Maybe this says something about me, but so far I haven't found the "New Weird" writers that weird overall. I'm glad that writers are trying to carry on with strangeness of Lovecraft and company without all the blatant racism but what it seems like for me is that too often the writers think having a strange concept is enough to make the story stand out without having to generate the requisite atmosphere to make the situation truly unsettling.
Apparently the term was coined by M John Harrison in an introduction to the last story in this very volume and while he tends to get lumped in with the guard he's frankly been doing the weird thing for decades before the writers branded with the term nowadays even started to operate, and for the most part did it better (the last book I read from him, "The Course of the Heart" isn't even a major work and still ran rings around anything in this collection . . . and these stories weren't bad!). Jeff VanderMeer seems to be the standard bearer these days but his stories about mushroom people were kind of hit or miss for me. I'm actually looking forward to Jeffrey Ford but I probably won't get to his novels for, er, a decade or so, if we're all still here by then so stay tuned, I guess.
China Mieville is probably tied with VanderMeer in terms of prominence and definitely at his best has one of the more distinctive styles in the genre. Possessed of a vocabulary that makes English teachers weep tears of joy and a gift for innocuous but highly disturbing imagery he's capable of crafting stuff that sticks in your brain. "Perdido Street Station" is his best known (and possibly his best) work, a magical-Steampunk-Victorian-horror amalgamation notable for its keen sense of place and a plot that takes a sharp left turn partway through and keeps charging forward toward a cliff made a decaying teeth in the shape of your past lovers. Regardless of whatever else you want to say about it, it definitely has style.
His other novels haven't fared so well with me. While "The Scar" had an interesting blend of concepts, I ended up not much caring what happened to anyone and "The Iron Council" suffered much the same fate for me, although I didn't even find the concept that compelling. The claustrophobic atmosphere that choked much of "Perdido Street Station" had a lot to do with its success, as it turns out and he so far hasn't been able to recapture that feeling for me.
Sometimes though what you can't sustain over the course of a novel you can pack better into a short story and so I approached this collection with some interest, even though the stories themselves seemed really short . . . fourteen stories in about three hundred pages, with one of them topping out at about eighty pages. In the one sense that's good because if the story was lackluster you could at least be consoled that it'd be over quickly but given the sprawl of his novels I wondered if he'd be able to recapture the same flavor, just with a little more density.
As it turns out his editor is better off taking him off his leash because it looks like he needs to roam over the whole territory to be effective.
Most of the stories are vaguely horrific in nature, taking an off-kilter concept that's introduced gradually, generally by way of a first person protagonist, and then left to unfurl until someone's inevitable doom arrives or the strangeness dissipates leaving shimmering questions in the air. And while he's good at coming up with ideas, he seems to have some difficulty in wrapping them in the strangeness they require. Stories like "Looking for Jake", "Foundation", "Familiar", "An End to Hunger", and "Go Between" tease out their premises but never really grab hold of the otherworldliness the stories are often begging for, leaving them to come across as a bit flat. "Looking for Jake" suffers the most from this, as in trying to keep the threat vague we're never quite sure what the narrator is up against, or why we should care (it also feels like someone trying to write a Grant Morrison "Doom Patrol" story, where any single story probably out-weirds anything here, so it’s a high bar to vault over). The rest just kind of swirl about with a sense of wrongness or slowly coalescing paranoia that never leaves you feeling as cold as you should. For me, what worked with the old weird authors was the slowly growing sense that the protagonists had accidentally (or made decisions without understanding the consequences) stumbled into a situation beyond rational understanding and all the reader can do is watch it inevitably consume them, sometimes not even out of any sense of malice or punishment but because simply that's the way the universe works and they don't grasp that truth until its far, far too late, leaving you as the reader the only person left to linger on their fate.
