Condition of Mr. Segundo: One might say quite “un”-well.
Author: China Miéville
Subjects Discussed: World-building, building a world with an urban center, being a “city animal,” the imagination-per-page ratio, a creative license to put in anything, C.S. Lewis, ideology and YA books, Marxism, terrorism, the 1952 London smog, London bus drivers, politics and fiction, inventing monsters, environmentalism, the pleasure and joy of the grotesque, Miéville’s creative veto process, Un Lun Dun as a creative experiment, having to lay off arcane words in a YA book, the nature of spoilers, the underrated virtues of sidekicks, narrative surprises, the journey vs. the destination, rigid plotting, the two types of people who respond to “fridge man,” and how literal puns transform into monsters.
EXCERPT FROM SHOW:
Miéville: There are different ways of world-building. When we say “world-building,” we tend to think of that D&D-esque kind, which is not a diss incidentally. It’s just a description. It’s sort of a consolidation between the geography and the history and the culture and so on before writing the story. At that’s one way of doing it. But then there are others, which are less rigid, less to do with internal coherence, in the same way. So in terms of something like Un Lun Dun or some of the short stories or even King Rat, and the book I’m working on the moment as well, it’s less to do with having a coherent back-narrative and more to do with having a coherent moral and emotional feeling. I know the whole question of world-building is quite controversial at the moment, because M. John Harrison just wrote his blistering attack on the idea. Which I thought was, characteristically for his stuff, was a brilliant provocation and full of a certain kind of angry integrity. I don’t agree with him exactly, but I think it would be a fool who dismissed his criticisms out of hand.
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
To be a good world-builder, or a good writer, is it also necessary to be extremely attractive?
I can look at this in two ways; first, a story that is merely a world building exercise and doesn’t bother to tell a compelling story is not a story I’m interested in reading. I can imagine writing that creates interesting worlds, introduces fascinating characters, but does nothing with either, may be a wonderful exercise in language and worldbuilding, but will be painfully disappointing to consume. At the very least it will leave you unfulfilled at the end when you’ve invested yourself entirely in something the author can’t bring themselves to do anything meaningful with.
The second way to look at this, that worldbuilding is not an entirely necessary precursor to writing a good story I think is complete crap. If you’re writing in a world that’s not fictional, or it’s fictional aspects are so narrowly deviant from a real world that you’re intimately acquainted with, then sure – don’t map it out first as you’ve got a live model in your head. I’d argue in this sense that you’ve been worldbuilding all your life, and you’re now able to write from within it comfortably without any extra planning. If, however, you’re writing a story set in a world that doesn’t and can’t possibly exist, then you have to spend a fair amount of time to define it before you start writing or else you’re bound to deal with something inconsistently, and your readers are going to catch you out on it. If your readers can’t trust you to put in the effort to understand the world you’re writing about, then why should they put forth the effort to read it?