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Railsea

by

Railsea Cover

ISBN13: 9780345524522
ISBN10: 0345524527
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Excerpt

One

A meat island!

No. Back a bit.

A looming carcase?

Bit more.

Here. Weeks out, back when it was colder. The last several days spent fruitlessly pootling through rock passes & in the blue shadows of ice cliffs, late afternoon under a flinty sky. The boy, not yet bloodstained, was watching penguins. He stared at little rock islands furred in huddled birds plumping their oily feathers & shuffling together for comfort & warmth. He’d been giving them his attention for hours. When at last there came a sound from the speakers above, it made him start. It was the alarm for which he & the rest of the crew of the Medes had been waiting. A crackling blare. Then from the intercom came the exclamation: “There she blows!”

An instant frantic readiness. Mops were abandoned, spanners dropped, letters half-written & carvings half-whittled were thrust into pockets, never mind their wet ink, their sawdusty unfinishedness. To windows, to guardrails! Everyone leaned into the whipping air.

The crew squinted into the frigid wind, stared past big slate teeth. They swayed with the Medes’s motion. Birds gusted nearby in hope, but no one was throwing scraps now.

Way off where perspective made the line of old rails meet, soil seethed. Rocks jostled. The ground violently rearranged. From beneath came a dust-muffled howl.

Amid strange landforms & stubs of antique plastic, black earth coned into a sudden hill. & up something clawed. Such a great & dark beast.

Soaring from its burrow in a clod-cloud & explosion it came. A monster. It roared, it soared, into the air. It hung a crazy moment at the apex of its leap. As if surveying. As if to draw attention to its very size. Crashed at last back down through the topsoil & disappeared into the below.

The moldywarpe had breached.

Of all the gapers on the Medes none gaped harder than Sham. Shamus Yes ap Soorap. Big lumpy young man. Thickset, not always unclumsy, his brown hair kept short & out of trouble. Gripping a porthole, penguins forgotten, face like a light-hungry sunflower poking out of the cabin. In the distance the mole was racing through shallow earth, a yard below the surface. Sham watched the buckle in the tundra, his heart clattering like wheels on tracks.

No, this was not the first moldywarpe he’d seen. Labours, as their playful groups were called, of dog-sized specimens constantly dug in Streggeye Bay. The earth between the iron & ties of the harbour was always studded with their mounds & backs. He’d seen pups of bigger species, too, miserable in earthtanks, brought back by hunters for Stonefacemas Eve; baby bottletop moldywarpes & moonpanther moldywarpes & wriggly tarfoot moldywarpes. But the great, really great, the greatest animals, Sham ap Soorap had seen only in pictures, during Hunt Studies.

He had been made to memorise a poemlike list of the moldywarpe’s other names—underminer, talpa, muldvarp, mole. Had seen ill-exposed flatographs & etchings of the grandest animals. Stick-figure humans were drawn to scale cowering by the killer, the star-nosed, the ridged moldywarpe. & on one last much-fingered page, a page that concertinaed out to make its point about size, had been a leviathan, dwarfing the specklike person-scribble by it. The great southern moldywarpe, Talpa ferox rex. That was the ploughing animal ahead. Sham shivered.

The ground & rails were grey as the sky. Near the horizon, a nose bigger than him broke earth again. It made its molehill by what for a moment Sham thought a dead tree, then realised was some rust-furred metal strut toppled in long-gone ages, up-poking like the leg of a dead beetle god. Even so deep in the chill & wastes, there was salvage.

Trainspeople hung from the Medes’s caboose, swayed between carriages & from viewing platforms, tamping out footstep urgency over Sham’s head. “Yes yes yes, Captain . . .”: the voice of Sunder Nabby, lookout, blurted from the speakers. Captain must have walkie-talkied a question & Nabby must have forgotten to switch to private. He broadcast his answer to the train, through chattering teeth & a thick Pittman accent. “Big boar, Captain. Lots of meat, fat, fur. Look at the speed on him . . .”

