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578 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published June 1, 2002
“In time, in time they tell me, I’ll not feel so bad. I don’t want time to heal me. There’s a reason I’m like this.
I want time to set me ugly and knotted with loss of you, marking me. I won’t smooth you away.
I can’t say good-bye.�
“A scar is not an injury, Tanner Sack. A scar is a healing. After an injury, a scar is what makes you whole.�The titular Scar has many meanings, multilayered just like Miéville's prose and storytelling. We see the literal ones - on the faces of the Lovers and on the backs of Tanner and Bellis. We hear about the mythical one, a splitting wound in the fabric of reality. Scars become the symbols of fight, survival, love, unity, pain, remembrance, and healing. They can be seen in many ways, in the light of many endless possibilities.
"Like sutures. They stitch the past to me."—â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä�
"That, after all, was what Armada was - a colony of the lost, the renegade, the absent-without-leave, the defeated."For Tanner and other Remade it's a paradise to which you cannot help but be fiercely loyal. For Bellis, it's a place that dared to take her choice away from her, and she's not happy.
"And if it comes to weighing up your desire to return against the desires, for example, of the several hundred "Terpsichoria" Remade who are now allowed to live as something more than animals, then I'm afraid I find your need less than pressing."Suddenly the newcomers find themselves drawn into an ambitious conspiracy that can bring greatness to Armada - that is, unless it brings its destruction first. And, as one can expect, when existing powers in search of even more power collide with the lives of regular people, it can bring little but brokenness, pain, and despair.
“She was Remade she was (Remade scum), he knew it, he saw it, and still he felt incessantly what was inside him, and he felt a great scab of habit and prejudice split from him, part from his skin where his homeland had inscribed him deep. [...] There was a caustic pain as he peeled off a clot of old life and exposed himself open and unsure to her, to new air. [...] His feelings welled out and bled together (their festering ceased) and they began to resolve, to heal in a new form, to scar.â€�—â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â€�
"Everything has changed. I cannot be used anymore. Those days are over. I know too much. What I do now, I do for me."Miéville's imagination remains truly amazing and boundless. I don't think there is anything that this man cannot conjure out of the depths of his prodigious mind. He takes the existing concepts - cities, piracy, monstrous sea creatures - and turns them onto their heads, brings along new and unexpected angles, creates unbelievable depths, and in the process reveals so much about human nature that it can be unsettling.
“In time, in time they tell me, I’ll not feel so bad. I don’t want time to heal me. There’s a reason I’m like this.
I want time to set me ugly and knotted with loss of you, marking me. I won’t smooth you away.
I can’t say good-bye.�
A mile below the lowest cloud, rock breaches water and the sea begins.
It has been given many names. Each inlet and bay and stream has been classified as if it were discrete. But it is one thing, where borders are absurd. It fills the spaces between stones and sand, curling around coastlines and filling trenches between the continents.
The underside of Armada was crisscrossed with life.
Fish eddied through its architecture. Fleeting newtlike figures moved with intellect and purpose between boltholes. There were wire mesh cages tucked into hollows and dangling from chains, crowded with fat cod and tunny. Cray dwellings like coral tumors.
Beyond the edges of the city, and below it at the far reaches of light, huge half-tame seawyrms corkscrewed and fed. Submersibles droned-rigid shadows. A dolphin made constant vigilant rounds. A moving ecology and politics were tethered to the city’s calcified base.
The sea around it resonated with noise made physical: staccato clicks and the vibrations of pounding metal, the swallowed sound of watery friction as currents rubbed against each other. Barks that dissipated when they reached the air.
It is only ten miles beyond the city that the river loses its momentum, drooling into the brackish estuary that feeds Iron Bay.That's pretty good: "drooling" is unexpected and accurately evocative. Then two chapters later, we get:
…a huge minaret of girders soared and drooled fire�Not so good. And later:
One heads southwest for the shallow water, for Iron Bay and Tarmuth and the drooling dilute salt of the Gross Tar estuary�Even less meaningful. Here's all the metaphoric uses of "drool" I came across:
A constant drool of trash fouled the water and was swallowed by it.WTF, dude? You were so pleased with finding that metaphor that you decided you couldn't be bothered to think of others? That's what the writing felt like to me.
She walked with him � out between buildings in the drooling rain�
Water began to drool through the holes and over the opened-up skin�
The cactus-man came back, fifteen minutes later, carrying three fat leather waterskins full of brine, that Tanner drooled over himself, and sluiced through his gills.
…skin drooling brine on the matting�
He locks the box, and then drools more of the tallow all over its seam.
The mast was melting� its substance oozing over itself as it spat and drooled downwards�
…I remember every layer, like colours of sand drooled into a bottle�
She was drawn to him, powerfully. She wanted him: his power and his grim self-control, his beautiful voice. His cool intelligence, the obvious fact that he liked her. The sense that she would be more in control than he, should anything happen between them, and not just because she was older. She would not coquette, but she engineered enough of a dynamic that he must know.
But he never touched her. Bellis was unsettled by that.