TV review: The Fades

At the risk of hyperbole, BBC 3’s new supernatural drama The Fades is just about the most amazing piece of British television I’ve ever seen.

Quite an assertion, I think my reader will agree.

Here’s my supporting statement:

WHAT IT IS ABOUT:

When awkward teen, 17-year-old Paul (Iain de Caestecker) stumbles across a zombie-like creature attacking two humans in an abandoned shopping centre, he soon realises that the survivor, Neil (Johnny Harris), holds the answers to the apocalyptic dreams he’s been having. Neil tells Paul he’s an Angelic like him: a person who can see the fades, i.e., dead people. Paul’s apocalyptic dreams were visions of the future. Angelic Sarah (Natalie Dormer) also experienced them before she was killed by the Angelic Killer, a corpse-like fade. Sarah now haunts her husband, Mark (Tom Ellis), because she, like so many others, was unable to ‘Ascend’ to death (which, like life, isn’t easy). The mysterious blockage to ascension that began nearly 100 years ago has left countless angry fades trapped on earth. The dead continue to grow old and rot, unable to open doors, or interact with their loved ones without intense pain. However, the Angelic Killer has found a way to take on physical form once more and reverse the rot by first drinking human blood, and then chowing down on human flesh. The fade is determined to wreak revenge on the Angelics, and the human race in general. He starts by recruiting an undead army, taking his first steps towards creating the ash-filled wasteland in Paul’s dreams.

Finding out he’s an Angelic is only the start of Paul’s problems. His ability to heal people, which causes moths to crawl from his mouth, makes the tiny band of Angelics believe he is the only one who can save the world. There’s also the inconvenient thing that happens to him when he ejaculates. After confiding with his best friend, the pop culture referencing Mac (Daniel Kaluuya), much to Neil’s irritation Paul becomes determined to live a normal teenager’s life. Particularly because, despite risking the wrath of his caustic non-identical twin, Anna (Lilly Loveless), he has found illicit love in the shape of the elfin Jay (Sophie Wu), his sister’s best friend.

Here’s why you could love it too:

It’s slick, funny, powerful, disgusting, true, heart wrenching, heart-warming, at times terrifying, unique and even beautiful stuff. The script is sharp, and neat, and tight.

With Loveless, Kaluuya and, in later episodes (spoilers), Joe Dempsie, The Fades is a bit of a Skins fest. But that’s because the producers know how to mine the best young talent (and possibly, regarding Skins, the only talent).

Here’s why you should really love it:

Iain de Caestecker’s performance as Paul is a nuanced phenomenon. You really believe his struggle to stay sane against the odds, and to understand his place in the world. But what’s more incredible, is the relationship between Paul and Mac. Kaluuya shone as Tealeaf in Psychoville, and in The Fades he positively gleams. His Mac is a heartbreaking bundle of idiosyncrasies, fragility and fierce loyalty for his best friend. His tendency to reel off trivia in the face of danger masks deeper emotions, like love and grief, which brim to the surface in all the right places. His ability to wrench your heart is as flawless as his comic timing. Together, the pair are a beautiful thing to watch.

There might be some negatives, but they’re minor. Paul isn’t always on the ball when it comes to asking the important questions, such as ‘How do the moths get into my throat, and why are they crawling out of it?’ However, this is probably something to do with the mystery that writer and creator Jack Thorne clearly loves frustrating his viewers with. And, let’s face it, it’s what keeps us coming back for more.

BBC iPlayer currently has it on series catch up. The rest of us (adults and teens alike) are on episode 5 of 6 this Wednesday at 10 pm on BBC 3. And if you’re not yet fully convinced, it references, of all things, this. What’s not to love?

book review: Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London

Rivers of London by Ben Aaronovitch is published by Gollancz in the UK and Del Ray in the USA (who have bizarrely re-titled it Midnight Riot). I read the UK hardback version, with its utterly glorious cover, complete with luscious London map made of words and a cheeky blood stain.

Peter Grant is a probationary constable faced with spending the rest of his career in the Case Progression Unit to do the paperwork so the ‘real coppers don’t have to’. Fortunately for him, whilst standing watch at the site of a gruesome murder in London’s Covent Garden, he takes a statement from the only witness available; the ghost of Nicholas Wallpenny.

From that moment on Peter’s eyes are open to a brand new world. He joins Chief Inspector Nightingale, the last remaining wizard in England, to become his apprentice and Detective Constable. Together they form a very special unit of the London Metropolitan Police Service, aka ‘the Filth’, that’s kept firmly under wraps. Peter moves into the Folly, Nightingale’s mostly empty mansion (‘mostly’ because there’s a Molly slithering around in there somewhere) to begin his training.

