Cover Identity | Edward Miller's Mieville

As longtime readers of The Speculative Scotsman will be well aware, China Mieville is one of my very favourite authors, and The Scar is far and away my favourite of his exquisite fictions. But there was a time when I hadn't a clue that this book existed—that this was an author I'd be interested in.

I still remember the moment I became aware of both.

It was 2002. I was eighteen years old. Coraline was on the cusp of coming out and I'd gallavanted to Glasgow to hear Neil Gaiman read a bit of his new book. The event was held in Ottakars, as I recall. I miss Ottakars...

Anyway, whilst waiting in line to meet the man, I spent quite a bit of time admiring the Science Fiction & Fantasy section of the store. Mostly I could see spines, but a few of the books were faced out, the better to attract the attention of eejits like me.

My eye was drawn to a little book called Perdido Street Station in particular. The cover art was extraordinary, I thought. Weird and wonderful. That said, even then I knew not to judge a book by its cover, so I made a mental note to read a bit about the book when I could.

Weeks passed—months, even—before I took the plunge and bought a copy alongside what has become one of my most prized possessions: a first edition hardcover of The Scar. Both books had incredible covers by a man called Edward Miller (aka Les Edwards), and if I'm honest, I don't know that I'd have discovered China Mieville—certainly not so early on—were it not for his lavish art.

Tor have long since dispensed with Miller's services, I'm sorry to say, in favour of the icons that adorn the award-winning author's back catalogue today. But whilst researching some stories for this week's edition of the British Genre Fiction Focus, I came across a blog called Out There Books, and on that blog, a post about the Czech cover art of Mieville's ten texts to date. 

Evidently, Edward Miller has been keeping busy. Feast your eyes on these, readers!

A thousand thanks to Tom for alerting me to these Mieville-related paintings. They've made me a very happy man... albeit rather nostalgic.

Oh, the good old days, eh? 

The Scotsman Abroad | Special Needs in Strange Worlds

Remember when I went to America?

Yeah, I do too. The good times, and the not so good.

Obviously, this week has been of the latter variety... but I'm starting to feel a bit better about things, or rather, a little less bad.

Anyway. When I was in America, I handed The Speculative Scotsman over to a few of my most eloquent internet friends. Rather that than let the site stagnate, I asked a handful or four of my favourite fellow bloggers to stop off and entertain you all. They did, I need not add, an incredible job. And amongst the guests that stepped up most magnificently: Sarah Chorn of Bookworm Blues.

Well, what goes around comes around.

This month, Sarah's been doing something extraordinary over at her brilliant blog. Rather than asking anyone to contribute anything, in the mode of me, she's hosting four weeks of themed content. Special Needs in Strange Worlds, wherein we consider disability in speculative fiction, is something like twenty posts strong already, and I'd recommend you read through every last one of them. Individually and as one, they've made for invaluable insights into an aspect of the literature we love that's all too rarely brought up, or thought of, full stop.

Now when Sarah asked if I might have something to say about the subject, I agreed immediately. Let me crib a bit from the resulting review to explain what followed:

"I didn’t think it’d be difficult to come up with a couple contenders.

"More fool me.

"I read, shall we say, rather a lot. More now than I used to, before the blog, but even then I was a bit of a bookworm; I enjoyed nothing more than the challenge of a new novel. Sarah’s suggestion, however, had me wondering whether I’d accidentally shut out a whole species of speculative fiction, because beyond a couple of all too obvious options,not a lot occurred." 

(continue reading)

Long story short: it turned out that the book I was reading at the time, namely The Scar by Sergey and Marina Dyachenko, was in some senses an examination of one man's mental health, set against a sparse fantasy backdrop.

In the end, I didn't love The Scar - I don't know if I even liked it, though I'd point to the praise that's been showered upon it from here, there and everywhere for the opposing perspective - but I was absolutely fascinated by at least one aspect of it.

So I wrote about that, vis-à-vis disability in speculative fiction.

This, then, is actually a little bit more than a review, and a little bit less. Please do pop on over to Bookworm Blues to read the thing in its entirety. Then the rest of Special Needs in Strange Worlds, I need not add.

Unless you already have. In which case, here's to Sarah - a brilliant blogger with some exceptional assistance, all in support of a superb cause - here's to her for organising something so vast and so very, very valuable.

Sarah: I salute you!

Guest Post by Mark Charan Newton: Six Influences on the Legends of the Red Sun Series

Six months isn't such a long time at all, really. It's the halfway point between birthdays; it's the time it takes for Winter to turn into Summer, for the snow to become sun; it's how often you go on holiday, if you're anything like me. But let me tell you. In internet years - they're like dog years, only more nebulous - The Speculative Scotsman is positively claiming its pension. Sometimes it feels like I've been at this for ever, and so it's a pleasure, from time to time, to hand over the reigns to someone else. I don't do it terribly often - I'm not at all good at letting go, even temporarily - but this one time, in aid of the ongoing celebrations here on the blog, I'm making an exception.

Without further ado, then, it gives me great pleasure to welcome the one and the only Mark Charan Newton to TSS. Mayhap you've heard of him?

But enough of my burbling. Over to you, Mark...

***

 

One of the things I'm conscious of, as a writer, is to leave a trail of clues littered through my books so that people can see where I've been inspired by other writers. It's important to acknowledge these things. So, textual clues aside, here are six books which helped shape the construction of my own books, to varying degrees.

 

1) The Alexandria Quartet by Lawrence Durrell. Now any such lists invite pretentious selections, but invoking this metaphysical classic of the 1950s isn't me trying to appear clever - I learned a very important lesson about what book sequences can do from reading Durrell's stylish masterpiece. Each book in the series undermines the previous novel, and minor characters suddenly become the focal point, giving the reader a completely different understanding on what went before. It was a revelation, and made me instantly consider such subtle tricks in my own books.

