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Nekropolis
Fleeing an empty future in the Nekropolis, twenty-one-year-old Hariba has agreed to have herself "jessed," the technobiological process that will render her subservient to whomever has purchased her service. Indentured in the house of a wealthy merchant, she encounters many wondrous things. Yet nothing there is as remarkable and disturbing to her as the harni, Akhmim. A perfect replica of a man, this intelligent, machine-bred creature unsettles Hariba with its beauty, its naive, inappropriate tenderness . . . and with prying, unanswerable questions, like "Why are you sad?" And slowly, revulsion metamorphoses into acceptance, and then into something much more. But these outlaw emotions defy the strict edicts of God and Man -- feelings that must never be explored, since no master would tolerate them. And the "jessed" defy their master's will at the risk of sickness, pain, imprisonment . . . and death.
272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2001
About the author
Maureen F. McHugh
114 books264 followersMaureen F. McHugh (born 1959) is a science fiction and fantasy writer.
Her first published story appeared in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine in 1989. Since then, she has written four novels and over twenty short stories. Her first novel, China Mountain Zhang (1992), was nominated for both the Hugo and the Nebula Award, and won the James Tiptree, Jr. Award. In 1996 she won a Hugo Award for her short story "The Lincoln Train" (1995). McHugh's short story collection Mothers and Other Monsters was shortlisted as a finalist for the Story Prize in December, 2005.
Maureen is currently a partner at No Mimes Media, an Alternate Reality Game company which she co-founded with Steve Peters and Behnam Karbassi in March 2009. Prior to founding No Mimes, Maureen worked for 42 Entertainment, where she was a Writer and/or Managing Editor for numerous Alternate Reality Game projects, including Year Zero and I Love Bees.
Her first published story appeared in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine in 1989. Since then, she has written four novels and over twenty short stories. Her first novel, China Mountain Zhang (1992), was nominated for both the Hugo and the Nebula Award, and won the James Tiptree, Jr. Award. In 1996 she won a Hugo Award for her short story "The Lincoln Train" (1995). McHugh's short story collection Mothers and Other Monsters was shortlisted as a finalist for the Story Prize in December, 2005.
Maureen is currently a partner at No Mimes Media, an Alternate Reality Game company which she co-founded with Steve Peters and Behnam Karbassi in March 2009. Prior to founding No Mimes, Maureen worked for 42 Entertainment, where she was a Writer and/or Managing Editor for numerous Alternate Reality Game projects, including Year Zero and I Love Bees.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 84 reviews
September 24, 2013
This is going to be one of those works dearest to my heart - not because they are stimulating, nerve-challenging or fast enough to make my heart race. No, this is far from traditional SF - the plot is of no importance here, nor the characters - what matters is the world and how difficult it makes life for those who question its ways.
What makes this novel stand out for me is its setting - it is so rare to see the future in a place that no one has bothered to look at, as if the future will not have it - Morocco.
In the 22nd century, Hariba got jessed at twenty-one - a neurological implant that would make her artificially, but inescapably subservient to her master for life, to whom she would be a slave. Five years later, she flees to her home, Nekropolis - an act that could cost her her life, because it is illegal for a slave to flee her master. Even more scandalous, she bids a harni Akhmim, a bio-engineered being equal in status to a jessed human, an android, a lesser-than-human and the property of her ex-master, to flee with him.
What is disturbing about this simple work is how realistically it looks at a future fundamentalist theocratic state in command of immense technology - and how it marginalizes certain people through the use of invasive technology. Hariba, despite her repulsion for a socially-despised harni, falls for his intelligence, soft, concerned temperament.
Maureen's political concerns are evident - the idea of a chemically indentured woman in an ultra-conservative future and how we willingly tend to give up freedom for security and safety are intriguing, and reflect largely on our own times, despite set in the future. She allows no easy answers, and the farther our freedom is, the steeper is its price.
When you read this book, don't expect adventures, twists and turns or fantastic writing skills. Read between the lines - this is ideological SF - it penetrates our own views of life, of what it means to be human, and reflects on how a current political, social, traditional and moral ideology has an impact on the choices we make. Our choices are not mere reflections of our own selves, but that of the place and community we live in.
A very short read, nevertheless, it is heart-breaking and liberating at the same time, and will be most easily related to by people who find themselves misfits in their cultures.
What makes this novel stand out for me is its setting - it is so rare to see the future in a place that no one has bothered to look at, as if the future will not have it - Morocco.
In the 22nd century, Hariba got jessed at twenty-one - a neurological implant that would make her artificially, but inescapably subservient to her master for life, to whom she would be a slave. Five years later, she flees to her home, Nekropolis - an act that could cost her her life, because it is illegal for a slave to flee her master. Even more scandalous, she bids a harni Akhmim, a bio-engineered being equal in status to a jessed human, an android, a lesser-than-human and the property of her ex-master, to flee with him.
What is disturbing about this simple work is how realistically it looks at a future fundamentalist theocratic state in command of immense technology - and how it marginalizes certain people through the use of invasive technology. Hariba, despite her repulsion for a socially-despised harni, falls for his intelligence, soft, concerned temperament.
Maureen's political concerns are evident - the idea of a chemically indentured woman in an ultra-conservative future and how we willingly tend to give up freedom for security and safety are intriguing, and reflect largely on our own times, despite set in the future. She allows no easy answers, and the farther our freedom is, the steeper is its price.
When you read this book, don't expect adventures, twists and turns or fantastic writing skills. Read between the lines - this is ideological SF - it penetrates our own views of life, of what it means to be human, and reflects on how a current political, social, traditional and moral ideology has an impact on the choices we make. Our choices are not mere reflections of our own selves, but that of the place and community we live in.
A very short read, nevertheless, it is heart-breaking and liberating at the same time, and will be most easily related to by people who find themselves misfits in their cultures.