He’s soon learning the basic steps of magic alongside investigating the freakishly similar murders that keep cropping up around the city. Although, it soon becomes apparent that the murderers are as much a victim of the wave of anger and despair that warps their features and drives them, as the bodies they leave strewn all over London.

On top of all that, there are the vampires and the warring god and goddess of the Thames to contend with, not to mention the distractions that the luscious personification of a river, Beverly Brook, and the incredibly perky WPC Lesley May provide Peter with.

This is probably best described as Urban Fantasy, being city-based and about the supernatural, but this particular novel is more centred on police, ghosts and folklore. The policing aspects of it in particular make Rivers of London a credible thriller as well as an Urban Fantasy, especially due to the level of detail involved.

As I possess a peculiarly specific taste in Urban Fantasy (Jim Butcher), which I mentioned in an earlier post, on the surface this novel ticks all the right boxes for me: set in a city, preferably Chicago or London: TICK. The police are involved in investigating supernatural crimes: TICK. And keeping them quiet from the public: TICK. Magic is needed to solve murders: TICK. It involves wizards: TICK. Vampires: TICK. Gods: TICK. And, bonus ticks for the unexpected yet delightful addition of Londoners turning into violent mannequins: TICK. (I feel you may need a reminder of why there's a ticking system.)

That was in theory at least. So I was, of course, delighted to discover it had all of those things it promised to deliver, and more. More because the characters are wonderful. I really got on well with the lead, Peter Grant, who was slightly whiney, but also thoroughly sympathetic, and wonderfully funny (and very ready believe in magic). Almost like Moss in the IT Crowd (who Peter firmly is, in my mind at least). Aaronovitch drip feeds enough of a back story about his character’s upbringing to enable the reader to understand the character’s motivations and worldly view, without it being a sob story.

While through the first person narrative you really came to know and love Peter (important, that), there is always the risk of the one viewpoint leaving other characters in the lurch. It would have been great to have gotten to know some of the other characters further. Beverly Brook, Lesley May and Nightingale all would have benefited from further examining, but this is only the first book of hopefully many, so there is always time for that. The snippets of characterisation you receive through the medium of Peter are enough to satiate you, whilst leaving you wanting a sequel to learn more.

Like all excruciatingly good Urban Fantasies, the city has to be as much of a character as any of the others, and Aaronovitch ensures that London ain’t no bit part. The city heaves off the page in all of her cobbled, crowded, violent glory. The author’s love of this city pours from the pages in the descriptions of the streets, landmarks, rivers (naturally), folklore and its spirit. Despite the reverence, Aaronovitch isn’t afraid to get London’s hands dirty. Whatever nasty is abusing the city is feeding from the spirit of riot and rebellion that’s been breeding in its alleyways for years.

The book has two plots running alongside each other – the main, meatier plot about randomly murderous rages overtaking innocent citizens, and the subplot about the dispute between the self-proclaimed god and goddess of the Thames. While they do neatly weave around each other, at times the subplot seemed to act only as a distraction for the lead from his main case. The two story strands did cross towards the finale, although this had a touch of convenience about it. I did, however, enjoy both of these stories equally on account of them being extremely well written.

Aaronovitch has written for Doctor Who, which always demands a creative mind, and there is certainly one at work here. The personification of lost and current London rivers feels both believable and magical through Aaronovitch’s deft hand. His debut novel is wickedly inventive and, to borrow the cover quote by Charlaine Harris, fresh and original.

The prose is often gently whimsical, but there is also a vividness to his writing. Aaronovitch’s snatches of description when Peter feels a flash of vestigia, magical resonance from a person, animal or place, is written in such a way that the reader feels, smells and sees it too.

Rivers of London is warmly humorous but never shirks from being brutally visceral when it has to be. For the first in a potential series, it’s self-contained with an ending that leaves you at once unsettled and fully satisfied. I thoroughly look forward to its sequel, Moon Over Soho.

8/10

book review: The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

I was excited about this Sci Fi debut and winner of five major international SF awards, The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi (that’s pronounced BATCH-i-ga-LOOP-ee, fact fans). So excited, in fact, that I prematurely placed it as one of my top 5 SFF books of 2010 (not actually published in 2010). I was a few chapters in at that point and was feeling optimistic, plus the book felt good and heavy and the frankly beautiful cover said it was ‘The Hugo and Nebula award-winning novel’ so all signs were pointing towards it being a winner.

