Guess I’m not going to be the last person in the English-speaking world to read Iron Council after all.

I’ve still got the UK version on order, ’cause that’s the kind of sick fetishist that I am, but I broke down and bought the US edition Friday afternoon, since I’d decided Thursday I was going on a 36-hour writing retreat and knew I wasn’t going to be able to get away with no reading that whole time.

As you’d expect, I blew through it in about four sittings. (And yes, I did get a good bit of writing done, too, so shut your mouth.) Council didn’t have the urgency of The Scar, but it was an easier read than either Scar or Perdido — the writing in Council is probably better, line by line. Still, Mieville’s at his most interesting when he’s indulging his penchant for baroquely overwritten description, and too many of Council’s settings are too open and spare to let him really go over the top. And when he has a good opening for that sort of thing, like the Council’s two — two! — crossings of the cacotopic stain, he doesn’t always take it.

Figure 1. Not the Iron Council.

I’m torn. On the one hand, I found the world of Perdido Street Station so fucked-up and depressing I’ve never been tempted to reread it, as impressive and memorable as it was. On the other hand, now that Iron Council (which is much more involved than The Scar with the things that made Perdido what it was, enough that I’m nearly tempted to reread the earlier book just to catch all the references I’d half forgotten) has offered that hopeless world some hope, it’s also drawn a lot of its poison.

I’d say The Scar is probably still my favorite. It’s a glorious mess, but Iron Council, though less messy, is also less glorious.