December 12, 2008
What I got out of this book was, like other reviewers said, love isn't enough. Mainly not romantic love as shown between Hariba and Akhmim, but also familial as shown by how Hariba's family tried to help her, or friendship as shown by what happened to Hariba's best friend who also tried to help her. For Hariba and Akhmim's relationship, affection isn't enough in the face of power balances so unequal that attachment turns into dependency, consent and honesty is moot because there's too much pressure to please and conform to another person's will. Hariba and Akhmim effectively dismantles the romantic trope of the perfect lover that's shaped around your needs, and shows the disturbing undertones of such a premise. It also shows how putting someone else at the center of your world negatively impacts your other relationships; in Hariba's case it's her family and best friend.
Familial and friendship love also wasn't enough, even as it helped Hariba through rough times. Other people also have their own problems going on, and there isn't much surplus to be generous when you're on the bottom of socioeconomic ladder and also have your own ambitions to improve your lot in life. So I guess it shows the appeal of a companion who puts you first and their needs second, and then further shows why such a relationship is unhealthy.
Oh and one thing that annoyed me was the use of the first person for multiple points of view. That's a pet peeve of mine.
Familial and friendship love also wasn't enough, even as it helped Hariba through rough times. Other people also have their own problems going on, and there isn't much surplus to be generous when you're on the bottom of socioeconomic ladder and also have your own ambitions to improve your lot in life. So I guess it shows the appeal of a companion who puts you first and their needs second, and then further shows why such a relationship is unhealthy.
Oh and one thing that annoyed me was the use of the first person for multiple points of view. That's a pet peeve of mine.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 28, 2013
This book, set in a future Morocco, shows that, regardless of advances in technology, the basic human experience often changes very little. Her main character, the young Muslim woman Hariba, has voluntarily sold herself into servitude; her loyalty to her employers assured by chemical/biological means. However, when she falls in love with Akhmim, a lab-created biological "AI" who seems all too human, the two escape their employer/owners, risking jail or death...
Regardless of the book's exotic tech, Hariba's experiences are those shared by all too many refugees, poltical and otherwise, today. McHugh speaks delicately and effectively about the realities of life in an oppressive regime, the fact that even those who are extremely conservative can fall afoul of the law in such situations, about the difference in perception between well-meaning liberals with high political ideals and the priorities and concerns of those they are trying to help, about the difficulties faced by those who have left others behind to face the repercussions of their rebellion....
Regardless of the book's exotic tech, Hariba's experiences are those shared by all too many refugees, poltical and otherwise, today. McHugh speaks delicately and effectively about the realities of life in an oppressive regime, the fact that even those who are extremely conservative can fall afoul of the law in such situations, about the difference in perception between well-meaning liberals with high political ideals and the priorities and concerns of those they are trying to help, about the difficulties faced by those who have left others behind to face the repercussions of their rebellion....
July 3, 2013
This book made me super uncomfortable. A++
July 19, 2020
This was a good novel but not quite what I would call science fiction. There are several ‘sci-fi’ elements to it:
Jessing: an illegal bio/programming method that bonds a person to another to ensure loyalty.
Androids: Though they get called harni or chimeras.
House computers and Simulations.
I enjoyed this book; actually I read it right through overnight when I could not be bothered sleeping and that has to be a recomendation. The characters are well constructed and the setting is Morocco – which is a very pleasant change from reading sci-fi based in western culture or mish-mash culture. So it was a good novel with interesting characters but the sci-fi element seemed incidental to the plot. I also finished the last page without feeling as if I had finished a story. It just seemed to trail off with no actual final point being made or conclusion reached.That was not a plus for me.
The science fiction elements were subtle and, though well enough done were not new to me. To mention just a few: The notion of programmed loyalty was dealt with by extensively by Vacuum Flowers. The android/lover theme was covered in Tanith Lee’s Silver metal lover and Metallic love. The hologramatic room used as a vicarious experience... well that has been used so often that I can’t even start on it. The only really innovative part of the ‘science’ of the ‘fiction’ was how they would apply to an African Islamic culture bordering on the EUC.
So good yes, but not magnificent.
Jessing: an illegal bio/programming method that bonds a person to another to ensure loyalty.
Androids: Though they get called harni or chimeras.
House computers and Simulations.
I enjoyed this book; actually I read it right through overnight when I could not be bothered sleeping and that has to be a recomendation. The characters are well constructed and the setting is Morocco – which is a very pleasant change from reading sci-fi based in western culture or mish-mash culture. So it was a good novel with interesting characters but the sci-fi element seemed incidental to the plot. I also finished the last page without feeling as if I had finished a story. It just seemed to trail off with no actual final point being made or conclusion reached.That was not a plus for me.
The science fiction elements were subtle and, though well enough done were not new to me. To mention just a few: The notion of programmed loyalty was dealt with by extensively by Vacuum Flowers. The android/lover theme was covered in Tanith Lee’s Silver metal lover and Metallic love. The hologramatic room used as a vicarious experience... well that has been used so often that I can’t even start on it. The only really innovative part of the ‘science’ of the ‘fiction’ was how they would apply to an African Islamic culture bordering on the EUC.
So good yes, but not magnificent.
April 1, 2013
I never do this, but lists. You’re getting lists this time:
What I liked:
• The subtlety. I’m not a jaded scifi reader, so all the scifi elements introduced were suitably familiar, but not too incomprehensible to me.
• Prejudices.
• The exploration of inequality in a relationship. Whether the inequality is constructed by rules parents teach their children or science that removes choice, it is real and there aren’t any easy answers.
• The writing.
• Akhmim.
• The ending.
What I didn’t like:
• Multiple first person voice point of views. Four to be exact. Hariba, Akhmim, Hariba’s mother, and her best friend. Their voices were too similar and I think it only really worked for Akhmim. For a comprehensive introspection of the society I would have preferred to read this story in third limited.
• The helpless, clingy Hariba.
• Hariba.
What I liked:
• The subtlety. I’m not a jaded scifi reader, so all the scifi elements introduced were suitably familiar, but not too incomprehensible to me.
• Prejudices.
• The exploration of inequality in a relationship. Whether the inequality is constructed by rules parents teach their children or science that removes choice, it is real and there aren’t any easy answers.
