The City in the Middle of the Night by Charlie Jane Anders
The front cover blurb on my copy reads, "This generation's Le Guin," which made me scoff. I mean, I enjoyed
All the Birds in the Sky, but it read to me like an above-average YA novel in many ways-- not a piece of genre-defining fiction. But I did read
The City in the Middle of the Night about a month after reading
The Left Hand of Darkness for the third time, and I can see it.
City in the Middle won't redefine the genre, but it
is working squarely within the genre as Le Guin redefined it; like
Ancillary Justice, you can see very clearly how Anders is following in the footsteps of her predecessor. Like
Left Hand, this is a story about societies and how they shape us, and how we reach across the barriers. Like
Left Hand, there's a focus on two different societies, one more rigid, one seemingly more flexible. Like
Left Hand, it's about how histories define both self and world. Like
Left Hand, it's about how we fail to reach across the barriers. Like
Left Hand, it's about how exploration is about redefining the self. And like
Left Hand (and
Ancillary Justice!), it's got a long, cold journey on a sled in it.
The novel is set on a tidally locked planet, in human colonies in the planet's tiny habitable zone. Thus "day" and "night" are directions, not times, and there is no natural timekeeping system for the planet to adopt. We primarily see two different cities, one where a consistent time system is rigidly enforced, one where there is a complete absence of consistent time from person to person. I loved the worldbuilding, especially in Xiosphant, the rigid city. But like the best science fiction, it's not all about the world; it's also about the people, people who both feel like totally a product of their world
and like people you could actually know. Following the adventures of Sophie and Mouth tells you something about their world, and something about yourself. The book has a real emotional truth that impressed me a lot, especially after reading the complete lack of truthful characterization (or worldbuilding, come to think of it) in
Gideon the Ninth. Near the end, the worldbuilding feels less important, which was disappointing; I wanted more of human culture on the planet January than we ultimately got.
But this book feels real throughout, in terms of character and in terms of world. It does what great sf does: explores an idea both literally and metaphorically. I have four more Best Novel finalists to read, but this feels to me like the one to beat.
