, and I’m now beginning to wonder if it was such a bad year after all. I absolutely loved Sinai Tapestry (Magnum, 1979), book one of the Jerusalem Quartet, which reads wonderfully in spite of the fragmented narrative, appropriately used to mirror one of the central elements of the story, the original Bible and the scandalous ravings that fill its pages. Whittemore’s intimate knowledge of the Middle East and its history give this book a unique atmosphere, and the eccentric goings-on don’t get in the way of a humane and serious treatment of the situation. Edward Whittemore is a sadly neglected writer, and I’m pleased that Old Earth Books decided to bring him back into print.

Religion and fanaticism play an important role in another of my favourite novels of 2003, Nick Cave’s And the Ass Saw the Angel (Penguin, 1990). This densely written book follows the life of the mute Euchrid Euchrow, unloved resident of the Gormenghastian community of Ukulore Valley, and who at times embodies the viewpoint characters in The Sound and the Fury (a major influence here), either individually or simultaneously, as his frustrated attempts to communicate drive him progressively insane and into the hands of murderous zeal.

Speaking of madness (but of a much more salutary nature), I was pleased to read a couple of great books by Rhys Hughes that don’t happen to be out of print or cost the GDP of a small third world nation. The ambitious Borges parody/homage A New Universal History of Infamy (soon to be released by the Ministry of Whimsy Press) is a superb and deliriously funny collection that presents Rhys Hughes at his best yet. We soon hope to throw the spotlight on it here at Fantastic Metropolis, with an interview by Borges expert Allen B. Ruch, also editor of one of the most impressive literary resources to be found online, The Modern Word. While not as good as A New Universal History…, Nowhere Near Milkwood (Prime Books, 2002), and the “Taller Tales” section in particular, was still thoroughly enjoyable.

China Miéville’s The Tain (PS Publishing, 2002), another Borges-inspired book, is in my opinion his most accomplished work to date. Unlike in previous books, there is no dead weight here, and I found the writing more balanced than before. Could this be in part due to a better editor? Regardless, I do think Miéville is progressing splendidly, and I look forward to Iron Council coming out later this year. Other notable titles released by Peter Crowther’s PS Publishing that I had the pleasure to read in 2003 are Paul di Filippo’s A Year in the Linear City and Michael Moorcock’s Firing the Cathedral, all three of which you’ll find reprinted in the affordable (and available) anthology Cities (Gollancz, 2003), together with Geoff Ryman’s novella V.A.O.. I should point out that PS Publishing has been releasing a great deal of delicious-sounding titles lately, but unfortunately my pockets don’t go very deep, so I’m forced to wait for reprints.

I debated for a while if I should include titles by people who work with me on this site, and in the end decided that suspicions be damned, these are really fine books that must be mentioned. Feel free to skip ahead and disregard the following three recommendations, although I sincerely think it’s your loss if you do.

First, the strangest book I had the pleasure to read in my life: The Thackery T. Lambshead Pocket Guide to Eccentric & Discredited Diseases (Night Shade Books, 2003), a compendium of false medical conditions edited by Jeff VanderMeer and Mark Roberts, with contributions by some of the hottest writers to be found out there. While not everything is up to scratch, the material by Stepan Chapman, Jeffrey Ford, Shelley Jackson, Alan Moore and Michael Cisco more than makes up for the few uneven spots the book has. The design by John Coulthart is nothing short of breathtaking, and I don’t think the Guide could possibly be the same without it.

Steps Through the Mist (Polaris, 2003) marks Zoran Zivkovic’s return to the exploration of time and causality after Time-gifts. The structure is the same as in other collections or mosaic novels by the author, being a set of seemingly unrelated stories brought together by another one, but with a twist, in that the stories here are linked by the first and not the final piece, thus securing the theme for the rest of the book and subverting the reader’s expectations in a single deft stroke.

Finally, Veniss Underground (Prime Books, 2003) by Jeff VanderMeer, a science fictional version of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice set in an apathetic consumerist metropolis that conceals in its bowels a nightmare “Wonderland” where the gradual obsolescence of mankind is being plotted. Not as accomplished as VanderMeer’s previous City of Saints and Madmen (actually written later), but equally memorable and fraught with images that I won’t be able to shake from my mind any time soon.

I can’t possibly neglect mentioning K.J. Bishop’s confident first novel The Etched City (Prime Books, 2003), a Decadent fantasy of immense elegance that follows the flight from law of two mercenary friends, the world-weary Raule and the noble but cruel Gwynn. I liked how Bishop’s writing style closely adheres to the setting, from the minimalist descriptions of the Copper Country deserts to the exuberant prose steeped in the nightmare beauty of tropical Ashamoil.

