Review: City of Saints and Madmen

Jeff VanderMeer’s City of Saints and Madmen is a sometimes bewildering collection of works related to the fictional city of Ambergris. Almost immediately, it becomes apparent that this is not your typical fantasy; instead, VanderMeer’s literature is a bizarre amalgamation of fantasy, horror, and postmodern literary techniques. This fusion of genres is called “new weird,” described by Vandermeer in the introduction of (surprise, surprise!) The New Weird anthology:

The first edition of City of Saints and Madmen included the World Fantasy Award Winning “The Transformation of Martin Lake,” as well as “Dradin, In Love,” “An Early History of Ambergris,” and “The Strange Case of X.” These four novellas comprise the “core” of the book; however, more recent editions have added almost a dozen additional pieces, including an “appendiX” that purports itself as belonging to the aforementioned mental patient, “X.” The original novellas are moody, dark, and gripping; unfortunately, the content included in the appendix varies from harrowing to yawn-inducing. Over 700 pages, Jeff VanderMeer spins a tangled and bewildering web, and there are intriguing moments of brilliance that refuse to surrender their hold on the reader, but the collection, as a whole, suffers from an unwillingness to remove material that serves little purpose other than to amuse the author.

City of Saints and Madmen, more than anything, explores a strange metropolis, a shadowy, gruesome, and fungus-infested nightmare, certainly no place I would ever want to inhabit. Actually, I’m not certain why anyone would want to live there; few of the stories give any indication as to why the citizens continue to choose this haunted and dangerous city as their residence (other than the multiple antagonists living in mental institutions, who obviously have fewer decisions to worry about in regards to their lodgings). Regardless, the triumphs and (more often) torments of the city’s residents expose a window through which we see the streets, bookstores, taverns, and museums of Ambergris, a port that evokes both Paris’ bohemian excitement and the mysterious threats of Istanbul’s cluttered alleys. Each of the novellas and stories follow individuals going about their often nightmarish lives, but the true star of the show is the city of Ambergris, an enchanting horror that will occupy your thoughts, and likely your dreams, long after you’ve finished reading.

The opening novella, “Dradin, In Love,” follows a missionary returning to Ambergris after sickness and strife deep in tropical jungles. In the window of a street-side business, a woman of heart-stopping beauty captures Dradin’s heart; as the city prepares for the madness of The Festival of the Freshwater Squid, an unstable Dradin himself descends into an all-consuming obsession. “An Early History of Ambergris” is an amusingly cynical and dry recounting of the early horrors of Ambergrisian history. In “The Transformation of Martin Lake,” alternating narratives explore the darker motivations behind artistry, split between a biographical analysis of the successful painter Martin Lake and a recounting of the young, struggling artist’s literal invitation to an execution. The concluding “The Strange Case of X” tells a somewhat clichéd and obvious author-trapped-in-his-own-work fable, and is the weakest of the four original elements. Outside of these four pieces, the quality varies widely. “King Squid,” while humorous at times, is more frustrating than anything else, being an exploration of the behavior and biology of, you guessed it: the King Squid. Particularly annoying is slogging through a 40-page bibliography, interspersed with personal commentary from an increasingly deranged narrator; while vaguely clever, the entire endeavor feels fundamentally pointless. In addition, a 70-page glossary may be delightfully self-referential and cast several of the stories in a new light, but also feels unnecessary. But fear not; all is not lost! “The Hoegbotton Family History,” which I fully expected to be adynamic, was quite moving, with one of the most beautiful finishing paragraphs I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Likewise, “The Exchange,” “The Cage,” and “In the Hours After Death” all entertained, each of them a unique, slow-motion free-fall into uncertainty and madness. Like all anthologies, some works are going to appeal more than others, and perhaps the vignettes I found drab or uninspired will speak differently to another reader.

However, when the pacing falters, truly extraordinary prose helps to maintain the tension and wonder of Saints and Madmen. Even from the opening passage, it’s crystal-clear that vanilla narrative won’t be enough to satisfy the pressing needs of these stories: “Dradin, in love, beneath the window of his love, staring up at her while crowds surge and seethe around him, bumping and bruising him all unawares in their rough-clothed, bright-rouged thousands.” The language is simply incredible–VanderMeer combines the sensous, the humorous, and the lyrical with ease–and each piece has an inflection and continuity unique to itself. Even in the segments that I found less than satisfying, I was simply stunned by the power of his writing. Ultimately, the postmodern approach may not interest every reader, but I am hard-pressed to imagine that any reader would not be astonished by the clarity of VanderMeer’s voice. Even for readers who might struggle with the compilation’s uneven pacing or sometimes unsympathetic narrators, I would still recommend this novel on the strength of the language alone.

City of Saints and Madmen is a pioneering work of fiction, and I admire VanderMeer’s willingness to go it alone in a strange direction that may not prove to be financially rewarding (not that I am implying that financial success is the only, or even the best, measuring stick), but I have a hard time imagining this anthology will appeal to a broad audience, which is a shame, because there are moments of unbelievable brilliance, moments that left my jaw on the ground and my brain stranded at the last station’s stop. Jeff VanderMeer has obviously devoted an incredible amount of effort to inventing this fantastical city, whether it be merely for pleasure or because Ambergris haunts him as deeply as the stranded author in “The Strange Case of X.” In either case, I am fascinated by the events hinted at throughout and my curiosity seems destined to lead me to Shriek: An Afterword and Finch. While the collection’s pacing is uneven and certain portions seem included only to divert the author and those readers with an interest obsessive enough to pick out every interconnected reference, the fabulous prose and the slavish attention to every nightmarish detail make for a very entertaining read.

Plot: 6.5
Characters: 8.5
Action: 8
Writing: 10

Overall (not an average): 7.5/10