Twenty-Fifteen: I have been doing something that I had been putting off for far too long. I’ve gotten serious about reading, again. I’ve dusted off my paperbacks and charged up my Kindle. It has been a year to take the time to feed my poor television-adled brain with a selection of healthy, nourishing fiction. So, read on, little brain. Read on. We’ve been going Book to the Future!
I went through a bit of a steampunk phase about eight or ten years ago where the bulk of what I was seeking out to read had at least a tinge of quasi-Victorian sensibility crammed into the fantastical elements of the narrative. Then I got a bit tired of the concept, probably in a way that would get me labelled a bit of a steampunk hipster –as in, the whole steampunk thing became less punk and more steam as everyone and their mechanical dog seemed to have gotten into the brass goggles business and difference engine racket– so I let that whole interest fade.
Fade, but not before amassing a small collection of steampunk novels, a few of which never quite made it to the top of my reading list. A few, including this particular title by the talented Mr. China Miéville enitled The Scar, the not-quite-a-sequel but set in the same world as another of Miéville’s books which I’d read a little more than eight years ago, Perdido Street Station.
China Miéville’s claim to fame back when I was buying his books was that he was an up-and-coming “young writer” of strange and interesting books set in vast and well-realized worlds. That said, he’s four years older than me, now in his mid-forties, and I hadn’t read a word he’d written since polishing off Perdido Street Station… which I did back when Karin was still preggers with Claire, it’s been that long.
And speaking of long, The Scar is looking to be yet another engrossing but bulky read. I pushed through the first three chapters this morning and barely made a dent in either the story or the loaf of paper that makes up my paperback copy of the book. As it stands, I’ve got just three novels left to finish this year (as per the terms of this little reading project) and getting through each of those is looking to be a Herculean effort, each weighing in at about six hundred pages per.
So my month is looking to be very steampunk-esque, filled with grease and coal-burning tropes of magical mechanical brass knobs and hydraulic levers. And who knows, maybe I’ll rekindle my love of the punkish again. So, I’ll read on.