Rating: 8.8 / 10
David Wingrove's Chung Kuo series is a rather unique situation wherein it's actually two series, the second a “recast” of the first, divided separately with different endings and a new prequel. This confused the hell out of me when I first stumbled across this series, so let me clarify things for everyone right off the hop. From 1989 through 1999, Wingrove released Chung Kuo as a series of long, roughly 500-800 page (a piece) novels chronicling the rise of a neofeudal dynastic global Chinese empire. However, the cult following of the series wasn't strong enough to garner sympathy from the publisher, and as Wingrove was writing the eighth book, he was told he wouldn't get his ninth, his finale. This left Book 8 apparently rushed and unsatisfactory – Wingrove himself didn't like what became of it. However, after much negotiation with a new publisher, Corvus, they are now re-releasing the series with a proper ending. They're also updating the technology and history to reflect the past decade, and including a prequel. Furthermore, all (now) ten books are being split in two to make a twenty novel series. This series is called the Chung Kuo Recast, and many of the books bare the names of the original series, and of course it's the same author. The word “Recast” doesn't appear on the novels' covers, and this is why it's helpful to check sites like Goodreads.
All that being said, this is the first half of the prequel, which now becomes Book 1 of the Recast series.
I discovered this series completely at random when I picked up the Book 2 (Daylight on Iron Mountain) in a book store, and did a little research. I asked for Book 1 for Christmas, and was left waiting for a month and a half to begin reading it. Let me say, I love post-apocalyptic science fiction. I have a bizarre fascination with Confucian dynastic China. And after reading all the currently published books of George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, I have a newfound appreciation for when an author takes the time to tell a story properly in all explicit detail with astounding worldbuilding. This is the book for me.
I went into this with high expectations. In fact, very high expectations, which I knew were a disaster. Too high of expectations can sour even a very good novel if it's just a little shy of the greatness you were hoping for. Therefore, I consciously tried to lower my expectations, and went into it expecting very little. This made me think it would be both great and abysmal and I couldn't quite meet those two in the middle. The result was the I was hyper-critical of everything, but still loved it.
Now, I love me some good post-apocalyptic science fiction (emphasis on “good”), and this doesn't disappoint. My experience in this genre has been lacking up until now. I've read S. M Stirling's Emberverse series, and John Barnes' Daybreak series (or, I should say, read parts of these before abandonment). There were many small problems with Stirling's series – from the structure to the flatness of the characters, the misdirection of Astrid and Eilir's sexuality, the formulaic nature of conflict and resolution...and romance – but was an interesting premise and didn't per se have its wheels slip into the same tire marks in the mud that post-apocalyptic usually does. John Barnes, however, fulfils every post-apocalyptic blunder to a T.
The usual problem with post-apocalyptic is that first you have to get through the apocalyptic. For as much as I love post-apocalyptic, I don't like apocalyptic. Why? Because I've seen too much apocalyptic fiction follow the same point by point formula. Start with an incredibly large number of characters. Make not a single story, but a series of vignettes surrounding this plethora of characters. Please note that the reader will not develop any attachment to most of them because they know that most of these characters are perfunctory and will be killed off or wane into oblivion shortly. This was Barnes' mistake. It was not Wingrove's.
The Chung Kuo series, as I understand it, is not meant to be post-apocalyptic, per se, but rather post-post-apocalyptic, and therefore doesn't need the formulaic apocalyptic first novel opener, but can skip that and jump to a post-apocalyptic first novel opener. That was Son of Heaven. It doesn't bother with an endless string of atonal apocalyptic vignettes to try and tell the story of doomsday from all sides. It skips all that and jumps right into the good stuff. However, as though Wingrove realised that even that would be problematic, he does include the tale of the apocalypse itself. However, instead of spending all of Book 1 on this, instead of spending 120 pages of Part 1 on this, and instead of summing it up in pure unbridled exposition in an explanatory prologue, he takes a different course, and I can't praise him enough for this.
He does spend 120 pages telling the story. It's not Part 1, though, but Part 2. The book is told non-linearly, Parts 1 and 3 taking place in 2065 in post-apocalyptic Dorset County, England, and Part 2 in 2043 recounting the events of the fall itself. Moreover, the apocalypse isn't recounted through the eyes of 120 characters – 1 per page – 113 of which are dead by Part 3, but instead almost exclusively through the eyes of the protagonist, Jake Reed. I am usually leery of anything non-linear, not because of some inherent bias against that type of structure, but because I've seen it go bad one too many times. I was leery of this. I needn't have been. The timespan between Parts 1 and 3 is nil, and he chose the perfect moment to splice the story. Part 2 is somewhat perfunctory, but is unique enough that it's barely noticeable. Wingrove sets up a dystopian near future England where permits are required to marry and procreate, and any procreation without a permit means the child shall not have legal protections under the law. Why? The law can't afford it. There was an oil peak back in the twenties and it wrenched the world into a new era – a very rightwing era, as Jake reflects through his viewpoint chapters, with only minimal political allusions. The Welfare State is gone, almost exclusively, including access to police, fire, ambulance, etc., except for a very small percentage of self-sufficient people – the rich (which Jake happens to be apart of). Strict regulations keep it that way, and “the unprotected” are granted their welfare only through private charity and are often walled up in city-wide prisons and kept inside by armed guards. It's kind of a “Yeah, we'll let you fuck, but we ain't cleaning up the mess” kind of system.
