(review duplicates what I posted on LJ)
I loved Paolo Bacigalupi’s Ship Breaker, the story of Nailer, a boy who works stripping ancient oil tankers in a globally warmed futureworld, whose life changes when he and his friend Pima discover a shipwrecked luxury clipper. The world was vivid, and the characters were wonderful, so I was very excited to be entrusted with an advance copy of The Drowned Cities, which the publisher describes as a companion to Ship Breaker.
The Drowned Cities does share one character with Ship Breaker (Tool, a genetically engineered “half-man”), but it is a very different sort of story. Despite its bleak setting, I found Ship Breaker to be a very hopeful story. It was about, among other things, building families and establishing trust, and about people’s ability to escape from what genetics or circumstance dictates is their lot in life. The Drowned Cities, by contrast, explores how no one in a war zone can escape the black-hole pull of the carnage. You think you have morals and ideals you would hold true to, no matter what? You think at the very least you’d protect your loved ones to the death? You concede that you might do some things to survive, but not other things? The Drowned Cities begs to differ.
The protagonists, Mahlia and Mouse, are younger than Ship Breaker’s Nailer, but their lives are an order of magnitude harsher—which is saying something. They live near drowned Washington DC, which has become the stomping grounds of regional militias reminiscent of Sierra Leone’s Revolutionary United Front and Uganda’s terrifying Lord’s Resistance Army, complete with child soldiers, civilian massacres, and amputations. Mahlia’s the offspring of a long-gone Chinese peacekeeper father and a local mother (now dead) who made her living selling off the cultural patrimony of the former United States. Mouse is a war orphan.
The more you identify with Mahlia and Mouse—and Bacigalupi portrays them warmly and thoroughly, so it’s easy to identify with them—the more inescapable your participation in the wartime horrors they experience (and create). It forces a kind of radical humility and empathy: there but for chance of birth go any of us.
Of course, universal as the human capacity for atrocity is, we are actually culturally specific in the ways we brutalize each other: Pol Pot’s child soldiers aren’t precisely interchangeable with Charles Taylor’s, any more than the Armenian genocide is interchangeable with the Rwandan one, so really I suspect that warlord conflicts in a failed-state United States would have a somewhat less Sierra Leonean flavor than they do in The Drowned Cities, just as I suspect Chinese peacekeepers’ encouraging posters would be more like the four-character political slogans we see in China today—things like “One Country, Two Systems” rather than “beat your swords into plowshares” and “only animals tear each other apart,” which are among the examples given in The Drowned Cities.
Still, that’s a quibble, and since part of Bacigalupi’s intention is to make us identify with real-world conflicts that we’d like to distance ourselves from, I can accept the scenario he’s created.
The story also contrasts actions based on abstract ideas with actions based on personal, human relationships. War is hell, and even personal, human relationships won’t guarantee that you won’t end up betraying someone or being betrayed, but action based on friendship and love is shown as infinitely superior to actions that are prompted by abstractions—even abstractions that we think of as good. Kindly Dr. Mahfouz, a pacifist doctor who has sheltered the children, is ruled by his ideals, but it means his sense of compassion stops abruptly when he’s confronted with Tool, who, as a creature engineered for war, falls outside his moral framework. Mahlia, who’s not encumbered by a moral framework, is able to respond to Tool as a person. Self-interest affects her actions, but that’s not a bad thing, in the Drowned Cities.
What hope there is in The Drowned Cities comes from people recognizing one another’s humanity and reaching out to one another on a personal, individual level—rather than treating one another as members of some category: half-man, wartime castoff child, soldier boy. The relationships that Mouse and Mahlia have, at separate points in the story, with the youthful Sergeant Ocho are all about perceiving and fanning the humanity in one another. Seeing it happen makes you-the-reader stop and ponder what comprises humanity, what it means to be human, and what it means to love one another.
This is a harrowing book. It’s not fun. But it’s powerful, very, very thought-provoking, and, in the end, humane. Although no one is immune to degradation, no one is so low that they can’t be lifted up, if someone reaches out a hand and if they’re willing to take it. That’s a profoundly hopeful truth to discover amid the horror, and I’m grateful for it. I’m very glad to have read The Drowned Cities, and I highly recommend it--just be prepared for what you’re getting into.
[Edited to add...] There are other things I wanted to say--things I especially liked (Mouse's transformation: that was one of the things that gripped me most in the book), things I had reservations about (Tool's character: he seemed less his own person in this and more a type than in Ship Breaker), and things I initially had reservations about but ended up liking (Dr. Mahfouz's decision referenced above; certain things about Mahlia). But you know, a review that covered **all** that would be really long. And it's hard to discuss any of this without causing spoilers, and since the book isn't out yet, those are an especial no-no. So here we are.