• The writing.
• Akhmim.
• The ending.
What I didn’t like:
• Multiple first person voice point of views. Four to be exact. Hariba, Akhmim, Hariba’s mother, and her best friend. Their voices were too similar and I think it only really worked for Akhmim. For a comprehensive introspection of the society I would have preferred to read this story in third limited.
• The helpless, clingy Hariba.
• Hariba.
December 6, 2023
The Second Koran says, just as a jessed hawk is tamed, not tied, so shall the servant be bound by affection and duty, not chains, with God's blessing.Bleak life and romance in a future Morocco.
Coming from a poor family and with few prospects, Hariba was jessed at age 20 - she voluntarily received neurological implants to increase loyalty and subservience. After some years of indentured servitude, she gets onto the bad side of her mistress, and also falls in love with the household android ("harni"), Akhmim. The two then seek to escape from their employers/owners, but an ultra-conservative society and the life-threatening effects of the jess will not make that easy.
Looks at disturbing themes: indentured servitude enforced by chemical means, personhood for artificial beings, love inside a power imbalance, prostitution, fundamentalist theocratic religion, patriarchal strictures on women, freedom from oppression. Within a believable and interesting story.
This book especially the last section, reminded me of the last two stories in Five Ways to Forgiveness, "A Woman's Liberation" and "Old Music and the Slave Women." After the revolt and slavery has been outlawed, people are dealing with the aftermath and education for a population of ex-slaves. Maureen McHugh's voice does feel like Ursula K. Le Guin's to me: perceptive, spare and elegant prose exploring technology and social issues.
Sections:
1. Paper Flowers - Hariba's POV (main character)
2. Ties - Akhmim's POV (android who she falls in love with)
3. Duty - Hariba's mother's POV.
4. The Invisible Rule - Ayesha's POV (Hariba's childhood friend)
5. In the Land of the Infidel - Hariba again
Afterthoughts
-Wow, wish refugees/asylum seekers today were met with a fraction of the resources in this book. That part is definitely science-fictional!
-I think this could have a better title than Nekropolis, which is only the name of the poor neighborhood where Hariba's family lives.
November 26, 2021
First-rate McHugh novel, which means it's among the best in the genre. I'm sorry she has fallen (largely) silent in recent years. The review to read is by Gerald Jonas, imo the best SF/F reviewer any major newspaper has ever had: https://www.nytimes.com/2001/10/07/bo...
Excerpt: "Twenty-six-year-old Hariba lives in a Morocco that the author identifies in a brief note as ''entirely a fictional creation'' but ''based on the country of the same name.'' This country, like much of today's North Africa, is poor and overcrowded; the ''nekropolis'' of the title is a former cemetery whose mausoleums now house squatters. Out of desperation and depression, Hariba has had herself ''jessed,'' fitted with an implant that ensures her utter loyalty as a servant to a well-to-do master. Her life of brain-dulled servitude (she keeps the books for a merchant's household) is interrupted when the master buys a ''harni,'' an artificially bred humanoid. Against all rules and odds, she falls in love with the creature, which has been imprinted with the unshakable need to please all true humans. ..."
Highly recommended, especially for McHugh fans. Not quite as good as her remarkable debut "China Mountain Zhang" -- but close. I might reread it sometime.
Excerpt: "Twenty-six-year-old Hariba lives in a Morocco that the author identifies in a brief note as ''entirely a fictional creation'' but ''based on the country of the same name.'' This country, like much of today's North Africa, is poor and overcrowded; the ''nekropolis'' of the title is a former cemetery whose mausoleums now house squatters. Out of desperation and depression, Hariba has had herself ''jessed,'' fitted with an implant that ensures her utter loyalty as a servant to a well-to-do master. Her life of brain-dulled servitude (she keeps the books for a merchant's household) is interrupted when the master buys a ''harni,'' an artificially bred humanoid. Against all rules and odds, she falls in love with the creature, which has been imprinted with the unshakable need to please all true humans. ..."
Highly recommended, especially for McHugh fans. Not quite as good as her remarkable debut "China Mountain Zhang" -- but close. I might reread it sometime.
April 28, 2011
I. Hm. I don't know. This book is very much science fiction, very much not in the style of science fiction, and that's both its strength and weakness. The SF elements are used as constructs for the story, which is all about people. This is good, because I care more about people than I do about technology. This is bad, because I feel like some of those SF elements are not fully thought out (or at least not addressed in the text), because only the ones that have implications for the characters that the author wants to explore are given screen time. However, my delight at reading science fiction set in Morocco is enough to overcome a lot (even as that gives rise to its own host of problems).
So, okay. Near-future society, with two main SF...thingies: 1) the concept of "jessing," in which there's a mental implant to compel loyalty upon pain of sickness, madness, death, taxes, etc, leading to people selling themselves into indentured servitude and 2) the creation of another species(?), the harni, who are 98% genetically identical to human (but that 2% apparently really counts), are created in a lab, and are chattel, not people. Our Heroine has jessed herself, gone and fallen in love (sort of?) with a harni, and has run away, with attendant Bad Things.
I think the harni are handled really, really well in the book, as the author is clearly interested in exploring what this difference in species means and how it plays out, as well as in the status of harni in society (societies). But the jessing? Oooh. I. Hm. I feel like this was pretty much addressed only as much as was necessary to set up some of the familial/societal issues the author wanted to talk about, and a lot of the implications were brushed aside. The important bit was the illness/death that attempting to break the jessing would cause, not the implications of fucking around with your brain/emotions. I was surprised that the illness caused by defying the jess was entirely unrelated to the owner. There didn't seem to be that many emotional/brain repercussions, or at least not ones that were explored.
Additionally, I found the interpersonal/societal issues that this book explores post-jess-defying were, um, very lit-fic. It dealt with issues of honor and familial bonds and poverty and marital relationships
in a Muslim, North African community, with the SF as framework around these very familiar issues. This should be awesome. I should be digging this so hard. ...I didn't really feel like the SF elements were being used to say anything new, except about the harni. Blah blah the son has brought shame on the family blah blah the daughter sells herself because she has no options blah blah the daughter seeks her own happiness at the expense of MOAR SHAME for the family blah blah escape to Europe blah blah diaspora drama blah blah did we mention this new species?