Without giving too much away, the nature of “the Collapse” is almost instantaneous for Western Civilisation, and therefore about half of Part 2 is Jake's wanderings in his attempt to get away from London along the roads. This means that for a good chunk of the apocalyptic phase of the novel, we're still blessed with post-apocalyptic, albeit with the apocalypse only a day or two past.
If there's one serious problem with this novel, it does occur during the perfunctory parts of Part 2, wherein Jake is reflecting upon the period between 2009 and 2043 (between the writing and the inception of the story). Jake, in a moment of reflection, recalls the events leading up to 2043 in a three or four page span of what I call E-brake exposition. That is, imagine it as a movie, and all action and the furthering of the story ceases as though the protagonist turns to the camera and says “Oh, and by the way, our focus group has determined you're too stupid to figure this out if we work it in covertly, so...” and he vomits all the background details of the story at you in a single breath. I don't like E-brake exposition. Exposition can be done properly, and huge steaming piles of it at that, but there are specific codes and regulations for it, and slipping it in in the middle of a doomsday sequence as the market is crashing isn't one of them. The novel is excellently written in the way that each scene follows the exclusive viewpoint of one character (and not roaming omnisciently), usually Jake, but the justification for Jake to sit back on the couch, put his feet up, and just happen to recount the specific history of a thirty year period as though it were a high school history lesson... well, I'm not buying it.
As I say, the novel is excellently written. The prose is beautiful. He chooses his swearing selectively but specifically. To wit, the C word makes a few appearances beginning in Part 2 (not to give spoilers) at a moment of intense emotion. Rage, namely. In large part, this occurs in the description, not the dialogue (along with other swears), as an expression of the viewpoint character's inner monologue. For this, I cannot thank Wingrove enough, because it actually gives the prose some fluidity. Fluidity, far too often neglected in prose, is the difference between a tax form and poetry.
The structure, as I've said, is spectacular – not just with Part 2 being non-linear, but also the flow of the chapters, the scenes, the viewpoint changes.... Wingrove relies a lot on sentence fragments, which works very well to help establish the dire tone and affix the narration to Jake, but he goes just a little bit overboard with it. It becomes too prevalent, and the effect is kind of dulled.
The coming of China is the premise of this book, so it shouldn't be a spoiler that in the end, China comes. Major characters of Part 3 include Chinese General Jiang Lei, and Cadre Wang Yu-Lai. Immaculate political drama is set up between the two of them, and their superiors – the Thousand Eyes Ministry and Emperor Tsao Ch'un himself. This is the sort of thing I was hoping for in this series, and I believe I will be quite pleased as the series progresses. However, despite the fact that the characterisation between these two is good, the actual conflict between the two of them seems rushed. Part 3, I think, could serve as it's own book with the content involved, and yet it's reduced to a mere 120 pages or so. The political intrigue, good as it was, was somewhat muted by the rapid pacing in that third part. I know Wingrove probably had to make certain concessions to the publisher to redo the series, but I, myself, would have liked to have seen maybe fifty pages more to that third part; perhaps a subplot to establish these character before pitting them at odds.
Finally, the themes. This is not merely post-apocalyptic pulp. There are some good themes in here, and they are somewhat subtle or hidden away. First, as I've mentioned, there's the licensing aspect of procreation in dystopian England. Commentary on the Welfare State, and the conservative callousness of opposition thereto. The frailty of the market. After the fall, England has fallen into once again a feudal state. King Branagh of Wessex seems like a compassionate monarch, but he's a monarch nonetheless. Traditional gender rolls are cropping back up. We're beginning to see the transition from the modern feminist day to wives as chattel once more. Finally, in Part 3, Confucianism makes its appearance.
So, here are my problems in a nutshell:
1) E-brake exposition in Part 2
2) Part 3 served as a subplot when it deserved full plot status with subplots of its own
3) The prose reads like an excellent author on his first novel. First novels all read the same. This, unfortunately, is not a first novel.
Apart from those three minor things right there, I absolutely loved this book, and I can't wait for Book 2. This is going to be a good series.