It was released by Night Shade Books in the US and Orbit in the UK. I read Orbit’s paperback, published in December 2010, although in a burst of marketing-prowess, the publisher released the eBook shortly before the print version.

It’s set in 23rd century Thailand, in a world where Europe and America have succumbed to the calorie wars and ‘genehack’ plagues created by bioengineering companies, global warming has caused the oceans to rise and temperatures to soar and engineered seedbanks contain the world’s failing food supply. It’s Steampunk meets Science Fiction. Factories are powered by kink-springs, goods are flown over by dirigibles and cars are things of the past. Thailand is ruled by a child queen, but governed by two rival generals, Pracha, of the Environment Ministry, and Akkarat, of the Trade ministry.

The present tense narrative is split between several key players.

Anderson Lake is farang, an American who is working undercover in Thailand as the manager of a kink-spring factory, whose real purpose is to discover the whereabouts of the government’s seedbank on behalf of his employers, the calorie company AgriGen.

Hock Seng, one of the city’s unwelcome yellow cards - Chinese refugees and survivors of the horrific Malaysian purges - is employed by Lake and wants his factory blueprints, and, always, to survive another day.

Emiko is the eponymous character. Outlawed in Thailand, she’s a beautiful, genetically engineered Japanese windup who’s been designed to serve and obey but was abandoned in the city by her master. Emiko is now forced to work in the sex industry, spending her nights being repeatedly raped for other peoples’ pleasure, but also dreaming of escaping to the rumoured safe haven for ‘New People’.

Captain Jaidee and Lieutenant Kanya are White Shirts, vehemently enforcing the Environment Ministry’s brutal regime on all illegally sourced goods in the city. But Kanya’s loyalties aren’t what they seem.

Beginning with an enraged rampage from one of Lake’s factory megodonts – vast, genetically modified elephants – a domino effect of events occur within the confines of the city’s walls, inevitably leading to tumultuous consequences. Each of the main characters represents a division within the city of Krung Thep. Thai, Chinese, Japanese, the farang Westerners, the engineered windup. Each fraction hates the other with extreme prejudice and sweeping generalisations. This serves to both highlight the ridiculousness of racial intolerance and deprives you of a character you can emotionally invest in.

It’s an environmental social commentary. Man-made plagues have already wiped out much of the earth’s population and narrowed its food supplies, but still prejudices divide the remaining peoples so they are constantly at threat of turning on each other, when another plague or global warming-related disaster is always just around the corner.

Here’s why part of me is in awe of this book: it's unique, and brooding, and well-constructed. The present tense narrative has presumably been chosen to reveal the short-sightedness of the characters, as well as the uncertainty of their future as they all sit on the cusp of some cataclysmic event, waiting for monsoon season, waiting for an excuse to fight, waiting for another plague. They are living in a crucible of tension. The pace and tension are excellently built to the point where even the weather is against the characters, slowly bringing them to the boil amongst the nuances of political plotting. As a reader you feel like you’re watching a series of simmering pans to see which one boils over first. In the end it doesn’t matter, because Bacigalupi has engineered the narrative so expertly that it runs like clockwork, each part working against another towards the same grim conclusion.

And yet, despite my admiration for Bacigalupi’s talent, I can’t bring myself to love this book, because I couldn’t find any joy in it. The plot was excellently executed, but the characters left me cold. Each one has a necessarily dark past that is alluded to, but you still barely feel like you’ve scratched their surface. The characters are all products of their tragic lives, and their current situations are so dire it’s hard to gain any sense of hope, or really feel enough for one of them that you want them to survive their hardships. The only truly relatable character – again, this speaks volumes for Bacigalupi’s overriding message and gift – is the windup girl, Emiko, but her genes force her to go around in circles, never finding the escape she desires. Her rape scenes are harrowing – and even though they are a justifiable point in the plot, they resound through the text and set its bleak tone.

This is why I’m so torn over this book: I can see the writing talent and intent behind the desolate design - no one would want this future - but I also want to be able to root for at least one character, and instead as readers you’re constantly held at arm’s length.

The book is described as ‘hard science (fiction) and magical realism’ by io9, who absolutely loved it. Perhaps as a Fantasy fan, rather than a Sci Fi fan, I’m not the target audience. But Orbit are all for targeting ‘the widest possible readership’, it says so on their site. However, I clearly am of the ‘everything should be sunbeams and rainbows’ perspective, so I’d still encourage you to try this for yourself before accepting anyone else’s verdict, especially mine. I’d love to hear what you thought. Here's a free sample chapter. I do spoil you.

6/10