The structure of this novel helped get me over a lot of the blah blah. It's told in alternating first-person chunks, first Our Heroine, then her harni not-quite-lover, then her mother, then her best friend, and then finally one last chunk from her perspective. I very much enjoyed the immediacy of the first person narration from three very different women within the same society (the jessed, shamed young woman, the shamed widow, the 'successful' wife and mother), and I enjoyed seeing how their relationships played out, with all the resentments and pettiness and deep, unswerving loyalty, even over their anger and disgust. I enjoyed how the author gave a face and story to these women, even as I didn't feel like anything particularly new or exciting was being said. Look! It's shame and honor as integral parts of a society that strictly regulates the habits of women, and now we have new and exciting sources of shame! Sigh.
And, okay, here's the big thing - I'm a little uncomfortable with a novel that spends three-quarters of its time heaping horrible things on its heroine because of her position in a Muslim, North African society, only to have the last quarter take her to Europe, where she's immediately granted asylum and welfare and counseling and work, and everything's not perfect - she's still dealing with the aftereffects of the jessing and being not-quite-in-love with a being not really constructed to love her back in a human way and, you know, going from a very closed-in Muslim milieu to Secular And Open Europe - but Spain is pretty much presented as The Answer To Her Problems. I don't know. I was pleased with the complexity of the Morocco portrayed, but Europe As Bureaucratic Panacea rubbed me the wrong way.
A fluid, easy read, one that makes you uncomfortable in a lot of the right places but also a few of the wrong ones.
So, okay. Near-future society, with two main SF...thingies: 1) the concept of "jessing," in which there's a mental implant to compel loyalty upon pain of sickness, madness, death, taxes, etc, leading to people selling themselves into indentured servitude and 2) the creation of another species(?), the harni, who are 98% genetically identical to human (but that 2% apparently really counts), are created in a lab, and are chattel, not people. Our Heroine has jessed herself, gone and fallen in love (sort of?) with a harni, and has run away, with attendant Bad Things.
I think the harni are handled really, really well in the book, as the author is clearly interested in exploring what this difference in species means and how it plays out, as well as in the status of harni in society (societies). But the jessing? Oooh. I. Hm. I feel like this was pretty much addressed only as much as was necessary to set up some of the familial/societal issues the author wanted to talk about, and a lot of the implications were brushed aside. The important bit was the illness/death that attempting to break the jessing would cause, not the implications of fucking around with your brain/emotions. I was surprised that the illness caused by defying the jess was entirely unrelated to the owner. There didn't seem to be that many emotional/brain repercussions, or at least not ones that were explored.
Additionally, I found the interpersonal/societal issues that this book explores post-jess-defying were, um, very lit-fic. It dealt with issues of honor and familial bonds and poverty and marital relationships
in a Muslim, North African community, with the SF as framework around these very familiar issues. This should be awesome. I should be digging this so hard. ...I didn't really feel like the SF elements were being used to say anything new, except about the harni. Blah blah the son has brought shame on the family blah blah the daughter sells herself because she has no options blah blah the daughter seeks her own happiness at the expense of MOAR SHAME for the family blah blah escape to Europe blah blah diaspora drama blah blah did we mention this new species?
The structure of this novel helped get me over a lot of the blah blah. It's told in alternating first-person chunks, first Our Heroine, then her harni not-quite-lover, then her mother, then her best friend, and then finally one last chunk from her perspective. I very much enjoyed the immediacy of the first person narration from three very different women within the same society (the jessed, shamed young woman, the shamed widow, the 'successful' wife and mother), and I enjoyed seeing how their relationships played out, with all the resentments and pettiness and deep, unswerving loyalty, even over their anger and disgust. I enjoyed how the author gave a face and story to these women, even as I didn't feel like anything particularly new or exciting was being said. Look! It's shame and honor as integral parts of a society that strictly regulates the habits of women, and now we have new and exciting sources of shame! Sigh.
And, okay, here's the big thing - I'm a little uncomfortable with a novel that spends three-quarters of its time heaping horrible things on its heroine because of her position in a Muslim, North African society, only to have the last quarter take her to Europe, where she's immediately granted asylum and welfare and counseling and work, and everything's not perfect - she's still dealing with the aftereffects of the jessing and being not-quite-in-love with a being not really constructed to love her back in a human way and, you know, going from a very closed-in Muslim milieu to Secular And Open Europe - but Spain is pretty much presented as The Answer To Her Problems. I don't know. I was pleased with the complexity of the Morocco portrayed, but Europe As Bureaucratic Panacea rubbed me the wrong way.
A fluid, easy read, one that makes you uncomfortable in a lot of the right places but also a few of the wrong ones.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 16, 2012
All I could think while reading this was that McHugh had a whole hell of a lot she wanted to say about fundamental Islam and / or Arabic society's treatment of women and I wished she would just come out and say it - but then I would remind myself that this was a fiction novel, and she was contentedly making whatever point she wanted to make. I guess. Having just read Infidel by Hirsi Ali made Nekropolis seem like weak criticism indeed, but then that's probably an unfair comparison.
I was excited when, in the first few pages, the female protagonist Hariba met the humanoid flesh-and-blood construct (genetically engineered chimera, whatever you want to call it) and ends up asking herself, "Can something not human blaspheme?" It seemed like a blast-off, a signifier of discussion to come, and I was excited to follow. Unfortunately (to me, maybe not to you) it was just one of dozens of little glimpses into Hariba's thoughts. It worked for what it was supposed to do - show us that she was concerned about her religion while not completely subjugated; she's willing to actually question things around her - and it did so effectively. I just disappointed myself by mis-reading it as an opening to a story that wasn't coming.