Equally noteworthy is Kalpa Imperial (Small Beer Press, 2003), a mosaic novel about power and history that mixes Borges, Calvino, Dunsany, Peake and Tolkien in a delightful stew served by Argentinian writer Angélica Gorodischer, and superbly translated into English by Ursula K. Le Guin. Although my favourite parts of the book were read in 2004, I feel like I should mention it now, and hope that Small Beer Press keeps investing in non-Anglophone writers. For further thoughts on this book, allow me to point you to the mini-review posted at my personal site.

I also had a lot of fun reading Frenzetta (Four Walls Eight Windows, 2002) by Richard Calder, the love story between a sensuous ratgirl princess, Frenzetta, and her brain-eating zombie bodyguard as they elope around the globe in a gloriously over-the-top fusion of language, eroticism and cartoon violence. Richard Calder’s blog, by the way, contains precious insights into his work; try not to miss it if you’re curious where his fiction comes from and where he intends for it to go.

As ever, SciFiction continues to be an excellent source for original and reprint fiction online. This year, I derived eyefuls of pleasure from the writings of Jeffrey Ford, Lucius Shepard, Avram Davidson, Maureen F. McHugh, R.A. Lafferty, Glen Hirshberg, Samuel R. Delany and Carol Emshwiller, not to mention the conclusion of Michael Swanwick’s impressive Periodic Table of Science Fiction.

This leaves me with “A Colder War” by Charles Stross, a brilliant story of Lovecraftian horror where the Cold War is fought over the arcane secrets of the Elder Gods, and eldritch monstrosities from beyond the stars amass on both sides of the Iron Curtain, primed to destroy Humanity in a catastrophe of unprecedented proportions.

I didn’t read many comics in 2003, but enjoyed those I did, especially Alan Moore’s very funny Top 10, Book 2 and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Volume 2 (although I confess I don’t care for the gentlemanly treatment given to Hyde), and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman graphic novel A Game of You.

As for nonfiction, most of what I read came from online sources, however two genre-related books I liked were Brian Aldiss’ The Detached Retina (Liverpool University Press, 1994), whose opinions I share very closely, and Science Fiction/Horror: A Sight & Sound Reader, edited by Kim Newman from a pool of movie reviews and essays that originally appeared in the British Film Institute’s magazine.

The movies themselves were remarkably disastrous this year, and I only got to watch the better stuff thanks to DVD. The exceptions to this were Hayao Miyazaki’s wonderful Spirited Away, Wolfgang Becker’s tragicomedy Good Bye, Lenin!, and Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s Intacto (which deservedly won best movie award at Fantasporto, but that distributors, in their infinite wisdom, saw fit to keep away from the vast majority of theatres in Portugal). I haven’t yet seen some of the stuff everyone’s raving about, like Kill Bill Vol. 1 or Mystic River, I was so pooped after a year of terrible theatrical releases that I didn’t (and still don’t) feel any urgency to watch them.

On DVD I saw Porco Rosso, now my second-favourite Miyazaki movie (after Spirited Away). There’s a short review of Porco Rosso at my site here, in case you’re interested.

I also watched Jin Roh, directed by Mamoru Oshii, a sinister retelling of Little Red Riding Hood where Fuse, a member of the secretive Wolf Brigade, falls in love with one of the terrorists he’s supposed to stamp out. A wolf in sheep’s clothes may still be a wolf, though…

Finally, May, by director Lucky McKee, which was another of my, well, lucky finds in the past year. It’s a modern version of Frankenstein with gory, gory Dario Argento influences, as the socially inept protagonist decides to follow her mother’s advice and literally make a friend for herself. It’s also a comedy, if you happen to like it dark. Nothing terribly original, but the title character is so deliciously unbalanced I couldn’t help loving this movie.

In music, I liked Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots by The Flaming Lips, Namaste by Blasted Mechanism, Black Cherry by Goldfrapp (a startling departure from the melancholy tracks of Felt Mountain, another great album), If You’re Feeling Sinister by Belle & Sebastian, Elastica by Elastica, and several CDs with Yoko Kanno’s Cowboy Bebop soundtrack. Not really music, but brilliant nonetheless, are Alan Moore’s The Birth Caul and his homage to William Blake, Angel Passage.

I would have written more about these, but (1) I don’t know the least thing about reviewing music (furthermore, I may have no musical taste whatsoever), and (2) I don’t have much time anyway.

I wish I could have gone through this list more calmly and provided more than just a few off-the-cuff remarks for each entry, but hopefully this will do.

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Luís Rodrigues acts as managing editor and webmaster at Fantastic Metropolis, and is the editor of Breaking Windows, an anthology which collects some of his favourite material found at the site. Recently, he’s been kept busy by book cover design and the Portuguese translation of Michael Moorcock’s Elric of Melniboné, while his occasional reviews appeared by accident in such places as Ler and E-nigma. In the middle of all this, he sometimes remembers he still has a college degree to complete.