The track angled, the Medes veered, the wind fed Sham a mouthful of diesely air. He spat into railside scrub. “Eh? Well . . . it’s black, Captain,” Nabby said in answer to some unheard query. “Of course. Good dark moldywarpe black.”

A pause. The whole train seemed embarrassed. Then: “Right.” That was a new voice. Captain Abacat Naphi had patched in. “Attention. Moldywarpe. You’ve seen it. Brakers, switchers: to stations. Harpoonists: ready. Stand by to launch carts. Increase speed.”

The Medes accelerated. Sham tried to listen through his feet, as he’d been taught. A shift, he decided, from shrashshaa to drag’ndragun. He was learning the clatternames.

“How goes treatment?”

Sham spun. Dr. Lish Fremlo stared at him from the cabin threshold. Thin, ageing, energetic, gnarled as the windblown rocks, the doctor watched Sham from beneath a shag of gun-coloured hair. Oh Stonefaces preserve me, Sham thought, how bleeding long have you been there? Fremlo eyed a spread of wooden-&-cloth innards that Sham had lifted from the hollow belly of a manikin, that he should by now certainly have labelled & replaced, & that were still all over the floor.

“I’m doing it, Doctor,” Sham said. “I got a little . . . there was . . .” He stuffed bits back within the model.

“Oh.” Fremlo winced at the fresh cuts Sham had doodled with his penknife in the model’s skin. “What unholy condition are you giving that poor thing, Sham ap Soorap? I should perhaps intervene.” The doctor put up a peremptory finger. Spoke not unkindly, in that distinct sonorous voice. “Student life is not scintillating, I know. Two things you’d best learn. One is to”—Fremlo made a gentle motion—“to calm down. & another is what you can get away with. This is the first great southern of this trip, & that means your first ever. No one, including me, gives a trainmonkey’s gonads if you’re practicing right now.”

Sham’s heart accelerated.

“Go,” the doctor said. “Just stay out of the way.”

Sham gasped at the cold. Most of the crew wore furs. Even Rye Shossunder, passing him with a peremptory glance, had a decent rabbitskin jerkin. Rye was younger & , as cabin boy, technically even lower in the Medes order than Sham, but he had been at rail once before, which in the rugged meritocracy of the moletrain gave him the edge. Sham huddled in his cheap wombatskin jacket.

Crews scrambled on walkways & all the carriagetop decks, worked windlasses, sharpened things, oiled the wheels of jollycarts in harnesses. Way above, Nabby bobbed in his basket below the crow’s-nest balloon.

Boyza Go Mbenday, first mate, stood on the viewing dais of the rearmost cartop. He was scrawny & dark & nervily energetic, his red hair flattened by the gusts of their passage. He traced their progress on charts, & muttered to the woman beside him. Captain Naphi.

Naphi watched the moldywarpe through a huge telescope. She held it quite steadily to her eye, despite its bulk & despite the fact that she hefted it one-handed in a strong right arm. She was not tall but she drew the eyes. Her legs were braced in what might have been a fighting stance. Her long grey hair was ribboned back. She stood quite still while her age-mottled brown overcoat wind-shimmied around her. Lights winked in her bulky, composite left arm. Its metal & ivory clicked & twitched.

The Medes rattled through snow-flecked plainland. It sped out of drag’ndragun into another rhythm. By rock, crack & shallow chasm, past scuffed patches of arcane salvage.

Sham was awed at the light. He looked up into the two or more miles of good air, through it into the ugly moiling border of bad cloud that marked the upsky. Bushes stubby & black as iron tore past, & bits of real iron jagging from buried antique times did, too. Atangle across the whole vista, to & past the horizon in all directions, were endless, countless rails.

The railsea.