[now I want to read a story about a [g/G]od that exists and where human-engineered human-alikes aren't part of [h/H]is scheme and therefore can't truly belong, and can't blaspheme, and can't go to Heaven or Hell, and man that'd be a good story. I wish I were a good enough writer to do it myself.]
McHugh's prose is solid and I thought her pacing was fantastic in that the story never once dragged unnecessarily or shot ahead. It's like an unstoppable slow-crawling tank heading over and through the obstacles. Unfortunately I found myself uninterested in the protagonists, so I just watched this tank from afar with no concern for its passengers or destination. I liked Hariba at first, I thought her situation was fascinating and I anticipated seeing her weaknesses grow into fantastic strengths by the end. Then McHugh lost me by leaving Hariba sick and helpless in the middle of the story and shifting the narrative to other bit players. I was left without her voice for so long that I forgot about why I liked her. Overall I found the stories following Hariba's mother and her best friend more interesting. When the supporting stories are more captivating than the main tale there's a problem.
Everything from here on down is [SPOILER ALERT] so stop reading now.
I was satisfied with the ending because it felt very true. A new life, new opportunities, new choices - and everything going to shit anyway. I would have been disappointed if it all turned out roses, but McHugh knows better. Even the way it all slowly disintegrated was appropriate; there was no explosion, no drama, just a gradual dissolution, and it felt very true. I just wish I'd actually cared about Hariba's pain at the end.
I was excited when, in the first few pages, the female protagonist Hariba met the humanoid flesh-and-blood construct (genetically engineered chimera, whatever you want to call it) and ends up asking herself, "Can something not human blaspheme?" It seemed like a blast-off, a signifier of discussion to come, and I was excited to follow. Unfortunately (to me, maybe not to you) it was just one of dozens of little glimpses into Hariba's thoughts. It worked for what it was supposed to do - show us that she was concerned about her religion while not completely subjugated; she's willing to actually question things around her - and it did so effectively. I just disappointed myself by mis-reading it as an opening to a story that wasn't coming.
[now I want to read a story about a [g/G]od that exists and where human-engineered human-alikes aren't part of [h/H]is scheme and therefore can't truly belong, and can't blaspheme, and can't go to Heaven or Hell, and man that'd be a good story. I wish I were a good enough writer to do it myself.]
McHugh's prose is solid and I thought her pacing was fantastic in that the story never once dragged unnecessarily or shot ahead. It's like an unstoppable slow-crawling tank heading over and through the obstacles. Unfortunately I found myself uninterested in the protagonists, so I just watched this tank from afar with no concern for its passengers or destination. I liked Hariba at first, I thought her situation was fascinating and I anticipated seeing her weaknesses grow into fantastic strengths by the end. Then McHugh lost me by leaving Hariba sick and helpless in the middle of the story and shifting the narrative to other bit players. I was left without her voice for so long that I forgot about why I liked her. Overall I found the stories following Hariba's mother and her best friend more interesting. When the supporting stories are more captivating than the main tale there's a problem.
Everything from here on down is [SPOILER ALERT] so stop reading now.
I was satisfied with the ending because it felt very true. A new life, new opportunities, new choices - and everything going to shit anyway. I would have been disappointed if it all turned out roses, but McHugh knows better. Even the way it all slowly disintegrated was appropriate; there was no explosion, no drama, just a gradual dissolution, and it felt very true. I just wish I'd actually cared about Hariba's pain at the end.
August 16, 2020
Maybe once I'll re-read this, I'll write a proper review. Let's just say I loved this a lot and I love Maureen F. McHugh's writing a lot and this punched me right in the heart and I didn't want it to end. I think I might like this novel of her best of the ones I've read so far and I've been thinking about it a lot the past month. I'm deeply envious of the way she creates characters and makes you really feel for them but in in elegant almost detached way.
Read
January 4, 2018I just couldn’t get into this book. The first few chapters introduced an interesting near-future world and I was curious to see what the author would do with it. Well, she had her characters take an action that brought them out of that world so that she didn’t have to deal with the sci-fi aspects anymore. It was at that point that I realized I didn’t care about these characters. Disappointing, but glad I moved on to reading something else.
March 28, 2023
Intriguing read. slower paced, but I appreciated it and got through it quickly. liked how each chapter was from a different character’s perspective and we were able to see each person struggle with not only haribas dilemma but their own personal struggles as well. technically a romance novel, but the relations between the ai guy and everyone else still caught me off guard.
March 30, 2023
Three and a half stars
This story is set in a version of future Morocco, a setting that is sparingly but effectively drawn. The characters are all believable and even though I was often frustrated with them, they engage with their situations as best they can given their backgrounds and limitations. My favourite character by far was the android. I found this a thought-provoking read and am still processing exactly what I think about its different aspects.
This story is set in a version of future Morocco, a setting that is sparingly but effectively drawn. The characters are all believable and even though I was often frustrated with them, they engage with their situations as best they can given their backgrounds and limitations. My favourite character by far was the android. I found this a thought-provoking read and am still processing exactly what I think about its different aspects.
April 14, 2016
Maureen Mchugh writes a very interesting sort of science fiction - a recognizably near-future earth filled with startling, amazing technology that has nothing to do with the plot drive of the novel at all. instead of speculating on what will be, she speculates on how an ordinary person will live their life in a world that just happens to have this tech. you want her to explore some of these post-post-modern marvels in depth; it can be frustrating at times to catch unexplained, matter-of-fact glimpses of these amazing ideas without any narrative follow-through. but that's not what this story is about.
Hariba has undergone a chemical/surgical process called "jessing", whereby she's become the ideal servant - fully loyal, but not damaged or mentally diminished. she comes to fall in love with a part-human custom-gene-designed construct owned by her employer, and... see, no, any description of plot alone makes this solund like a techno-wonder-thriller or a silly romance novel, but that's not what this story is about. in some ways, it's about a conservative middle eastern woman finding her place in a rapidly modernizing world, and the impact of modernization/westernization on families, and, yes, about the intersection of love and technology. Mchugh's highgly acclaimed China Mountain Zhang left me cold, but maybe you just have to be in the right mood to get what this story actually is about.
