The Mysteries of Pittsburgh - Michael Chabon (1988)

A book that should be mandatory reading for aspiring writers, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh is a testament to the fact that good writing is something that requires practice, effort and, perhaps even, a little maturity. Chabon's first book, started when he was just 21 is so blindingly inferior to his better efforts that only my continued astonishment at its awfulness kept me reading to the end.

Coming across as part-autobiographical and part-wish-fulfillment fantasy, the plot centres around, Art Bechstein, a directionless, colourless university graduate with an unlikely family background - he's the son of a Jewish money launderer working for the mob. Meeting two alluring and attractive students at the University Library, Arthur and the improbably named Phlox, Art bounces back and forth between the two and enters into the constellation of characters that surround them, and crosses orbits, catastrophically, with Cleveland, a highly-literate biker with criminal ambitions. The problems, aside from Art's blank nothingness, begin with the fact that neither Phlox or Arthur are very compelling characters. Neither are their respective worlds very glamarous or exciting. So it's not just a little difficult to understand Art's enchantment. In fact, it's downright irritating and hints at a lack of experience on Chabon's part which feels embarrassingly revealing. As if to compensate, the Cleveland character tries to inject a little excitement and weight into the narrative by using his connection to Art to get himself a gig as a jewel-thief. Overly ambitious and careless, Cleveland draws down the wrath of Papa Bechstein who promptly orders him to be disposed of. Cleveland dies in a melodramatic and overwrought set-piece centred around the 'Cloud Factory' - a mysterious, quasi-mythological factory which produces perfect puffs of smoke - clouds - in a secluded little Pittsburgh valley. Bleaurgh.

Still, worth reading for the reassuring message that, yes, you too can be a writer. Well, maybe. If you every just got on with it.

The City & The City - China Miéville (2010)

Poorly-written winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award. A lovely premise which is undermined both by the disappointing details and the poor, sometimes ludicrously opaque and clunky writing.

As a metaphor for the psychological and physical conditions of living in any modern city, the conceit of having two cities exist side-by-side but in parallel universes seems particularly potent. While being a little obvious, it's the kind of metaphor that science fiction is built on - a device that allows contemporary conditions, concerns and sensibilities to be examined or appreciated in a new light, or at least at some distance. Still, Miéville manages to combine his clunky prose with an overwhelming interest in plot mechanics in a way that diminishes the resonance of the metaphor until it becomes virtually unimportant. We may as well be reading about a detective on another planet, or in another dimension for all squandered potential of the novel's setting. The incredibly smudged and pale characterization (or lack thereof) doesn't help matters. While the plot is skillfully constructed and even manages to be gripping at times, I felt disappointed.

And here's the synopsis for future reference, courtesy of the Wikipedia entry:
Inspector Tyador Borlú, of the Extreme Crime Squad in the European city-state of Besźel, investigates a brutal murder. He soon learns that the victim had been involved in the political and cultural turmoil involving Besźel and its twin city of Ul Qoma. These two cities actually occupy much of the same geographical space, but via the volition of their citizens (and the threat of the secret power known as Breach), they are perceived as two different cities. A denizen of one city must dutifully 'unsee' (that is, ignore, or fade into the background) the denizens, buildings, and events taking place in the other city — even if they are an inch away. This separation is emphasized by the style of clothing, architecture, gait, and in the manners denizens of the cities generally carry themselves. Residents of these cities are taught from childhood to recognize things belonging to the other city without actually seeing them. Ignoring the separation, even by accident, is viewed as a horrible crime by the citizens of the two cities — one which might be worse than murder - incurring swift and fatal punishment by Breach.

Sigh.