Long straights, tight curves; metal runs on wooden ties; overlapping, spiralling, crossing at metalwork junctions; splitting off temporary sidings that abutted & rejoined main lines. Here the train tracks spread out to leave yards of unbroken earth between them; there they came close enough together that Sham could have jumped from one to the next, though that idea shivered him worse than the cold. Where they cleaved, at twenty thousand angles of track-meets-track, were mechanisms, points of every kind: wye switches; interlaced turnouts; stubs; crossovers; single & double slips. & on the approaches to them all were signals, switches, receivers, or ground frames.

The mole dove under the dense soil or stone on which sat those rails, & the ridge of its passage disappeared till it rose again to kink the ground between metal. Its earthwork wake was a broken line.

The captain raised a mic & gave crackling instructions. “Switchers; stations.” Sham got another whiff of diesel & liked it this time. The switchers leaned from the walkway that sided the front engine, from the platforms of the second & fourth cars, brandishing controllers & switchhooks.

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S Griffin, January 1, 2013 (view all comments by S Griffin)
China Miéville might be a genius. His amazing talent certainly shines through in RAILSEA (2012, Del Rey Books), his YA mash-up of Fantasy / Science Fiction / Steampunk / Dystopia. The story follows young Shamus ‘Sham’ Yes ap Soorap in a revision of the MOBY DICK quest, first as a doctor’s assistant on a moletrain, and later on a journey to solve the mystery of the disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Shroake, a husband and wife explorer team. Miéville's re-imagination of MOBY DICK is awesome. There is the ship now turned into a train, the same captains, and the sea now turned into soil, yet its an entirely different world.

“& as passersby passed by & the light continued to leak from the sky, Sham was certain the man’s presence was not coincidence.”

Sham’s world consists of hunters, scavengers, and pirates, who ride along a vast expanse of railways. To fall off onto the land besides the tracks ensures that you will be eaten by creatures that live on and under the caustic soil. The moletrain Medes’ narrow-focused Captain Naphi is seeking her ‘philosophy’ by hunting a certain moldywarpe by the name of Mocker-Jack. The general public lives on safer ‘islands’ of higher ground. Along the way Sham seeks two reclusive children, gets betrayed, acquires a pet, and witnesses battles with the strange, dangerous creatures in his world. Besides the Great Southern Moldywarpes, there are Burrowing Tortoises, Antlions, Blood Rabbits, Tundra Worms and more (Miéville has even included his own sketches of each!)

“Above them flew something nothing like a plane.”

Here is the genius of RAILSEA: the language Miéville uses. He substitutes some words and makes up a lot of others. They weave together melodically as the sentences trip across your tongue. They’re playful and fun and magical. People with names like Boyza Go Mbenday and places with names like Manihiki. There may be some sort of message in this tale, about society or religion or whatnot, but I prefer to take this book as purely a high-fueled adventure. I don’t want to overthink it; it’s just too much fun to read.

“& if,” he said, & his voice was suddenly chill & bony & metal & like the scuttling of a very bad insect, “you’d like not to be cut open & dangled over the side of this train & dragged along with your legs on the ground spilling blood everything under the flatearth can smell while we go slow enough for long, long miles that they can rise & eat you from the toes up & from the inside out, you know what you could do for me, Sham?

“Tell me where the Shroakes are going.”

The only tiny, tiny weakness I found was that I do wish we had a little more personality in the Shroake children, Caldera and Dero. Sham, on the other hand, is a typical youngster; he isn’t certain just who he wants to be and he makes his decisions as questions come up. To be sure, this results in a life of adventure.

Again, the strength lies in Miéville’s imagination and the way in which he plays with words:

“Out of the east & south the train came. It howled, it whistled, en route through & out of the known railsea. It breathed diesel breath. An everyday moletrain, transmogrified by urgency & peculiar direction into something more than itself, something grander, buckling of more swashes.”