The rest mentioned have more concrete concepts but even with their glimpses of the wheels that turn behind the world we know they never quite clutch at the heart. Maybe I'm just picky, or maybe I'm working in a NJ pharmacy during a pandemic and am not easily rattled by fiction these days (its closed door, so I'm not assuming the same risk as my former retail brethren or the nightmare that are hospitals right now).
Interestingly, his kind of cliche additions to the New Weirdness work better than they have any right now. Its pretty much de rigueur for weird writers to concoct a tale that involves multiple fonts and sources to make it seem realer (special bonus if the character has the same as the author), but "Reports of Certain Events in London", where "China Mieville" receives a series of letters not meant for him discussing something that will make look at city blocks a lot differently (even if it also does feel vaguely copped from Grant Morrison) actually works, tapping into that difference between the world we see and the world as it is that makes the better weird stories resonate. The same with "Entry Taken From a Medical Encyclopedia" (another go-to format for the genre), about a strange parasitic disease that infects people in a mundane yet unsettling way, something only enhanced by the dry tone.
The ones that worked best for me were actually the straightforward ghost/horror stories. The best of these is "The Ball Room" which takes something utterly banal (a ball pit in a department store where parents can leave their kids) and gradually ups the creepiness without ever getting into the heart of the source, letting every explanation curl like smoke and never quite come into reach, with even its resolution hovering just out of view. It has perhaps the only heartstopping moment in the collection for me, where the tone shifts from "Well, this is odd" to "This is definitely bad". The other horror tale, "Details" isn't as effective, featuring a young boy's relationship with a woman in his apartment complex who seems to be an oracle of some kind . . . it effectively takes something mundane and turns it into a surprisingly malevolent concept that genuinely chilling.
But beyond those couple highlights the rest are a mixed bag. "Tis the Season" seems like something Cory Doctorow would write, and probably needed to be fleshed out more to be funnier or more cutting. "Different Skies" reads like someone trying to be a scary version of a Borges story whose name escapes me right now (whichever one had the guy seeing a different world through a window) and doesn't quite cut it. Fans of "Perdido Street Station" were perhaps happy to see "Jack" which deals with an aftermath of an incident in that story . . . I'm unfortunately not so in love with that novel that I needed a revisit and in the end the story feels more like a story waiting to start and right about to when it ends. "On the Way to the Front" could be his first attempt at writing a comic (which he would later do successfully, or at least I enjoyed "Dial H" although since it lasted only fifteen issues I might have been the only one) and while Liam Sharp has his strength the story doesn't quite seem to play to them, and he can't totally convey whatever Mieville is driving at (the book is also way smaller than a typical comic book, which scrunches the art and makes the details harder to make out, not a benefit for Sharp, who draws lots of fine lines) so the story is a bit of a headscratcher.
That leaves "The Tain", a novella that won a Locus Award and thus should be the capstone to the collection, or at least the money shot. And its . . . all right. Featuring a world that's supposed to have vampires even as it turns out they're something else entirely, it at times feels like "I am Legend" told from both perspectives but beyond an early scene where the protagonist walks into a mostly empty London that's gone seriously weird (the "doves" are the most effective image for me) and a later description of what people were doing when the original crisis hits, it again mostly feels like a story killing time until the actual story starts, at which point it ends. The concept never feels illustrated in the right way, its too concrete where it needs to be shadows, but the shadowy stuff feels too literal. Its also another Borges riff (if I haven't convinced you yet to get the complete collection of his short stories if any of this sounds vaguely interesting, let this be the official recommendation) and while I can appreciate the direction Mieville is taking it in, that's about all I can do.
So, a bit of a hodgepodge and for those who are more in love with Mieville's style than I am the hits might number a bit higher for you and the near-misses could be more forgivable. But nothing is outright bad here, so worst case scenario it’s a quick and inoffensive read with no masterpieces but no duffers either. Mieville is talented but I wonder sometimes if he's one of those writer who does his best work when he hits certain chords and any ventures outside that sound are just harmless noodling . . . not grating, but never rising above a background hum.