Hariba has undergone a chemical/surgical process called "jessing", whereby she's become the ideal servant - fully loyal, but not damaged or mentally diminished. she comes to fall in love with a part-human custom-gene-designed construct owned by her employer, and... see, no, any description of plot alone makes this solund like a techno-wonder-thriller or a silly romance novel, but that's not what this story is about. in some ways, it's about a conservative middle eastern woman finding her place in a rapidly modernizing world, and the impact of modernization/westernization on families, and, yes, about the intersection of love and technology. Mchugh's highgly acclaimed China Mountain Zhang left me cold, but maybe you just have to be in the right mood to get what this story actually is about.
November 3, 2014
McHugh has an amazing gift for immediacy in her writing. I think even folks that don't like scifi might enjoy this work, which is so character driven, that the scifi elements are simply part of the setting.
At first, I thought seemed similar to so many dystopian romances, although much better written. But McHugh has so much more to say about society, status, position than these ya novels I have read.
In the distance future in Morocco, Hariba, a young woman from the Nekropolis - the town of the dead - sells herself and is "jessed." The jessing technique makes her artificially loyal to her bond holder. The household she is sold to also employs a harni, an artificially constructed human whose position in society is even lower than Hariba's. The harni's tenderness and care toward Hariba gradually overwhelm the prejudice and religious disgust she feels towards him, and she falls in love.
The alternating narratives of the story give the reader a full, 360° perspective of this futuristic society. Hariba narrates, then Ahkmim the harni, Hariba's mother, Hariba's friend, and then Hariba narrates again, concluding the story.
Fans of The Handmaid's Tale would probably enjoy this novel.
At first, I thought seemed similar to so many dystopian romances, although much better written. But McHugh has so much more to say about society, status, position than these ya novels I have read.
In the distance future in Morocco, Hariba, a young woman from the Nekropolis - the town of the dead - sells herself and is "jessed." The jessing technique makes her artificially loyal to her bond holder. The household she is sold to also employs a harni, an artificially constructed human whose position in society is even lower than Hariba's. The harni's tenderness and care toward Hariba gradually overwhelm the prejudice and religious disgust she feels towards him, and she falls in love.
The alternating narratives of the story give the reader a full, 360° perspective of this futuristic society. Hariba narrates, then Ahkmim the harni, Hariba's mother, Hariba's friend, and then Hariba narrates again, concluding the story.
Fans of The Handmaid's Tale would probably enjoy this novel.
March 4, 2013
A bleak romance set in a future in which, as in our present, the actuality is so much less than the imagining. McHugh is expert at capturing contemporary compromise and longing and recasting our continuing sense of isolation and loneliness into a world that the genre has led readers to believe can only be one of, if not institutionalized hope, only temporary incompetence. Her worlds are real because they capture humanity's weaknesses, and rather than gloss over these failures, they come to define a human experience that is less magical, but also perhaps more enduring: the struggle is permanent; those who struggle are not. It is harsh but not unsympathetic, and the reader leaves with a sense that the humanity, hard won in this future of dreams, is what centers us back to ourselves. Who else will hope if we do not now? Who will love if we, at this moment, refuse it? Rather than play a gotcha game that inverts the world we understand for an idealistic future, McHugh gives us only ourselves, and this familiarity laps at and erodes even the most distant imaginings until we come to understand the truth is in the reduction of all this movement to the base elements of human experience: hope, love, longing, and attempts to understand, however fleeting, more of who we are.
May 7, 2012
This is my fourth McHugh novel, and with all four of them, I have stalled out midway for a long time, coaxed myself back into reading them, and then plowed through the ending. I'm starting to think that it isn't just me, that she has issues with pacing and building narrative momentum.
The concept, of a chemically indentured woman in an ultraconservative future version of Morocco who falls in love with an artificially made person, is intriguing. As ever, McHugh refuses easy resolutions and simple characterizations, showing her characters' ambivalent relationships with freedom, and the ways that we willingly give up our freedom for love and security.
I just wish that some of that complexity carried over to her political analysis (as, I think, it has in other books, especially China Mountain Zhang), which tend to caricature both Morocco and the West. Having just taken a Refugee Law course, the vision of how Europe treats refugees in the future struck me as utopian almost to the point of hilarity.
The concept, of a chemically indentured woman in an ultraconservative future version of Morocco who falls in love with an artificially made person, is intriguing. As ever, McHugh refuses easy resolutions and simple characterizations, showing her characters' ambivalent relationships with freedom, and the ways that we willingly give up our freedom for love and security.
I just wish that some of that complexity carried over to her political analysis (as, I think, it has in other books, especially China Mountain Zhang), which tend to caricature both Morocco and the West. Having just taken a Refugee Law course, the vision of how Europe treats refugees in the future struck me as utopian almost to the point of hilarity.
September 6, 2007
This is one of those books that I bought during a cheap bundle sale but never read. I have a few of those, just standing around on my bookshelf. On the back cover, it says Science Fiction. The authour is a Hugo winner. But the novel, though it is full of futuristic terms and props, is so basic. And beautiful.
A woman gives up everything for love and then finds love, by itself, is not enough.
A woman gives up everything for love and then finds love, by itself, is not enough.
September 23, 2013
Well written, but author, what do you mean, the Morocco of this book is a place of your imagination? Major white person fail. Makes me shudder thinking of all the times in the book you inhabited Muslim women's POV and their concern over modesty, etc., when you know shit about it all.
May 20, 2018
Nekropolis is the type of science fiction I love, that I strongly suspect many genre fans, perhaps most genre fans, will hate. It has a great setting, relatable characters (or intentionally unrelatable characters), it uses its science fiction elements to emphasize the themes and ideas the story presents, and it makes you think. So it’s great, right? The thing that might sink the book for many people is that all of these elements coalesce into a slice of life story, not a grand adventure, and there is no real resolution to speak of. I’m fine with these facets, and so I think Nekropolis is very good, but I don’t hold it against you if you disagree.