I believe this is a considerably more entertaining book than MOBY DICK and highly recommend RAILSEA for all readers age 12 and up
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Lars Adam Johnson, January 1, 2013 (view all comments by Lars Adam Johnson)
China Mieville's all ages sci-fi meditation on the 'Moby Dick' story serves as a great intro to the concepts of Melville's novel for younger readers (along with Jeff Smith's 'Bone'). It is also a great take for adults and welcomes all to a fully realized imaginary world.
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(0 of 1 readers found this comment helpful)
Curtis Johnson, August 3, 2012 (view all comments by Curtis Johnson)
China Mieville slowly shares another one of his fantastical worlds with us. The story flows smoothly and takes all across the railsea, that is the only way people can travel between the outpost towns and cities based upon rock mountains and hills, in a post-apocalyptic dystopian setting. While the book is considered "Young Adult Science-Fiction", I would say that it is more "For All Ages Science-Fiction". Told from the perspective of a narrator, you just sit back and have the story told to you, and enjoy every minute of it!
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Product Details

ISBN:
9780345524522
Author:
Mieville, China
Publisher:
Del Rey Books
Subject:
Children s-Adventure Stories
Subject:
Science Fiction, Fantasy, & Magic
Subject:
Science / Adventure
Publication Date:
20120531
Binding:
HARDCOVER
Language:
English
Illustrations:
BandW ILLUSTRATIONS THRU/OUT
Pages:
448
Dimensions:
8.55 x 5.72 x 1.43 in 1.18 lb

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Railsea Used Hardcover
0 stars - 0 reviews
$18.00 In Stock
Product details 448 pages Del Rey - English 9780345524522 Reviews:
"Publishers Weekly Review" by , "Miéville (Un Lun Dun) returns to YA fiction with a superb, swashbuckling tale of adventure on the railsea, a vast prairie densely crisscrossed by train tracks: 'Tracks & ties, in the random meanders of geography & ages, in all directions. Extending forever.' Sham, an orphan, has gone to railsea as apprentice to a train's doctor. That train, the Medes, is a moletrain that plies the railsea hunting the great moldywarpes (giant moles) that live beneath the dirt, harpooning the subterranean creatures when they surface and rendering them down for meat, fat, and fur to be sold on the mainland. The train's captain, Naphi, is a strange, charismatic woman who lost her arm to an enormous ivory mole, Mocker-Jack; obsessed with killing the creature, she's willing to sail to the mythical ends of the railsea to catch him. Working variations on such classics as Moby-Dick, Robinson Crusoe, and A Wizard of Earthsea, this massively imaginative and frequently playful novel features eccentric characters, amazing monsters, and, at its heart, an intense sense of wonder. Ages 12 – up. Agent: Mic Cheetham Literary Agency." Publishers Weekly (Starred Review) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
"Review" by , "Miéville manages to weld a rich science-fiction concept to influences like Herman Melville and Robert Louis Stevenson (yes, there are pirates; how could there not be?)"
"Review" by , "What made Railsea a definite winner for me was the narrative. The narrator of the story is not only omniscient but also omnipresent. It is the true conductor of this train-it stops whenever it pleases and relates each character's adventure at its own beck and call with as many or as little words as it wants. I found it extremely charming, even though I have the feeling that it might annoy some readers. I also truly appreciated the diversity of this world, in which some families are polyamorous and strong female characters abound."
"Review" by , "[Railsea] feels like a great adventure, meant for girls and boys, as well as for the grown-up readers of science fiction and fantasy who admire the complicated worlds Miéville built for such adult novels as Perdido Street Station and Embassytown."
"Review" by , “Other names besides [Herman] Melville’s will surely come to mind as you read this thrilling tale — there’s Dune’s Frank Herbert....But in this, as in all of his works, Miéville has that special knack for evoking other writers even while making the story wholly his own.”
"Review" by , “[Miéville] gives all readers a lot to dig into here, be it emotional drama, Godzilla-esque monster carnage, or the high adventure that comes only with riding the rails.”
"Review" by , “Superb...massively imaginative.”
"Review" by , “Riveting...a great adventure.”
"Review" by , “Wildly inventive....Every sentence is packed with wit.”
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