Iron Council by China Miéville

He befouled where he was
with where he had been.

After the lavish praise I have previously, er, lavished upon Miéville’s works, particularly Embassytown and The City And The City, I feel this third book in the Bas-Lag universe was… less somehow than his others. It is everything the others were – fierce, shocking, high energy, weird, with not a little similarity to the great railroad Westerns, a genre I will admit in which I indulge from time time – but the mood of it, the feeling it left me with, was low; corrupted maybe.

It’s an overtly political book, railing against all the modern ailments of globalisation, and the culture wars that feel ever more relevant with, as Andrew Forest* so succinctly put it very recently (in 2023, not in November 2021), the current government’s tendency to come up with ‘clickbait’ climate policies amongst all the other dog-whistle populism**. But is that why? Is it because it is too relevant, and leaves me pining for pure escapism?

None of Miéville’s previous novels have been without modern relevance, but this does feel claggy, like the clear stream of imaginative thought is befouled by the viscid algae of political message, and there is an almost nihilist lack of positive resolution - as the Iron Council’s stolen train-city races to attack the city-state of New Crobuzon it is frozen in time by a conjured time-golem and remains in place as a monument to the folly of opposing the establishment.

And almost nobody seems happy. Or even remotely content. There’s no cheerfully angry but clear-minded Mick Lynch to be the political spokesperson, and it weighs heavy on me as a reader. Consider this passage:

‘Imagine if one of them were turned. Imagine if one could be bought.'
'But they're chosen just so's they can't be bought...'
'History...' Jacobs spoke with terse authority. Brought Ori to a hush. 'Is all full. And dripping. With the corpses. Of them who trusted the incorruptible.’

That could be a microcosm of the entire book.

But – and it’s a BIG BUT, I cannot lie – the book is still brilliant. This author has a touch of gold about him, and he can make you feel all the feels while casually subverting the fantasy genre. The trilogy is superb and not even a soggy bottom in the dessert course can dampen my enthusiasm.

*Rish! has trouble understanding economics it seems.

**For information on my political views, use your imagination to picture me laughing myself hoarse at the thought that Boris Johnson can’t have a swimming pool because of the greater crested newt and wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes with a copy of Stewart Lee’s regular Guardian column.

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