2) The Scar by China Miéville. I've harped on about this book in many places and interviews, but suffice to say I wouldn't be writing today if I my imagination had not been inspired by this book. Reading this was the first time I realised what fantasy fiction could achieve in scope and ambition. I remain somewhat disappointed by the lack of true weird wow-factor in the genre (though it does exist with writers such as Erikson or Gaiman, for example). It strikes me as if some writers are reluctant to put much radical fantasy in their fantasy fiction, which I admit is my own personal taste - I don't have any agenda here. Because of my perceived shortage of such weirdness at the time, I thought I'd have a go at writing my own book. So I did.

3) The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. In City of Ruin readers will meet a new character called Voland. Bulgakov's mesmerising political satire contains a character called Woland, which was, in turn, linked to Goethe's Faust (the knight Voland - a demon), and so I wanted that satanic force to appear again, but in my new guise (though I've made a few connections apparent). I won't go into too much detail, since I'll leak spoilers everywhere. But if people want a unique spin on good and evil (and a thousand other themes) then you could do worse than take a trip through Bulgakov's Moscow.

4) The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe. It's the definitive dying earth book, and outclasses Jack Vance's series for depth and imagery (though certainly not for madness). Whilst I can understand why readers would be frustrated with Wolfe's prose, I found this to be a beautiful book with so many layers, and it really captured the mood of how I viewed my own series. It informs much of how I view the dying earth sub-genre. I mean, you only have to look at the similar series title to see I'm conscious of this literary debt.

5) The Wallander crime series by Henning Mankell. My guilty pleasure is that I'm a huge fan of the detective Wallander, and Mankell's bleak Swedish crime series has been endlessly good fun for me when I wanted something a little less intensive to read. They're not mere entertainment though – they're very clever. In later books, Wallander constantly finds himself up against a certain political or social frustration, and I very much wanted to replicate such matters in my own books. Fantasy books don't have to just be entertainment (that should be a minimum) - if you want to talk about a theme or an issue, then where's the shame in that?

6) The Book of Imaginary Beings by Jorge Luis Borges. Mythology informs much of my work - in fact, as the series unfolds, it will become apparent just how much the world depends on mythology. And there's no way to deny that I love a good monster – who doesn't? Borges's bestiary is a wonderful A to Z of, well, monsters, creatures from different cultures and mythologies – and specifically in my case, the garuda came from this resource. If you want one book where you can quickly look up a beastie to put in your own writing, then this is it.

Book Preview: Kraken by China Mieville

[Pre-order this book from Amazon

in the UK / in the US]

***

Whether he's to your tastes or your favourite fiction is more prosaic fare, there can be little doubt that few such fertile imaginations exist than that which China Mieville has mined in his increasingly diverse output this past decade. The oft-esteemed author made his name in speculative circles with a triumvirate of novels set in the wonderfully wretched world of Bas-Lag - the best of which, for my money, has to be The Scar, a perverse seafaring adventure that was also my first Mieville - but unlike so many once-promising new voices, this prominent proponent of the New Weird did not idly content himself by exploiting the wonderful world he had established until his dwindling legions of readers grew exhausted with it.

We might, perhaps, wish he had: neither the inevitable Young Adult experiment nor the abstract crime thriller that followed Un Lun Dun have quite recaptured the staggering sensation of exploring the seedier streets of New Crobuzon and its surroundings with one remade guide or another, and yet, Mieville's novels after Iron Council have not been without their strengths.

Un Lun Dun itself has been described as puerile, derivative drivel, and it's not difficult to see where such criticisms begin; sadly, I suspect those readers and sometime reviewers responsible for such slating resigned themselves to their ill expectations too soon, for Mieville, in the end, weaves a much more powerful and untraditional narrative than the blurb would have you believe. But I digress.

The City and the City, his last and arguably best effort notwithstanding the Bas-Lag books, was an existentialist crime thriller with a characteristic kick: the crime in question had been committed in an area on the fringe of two distinct cities that somehow exist in the same physical space. Mieville's greatest strength has always been in his settings, and the borderlines between Beszel and Ul Qoma - not to mention Breach - proved to be an environment rich enough in potential and subversiveness to rival the very best. Sadly, the brevity of The City and the City was a restrictive rather than a focusing force, and unless Mieville returns to its world, much of that inherent potential will unfortunately remain unrealised.

Quick Book: Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay

Much as I hate to disappoint - and at such an early juncture - my first experience of the great Guy Gavriel Kay's pseudo-historical fantasy fiction has been decidedly lacking in the wanton contrariness The Speculative Scotsman will count as its Mighty White bread and butter. Reader, truly: I loved this book. Almost without reservation, I loved Tigana.

After months spent searching in earnest for the next great fiction to fall for, a succession of weeks idled away in Retribution Falls and outright wasted Under the Dome that Stephen King would have us believe he spent three decades thinking about, Guy Gavriel Kay's sweeping single-volume epic proved to be a literary revelation. So desperate was I to find the next thing, in fact, that I had resorted to that most troublesome of recommendation machines: Amazon.

Browsing through some of the more notable fantasies forthcoming in 2010, the wonderful cover of Kay's next novel caught my eye, and so began a relentless trawl through the surprisingly sparse selection of reader reviews to find the best appetiser for this author with which to whet my appetite.

I'd heard the name bandied about before, of course, but it took six degrees of seperation from a China Mieville listing readers of The Speculative Scotsman will be hearing about shortly to point me towards the great towers of lost Tigana.