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Railhead
Railhead, Philip Reeve
Switch Press, April 2016
Reviewed from ARC
Philip Reeve is underappreciated in the US. The Mortal Engines quartet was brilliant science fiction — pacy, philosophical, and heart-breaking. And then it was gone, apparently out of print. The prequel trilogy starring the incomparable Fever Crumb also failed to get as much traction as it deserved. Hopefully, the upcoming film of Mortal Engines will signal a rebirth of interest, and hopefully that will mean good things for Reeve’s latest, the unusual Railhead.
Railhead is a weird blend of space opera science fiction and Trainspotting, minus the drugs. In a far future world, planets are connected by K gates (whose names come from an ancient Earth language, per the characters, but is in fact a reference to Dune, whose influence pops up in a few other places as well — the Noons and the rail-building worms, that I caught; there might be more). Characters travel by rails, but trains are sentient and the gates leap across space in seconds, making other planets just an hour or two away. All of this is fiercely original and playful, but the story is anything but playful.
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This is one of those has it all books — the setting is endlessly creative and fascinating; the characters compelling and complex, not always likable; the writing engaging and sometimes even poetic; the plot relentless; and the themes rich. (Of course, it’s doing all this in a sci-fi package, so I’m not holding my breath for recognition, but I’ve read it twice now and it’s only better the second time around.)
Reeve’s future is a funny mashup, with lots of Easter eggs and jokes. The royal family ride about in those sentient trains, with some rather Victorian trappings — fancy dining cars, shooting parties, loads of servants. But it’s only the trappings that are old fashioned — dig a little deeper and this is definitely the future. For starters, the Noons are royalty by way of commercial might. Then there’s the details: all the people are brown; there’s a refreshing lack of gendering in the professions seen on page; same sex marriage is as unremarkable as opposite-sex marriage; and technology has become religion — this is a future we’re riding into already, and while the exposition is all delivered in snippets, it adds up to a plausible, dimensional future. Which means the more imaginative aspects becomes less startling, because the social fabric of this future is so reasonable. Most buildings are bio-engineered, made from plants or ivory, coded to grow themselves; clothing is likewise a technological extravaganza. The servants are Motorik, AI that aren’t meant to be fully sentient (but they have a tendency to outstrip their programming). The shooting party takes place in a planet-sized game preserve — because when planets connect by trains, they all become the equivalent of just another city — and the game is all genetically engineered Earth species, many of them ancient. Tiny details place the way time has of levelling everything into sharp focus: the “traditional” condiment container at one meal, placed alongside silver and crystal, is red plastic shaped like a tomato.
The motley cast of characters Reeve’s populated the world with are recognizably people, even when they aren’t actually human. Very few of them are entirely admirable. Zen Starling, an almost archetypal figure — saucy street rat in over his head — may be the one we get to know most as readers, but Malik and Threnody, despite their smaller roles, prove equally compelling, as do Flex and the Hive Monks, beetle colonies in search of their own world. Even Raven, the arch-villain in many ways, is complex and not without his redeeming qualities.
And let’s not ignore the language. Reeve’s writing just gets better and better. It’s vivid — he packs in the description and yet the pace never flags:
They entered the outskirts of the station, a mass of sprawling limbs and tendrils, black against the grainy sky. Some of the buildings sensed the Damask Rose coming and turned on their lamps, sickly bioluminescence glimmering through fleshy openings which had once been windows.
My arc had a few typos, but aside from those not a word seemed misplaced or poorly used.
Finally, for all the fast paced adventuring and explosions (there are lots), this is no thematic lightweight. That early Dune reference is the first hint that Reeve is concerned with power and religion; there are also allusions to the dangers of stagnancy and ignorance. Nothing is answered — indeed, the ending is incredibly open, and it looks like there will be a sequel — but provocative questions are raised and linger after the last page.
Deeper on a second read, and well worth a nomination.
Notes:
- I don’t think it was needed, but the glossary at the end is a nice touch. I always appreciate back matter.
- I’m looking forward to the fan art for this one. Flex’s paintings, the trains themselves, ANAIS 6: there’s so much here crying out for a visual treatment.
- This is the first Switch Press book I’ve read — they’re relatively new — but if this is the caliber of work they’re putting out, I’ll be paying much closer attention to their catalogs going forward.
Filed under: Books to look for, Contenders, Fiction
About Karyn Silverman
Karyn Silverman is the High School Librarian and Educational Technology Department Chair at LREI, Little Red School House & Elisabeth Irwin High School (say that ten times fast!). Karyn has served on YALSA’s Quick Picks and Best Books committees and was a member of the 2009 Printz committee. She has reviewed for Kirkus and School Library Journal. She has a lot of opinions about almost everything, as long as all the things are books. Said opinions do not reflect the attitudes or opinions of SLJ, LREI, YALSA or any other institutions with which she is affiliated. Find her on Twitter @InfoWitch or e-mail her at karynsilverman at gmail dot com.
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