However, there was one particular subplot that seemed to be somewhat central but for me, very poorly developed. They come and they go almost as suddenly. We have all kinds of contrivances, some biological, some technological. The narrative of the book is all over the map. But even in the ending, I was a bit disappointed. I plugged into Goodreads, read some of my friends’ positive critiques of PSS, regained my strength and resolve to continue and continue I did to finish the book. I actually had to get a fix from my fellow reviewers. The narrative toward the end seemed to drone on and on. Weakened not out of fatigue but out of a loss of interest. While there was no lack of narrative stamina this reader weakened, weakened to the point of nearly giving up. There just might be too much going on, especially toward the end. It sounds like there’s a lot going on in this book and there is. The Orkin Man would’a had a field-day here.
And we haven’t even gotten to The Weaver, the multi-dimensional spider who speaks in torrents of free-verse poetry. Are you confused yet? I would not be surprised. And the s#it for brains stuff? It really isn’t s#it.
Remember Angelina? The artist? I mean, the insect? Well her real name is Lin and she really isn’t an insect, she’s khepri, uhhh, she only looks like an insect. The sex and the insect wasn’t too bad but when we got to the moths and zombies, I started to wonder WTF was I reading. This is what this wildly acclaimed book is about. Oh, and also it’s about giant, psychedelic, mesmerizing moths that literally have s#it for brains and that suck the dreams out of everyone in sight and turn them into zombies. Actually, let’s just cut to the chase at the core, this is a story about the love and mating habits of a human (at least I think he’s human) and a vegetarian insect (my imagination had her looking kind of like a cross between a praying mantis and Angelina Jolie) who is an artist and spits a lot. While we may not be at all sure about the time, the place is very well constructed. This is a world of many sorts of alien life that sometimes includes the humans themselves, humans who copulate with sentient, insect-like creatures. Atmospherically, it is vaguely 19th century, Victorian but that only a trope this is a world definitely not that of our own. For me, the physical, steampunk world and the environment of Perdido Street Station were vividly drawn and easily recognizable, its technological content not so much. That being said, the words were wonderful. Actually, given that the landscape was usually strewn with detritus and and its inhabitants pugnacious, these were probably the best choices of words. Some has been written about how Miéville repeats certain words and, while I noticed that (for me it was pugnacious and detritus), it was not too distracting. I am almost always about writing over plot so I was immediately drawn in by the words and their construction long before the plot even began to quicken. At first the book drew me in with the language. Wow, did I ever have a time with this one.
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