Review:
The City in the Middle of the Night, by Charlie Jane Anders
| Publisher: |
Tor |
| Copyright: |
February 2019 |
| Printing: |
February 2020 |
| ISBN: |
1-4668-7113-X |
| Format: |
Kindle |
| Pages: |
366 |
January is a tidally-locked planet divided between permanent night and
permanent day, an unfortunate destination for a colony starship. Now,
humans cling to a precarious existence along the terminator, huddling in
two wildly different cities and a handful of smaller settlements,
connected by a road through the treacherous cold.
The novel opens with Sophie, a shy university student from the dark side
of the city of Xiosphant. She has an overwhelming crush on Bianca, her
high-class, self-confident roommate and one of the few people in her life
to have ever treated her with compassion and attention. That crush, and
her almost non-existent self-esteem, lead her to take the blame for
Bianca's petty theft, resulting in what should have been a death sentence.
Sophie survives only because she makes first contact with a native
intelligent species of January, one that the humans have been hunting for
food and sport.
Sadly, I think this is enough Anders for me. I've now bounced off two of
her novels, both for structural reasons that I think go deeper than
execution and indicate a fundamental mismatch between what Anders wants to
do as an author and what I'm looking for as a reader.
I'll talk more about what this book is doing in a moment, but I have to
start with Bianca and Sophie. It's difficult for me to express how much I
loathed this relationship and how little I wanted to read about it. It
took me about five pages to peg Bianca as a malignant narcissist and
Sophie's all-consuming crush as dangerous codependency. It took
the
entire book for Sophie to figure out how awful Bianca is to her, during
which Bianca goes through the entire abusive partner playbook of
gaslighting, trivializing, contingent affection, jealous rage, and
controlling behavior. And meanwhile Sophie goes back to her again, and
again, and again, and again. If I hadn't been reading this book on a
Kindle, I think it would have physically hit a wall after their
conversation in the junkyard.
This is truly a matter of personal taste and preference. This is not an
unrealistic relationship; this dynamic happens in life all too often. I'm
sure there is someone for whom reading about Sophie's spectacularly poor
choices is affirming or cathartic. I've not personally experienced this
sort of relationship, which doubtless matters.
But having empathy for someone who is making awful and self-destructive
life decisions and trusting someone they should not be trusting and who is
awful to them in every way is difficult work. Sophie is the victim of
Bianca's abuse, but she does so many stupid and ill-conceived things in
support of this twisted relationship that I found it very difficult to not
get angry at her. Meanwhile, Anders writes Sophie as so clearly fragile
and uncertain and devoid of a support network that getting angry at her is
like kicking a puppy. The result for me was spending nearly an entire
book in a deeply unpleasant state of emotional dissonance. I may be
willing to go through that for a close friend, but in a work of fiction
it's draining and awful and entirely not fun.
The other viewpoint character had the opposite problem for me. Mouth
starts the book as a traveling smuggler, the sole survivor of a group of
religious travelers called the Citizens. She's practical, tough, and
guarded. Beneath that, I think the intent was to show her as struggling
to come to terms with the loss of her family and faith community. Her
first goal in the book is to recover a recording of Citizen sacred
scripture to preserve it and to reconnect with her past.
This sounds interesting on the surface, but none of it gelled. Mouth
never felt to me like someone from a faith community. She doesn't act on
Citizen beliefs to any meaningful extent, she rarely talks about them, and
when she does, her attitude is nostalgia without spirituality. When Mouth
isn't pursuing goals that turn out to be meaningless, she aimlessly
meanders through the story. Sophie at least has agency and makes some
important and meaningful decisions. Mouth is just there, even when Anders
does shattering things to her understanding of her past.
Between Sophie and Bianca putting my shoulders up around my ears within
the first few pages of the first chapter and failing to muster any
enthusiasm for Mouth, I said the eight deadly words ("I don't care what
happens to these people") about a hundred pages in and the book never
recovered.
There are parts of the world-building I did enjoy. The alien species that
Sophie bonds with is not stunningly original, but it's a good (and
detailed) take on one of the alternate cognitive and social models that
science fiction has dreamed up. I was comparing the strangeness and
dislocation unfavorably to China Mi ville's
Embassytown while I was reading it, but in retrospect Anders's
treatment is more decolonialized. Xiosphant's turn to Circadianism as
their manifestation of order is a nicely understated touch, a believable
political overreaction to the lack of a day/night cycle. That touch is
significantly enhanced by Sophie's time working in a salon whose business
model is to help Xiosphant residents temporarily forget about time. And
what glimmers we got of politics on the colony ship and their echoing
influence on social and political structures were intriguing.
Even with the world-building, though, I want the author to be interested
in and willing to expand the same bits of world-building that I'm engaged
with. Anders didn't seem to be. The reader gets two contrasting cities
along a road, one authoritarian and one libertine, which makes concrete a
metaphor for single-axis political classification. But then Anders does
almost nothing with that setup; it's just the backdrop of petty warlord
politics, and none of the political activism of Bianca's student group
seems to have relevance or theoretical depth. It's a similar shallowness
as the religion of Mouth's Citizens: We get a few fragments of culture and
religion, but without narrative exploration and without engagement from
any of the characters. The way the crew of the Mothership was assembled
seems to have led to a factional and racial caste system based on city of
origin and technical expertise, but I couldn't tell you more than that
because few of the characters seem to care. And so on.
In short, the world-building that I wanted to add up to a coherent
universe that was meaningful to the characters and to the plot seemed to
be little more than window-dressing. Anders tosses in neat ideas, but
they don't add up to anything. They're just background scenery for Bianca
and Sophie's drama.
The one thing that
The City in the Middle of the Night does well is
Sophie's nervous but excited embrace of the unknown. It was delightful to
see the places where a typical protagonist would have to overcome a horror
reaction or talk themselves through tradeoffs and where Sophie's reaction
was instead "yes, of course, let's try." It provided an emotional
strength to an extended first-contact exploration scene that made it
liberating and heart-warming without losing the alienness. During that
part of the book (in which, not coincidentally, Bianca does not appear), I
was able to let my guard down and like Sophie for the first time, and I
suspect that was intentional on Anders's part.
But, overall, I think the conflict between Anders's story-telling approach
and my preferences as a reader are mostly irreconcilable. She likes to
write about people who make bad decisions and compound their own problems.
In
one of the chapters of her non-fiction book about writing that's being
serialized on Tor.com she says "when we watch someone do something
unforgivable, we're primed to root for them as they search desperately for
an impossible forgiveness." This is absolutely not true for me; when I
watch a character do something unforgivable, I want to see repudiation
from the protagonists and ideally some clear consequences. When that
doesn't happen, I want to stop reading about them and find something more
enjoyable to do with my time. I certainly don't want to watch a viewpoint
character insist that the person who is doing unforgivable things is the
center of her life.
If your preferences on character and story arc are closer to Anders's than
mine, you may like this book. Certainly lots of people did; it was
nominated for multiple awards and won the Locus Award for Best Science
Fiction Novel. But despite the things it did well, I had a truly
miserable time reading it and am not anxious to repeat the experience.
Rating: 4 out of 10