Despite what the title likely conjures up for you, McHugh’s Nekropolis is the story of a romance, with parallels to many classic romances. Hariba, a futuristic Cinderella, serves as an indentured servant in Morocco a couple hundred years from now. She’s voluntarily been “jessed,” a process that changes your brain chemistry to make you subservient and loyal to your employer. It’s a process I find all too easy to believe that people would willingly undergo in the real world if it were available, under the belief that it would make their mindless, menial jobs more bearable. As Hariba discovers, however, it’s not a cure-all: “I learned the sad fact that I couldn’t give my life away, that anywhere I went, there I was.” The second key character is Akhmim, an artificially created being called a “harni,” who has an instinctual, biological need to please his master. Akhmim is owned by the same family that Hariba serves. The harni are relatable, but alien, with different instincts, desires, and mores. As Akhmim puts it, it’s only a 2% difference between a human and a chimpanzee, but think of the world of difference that entails.
Though Hariba is introduced as hating Akhmim, seeing him as a blasphemy under the Second Koran, it’s obvious from the start that it’s going to change to love before too long. Thus is our sci-fi Romeo & Juliet dynamic established, between a girl who’s essentially a slave, and a boy who the society doesn’t treat as human. This is anything but a typical romance, though, as Hariba’s relationship with Akhmim raises interesting questions. For instance, Akhmim has been bred for subservience, making it uncomfortable when Hariba says things like “He can’t deny me, I see it in his face.” The book doesn’t let their relationship go unexamined, rather it’s at the core of the book, along with Hariba growing out of the “artificially preserved” state she’s placed herself in, entering into all the uncertainties and unpleasantness of adulthood.
The world that McHugh creates is a fascinating one, a Morocco where there are still haves and have-nots, where the city is so crowded that people have begun living in the tombs of the long dead, and buildings are built out of trash and foamstone. It’s not very evocative of the real Fez, Tangier, or Málaga, but it doesn’t have to be to work. Much of the technology sounds plausible as well, from the card phones to the holographic projectors in the houses to the aforementioned jessing. And the setting is more than mere window dressing, it is key to the plot for one thing, but more than that it illustrates elements of the story, such as by making the discomfort of choosing between safety and freedom physically manifest in Hariba as a result of her jessing.
Nekropolis isn’t perfect, title aside it also drags in the middle where Hariba is sick for a surprisingly large portion of the book (making it feel like the plot has stagnated), and many of its side characters are rather one-dimensional, but even with these serious problems its virtues outweigh its flaws. When I read McHugh’s China Mountain Zhang, which is similarly a slice-of-life book, my key criticism was that there was nothing tying together the great vignettes. Nekropolis’s individual pieces aren’t as strong as China Mountain Zhang’s, but they are stitched together into a more satisfying whole. Therefore rate this one somewhere between a 3.5 and a 4, rounding up.
Despite what the title likely conjures up for you, McHugh’s Nekropolis is the story of a romance, with parallels to many classic romances. Hariba, a futuristic Cinderella, serves as an indentured servant in Morocco a couple hundred years from now. She’s voluntarily been “jessed,” a process that changes your brain chemistry to make you subservient and loyal to your employer. It’s a process I find all too easy to believe that people would willingly undergo in the real world if it were available, under the belief that it would make their mindless, menial jobs more bearable. As Hariba discovers, however, it’s not a cure-all: “I learned the sad fact that I couldn’t give my life away, that anywhere I went, there I was.” The second key character is Akhmim, an artificially created being called a “harni,” who has an instinctual, biological need to please his master. Akhmim is owned by the same family that Hariba serves. The harni are relatable, but alien, with different instincts, desires, and mores. As Akhmim puts it, it’s only a 2% difference between a human and a chimpanzee, but think of the world of difference that entails.
Though Hariba is introduced as hating Akhmim, seeing him as a blasphemy under the Second Koran, it’s obvious from the start that it’s going to change to love before too long. Thus is our sci-fi Romeo & Juliet dynamic established, between a girl who’s essentially a slave, and a boy who the society doesn’t treat as human. This is anything but a typical romance, though, as Hariba’s relationship with Akhmim raises interesting questions. For instance, Akhmim has been bred for subservience, making it uncomfortable when Hariba says things like “He can’t deny me, I see it in his face.” The book doesn’t let their relationship go unexamined, rather it’s at the core of the book, along with Hariba growing out of the “artificially preserved” state she’s placed herself in, entering into all the uncertainties and unpleasantness of adulthood.
The world that McHugh creates is a fascinating one, a Morocco where there are still haves and have-nots, where the city is so crowded that people have begun living in the tombs of the long dead, and buildings are built out of trash and foamstone. It’s not very evocative of the real Fez, Tangier, or Málaga, but it doesn’t have to be to work. Much of the technology sounds plausible as well, from the card phones to the holographic projectors in the houses to the aforementioned jessing. And the setting is more than mere window dressing, it is key to the plot for one thing, but more than that it illustrates elements of the story, such as by making the discomfort of choosing between safety and freedom physically manifest in Hariba as a result of her jessing.
Nekropolis isn’t perfect, title aside it also drags in the middle where Hariba is sick for a surprisingly large portion of the book (making it feel like the plot has stagnated), and many of its side characters are rather one-dimensional, but even with these serious problems its virtues outweigh its flaws. When I read McHugh’s China Mountain Zhang, which is similarly a slice-of-life book, my key criticism was that there was nothing tying together the great vignettes. Nekropolis’s individual pieces aren’t as strong as China Mountain Zhang’s, but they are stitched together into a more satisfying whole. Therefore rate this one somewhere between a 3.5 and a 4, rounding up.
April 29, 2014
This book could’ve been very disappointing. On the bottom of the cover a quote from Cleveland’s The Plain Dealer promises us “A literary novel in sci-fi clothing” and I can’t pretend I wasn’t sceptical when I read that but it was also what roped me in. It was probably too much to hope for Finnegans Wake with simulacra but the reviews I consulted promised a character-driven narrative that just happened to be set in a future Morocco sometime after 2144; we never do get to learn the precise date.
At its core, despite the unlikely title (which I’ll come back to) Nekropolis is at its core nothing more than a love story: two people that society says shouldn’t be together go out of their way to do the very opposite. Society sometimes gets it wrong—blacks and whites can now marry and it’s hard to imagine what all the fuss was about—but just because society says something’s ill-advised doesn’t mean it’s just a matter of time before it gets bullied into changing its mind.
In our story Juliet is played by the book’s female protagonist, Hariba; Romeo is Akhmim. Two things are stopping them from being together: 1) Hariba has been jessed and 2) Akhmim is a harni.
Science Fiction is a very broad term. There are books like Frank Herbert’s Dune where a huge amount of exposition is needed and then there are other’s like Philip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly which, if you get rid of the scramble suit and the (at time of writing futuristic) video phones, could be set in present day America. Nekropolis is more like the latter than the former and yet it does manage to present a world that’s very different to, whilst still managing to feel like a natural extension of, the world we live in. The big issue here is one of human—‘human’ admittedly in the broadest terms—rights. Slavery’s nothing new. We believe in our enlightened times that it’s something that could never return and yet other authors have provided scenarios where the human tendency to dominate others rises again; the film Conquest of the Planet of the Apes is as good an example as any.
There are two different kinds of slavery here. The first is jessing:
Actually what Akhmim is is never made very clear. For most of the book he’s referred to as a harni but in the final chapter we learn this has acquired something of a derogatory term and what he actually is is a chimera:
Setting the book in a futuristic Morocco was an inspired choice. It is still a Muslim country although by this time their holy book is The Second Koran from which we get occasional gems like:
The title is striking but although it is true that much of the action in the book takes place in the Nekropolis if you’re looking for a novel along the lines of Robert Silverberg’s Born with the Dead you’ll be disappointed. As far as titles go the reason for its choice it’s subtler than that; think, for example, of Iain Banks’s The Crow Road. The only deaths here are metaphorical:
In the past slaves ran away all the time. What’s insidious about jessing is that they get sick if they spend an extended period of time away from their masters. And that’s what happens here: Hariba decides to run away and manages to persuade Akhmim (who has a very strong inbuilt desire to please all humans) to follow. They cling to each other and they talk about love but are they in love? If anything raises this book the level ‘literary’—an unclear term at the best of times—it’s McHugh’s handling of this and particularly the book’s ending which obviously I’m not going to give away. But it’s like freedom. As I’m writing this the big issue I live is Scottish independence and there’re a lot of valid arguments both for and against. What’s surprising most of us, however, is that the answers to our questions are nowhere near as simple as we might’ve hoped and most of them, if answered honestly, are: We simply don’t know. Hariba wants freedom but just like Eve and the fruit from the tree she doesn’t really know what she’s letting herself in for.
The bottom line is there’s a lot in this book to think about, uncomfortable questions with even more uncomfortable answers. As far as the writing goes McHugh is no Joyce—she’s not a literary stylist—but she tells her story efficiently enough. What’s clever about her approach is that she uses four different narrators: Hariba narrates the first and last sections, Akhmim, the second, Hariba’s mother, the third and Hariba’s friend, Ayesha the fourth. Some reviewers have suggested that the voices are too similar (with the exception of Akhmim) but I didn’t find that to be the case. I enjoyed this approach and she handles it well. The actual story itself is straightforward, even a little boring. Everyone involved in the book is an ordinary person struggling to cope with the unexpected. None of them is a hero but they all find they have reserves they probably never imagined they had which is what always happens to ordinary peopleduring times of crisis.
One reviewer suggested that although the book was a good book it didn’t warrant a second read. As I tend to use this as a way of judging the quality of a book I’m not sure I agree. I’m not sure I’d want to sit down and reread it right away but I do think a second read wouldn’t hurt. Is this as good as, say, The Handmaid’s Tale? Maybe not. But it’s a brave attempt.
At its core, despite the unlikely title (which I’ll come back to) Nekropolis is at its core nothing more than a love story: two people that society says shouldn’t be together go out of their way to do the very opposite. Society sometimes gets it wrong—blacks and whites can now marry and it’s hard to imagine what all the fuss was about—but just because society says something’s ill-advised doesn’t mean it’s just a matter of time before it gets bullied into changing its mind.
In our story Juliet is played by the book’s female protagonist, Hariba; Romeo is Akhmim. Two things are stopping them from being together: 1) Hariba has been jessed and 2) Akhmim is a harni.
Science Fiction is a very broad term. There are books like Frank Herbert’s Dune where a huge amount of exposition is needed and then there are other’s like Philip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly which, if you get rid of the scramble suit and the (at time of writing futuristic) video phones, could be set in present day America. Nekropolis is more like the latter than the former and yet it does manage to present a world that’s very different to, whilst still managing to feel like a natural extension of, the world we live in. The big issue here is one of human—‘human’ admittedly in the broadest terms—rights. Slavery’s nothing new. We believe in our enlightened times that it’s something that could never return and yet other authors have provided scenarios where the human tendency to dominate others rises again; the film Conquest of the Planet of the Apes is as good an example as any.
There are two different kinds of slavery here. The first is jessing:
The jessing itself happened rather quickly, at the first dealer’s. There was a package with foreign writing on it, from the north across the sea, so even the letters were strange and unreadable. He made me lean my head back and open my mouth, and he sprayed the roof of my mouth with an anaesthetic. Then he opened the package and took out the tool to do the jessing. Watching him, I had leaned my head forward a bit and closed my mouth. “Lean back,” he said. I leaned back again and looked at the ceiling. The roof of my mouth felt thick, as if I had drunk something that scalded it, except of course that it didn’t hurt. I felt the pressure of something pressed against the roof of my mouth and there was a sound like a phffft.This is a procedure carried out on humans—and also animals like horses we learn later in the book—where they become “impressed to feel duty and affection to whoever would pay the fee of [their] impression.” They’re not slaves—they, for example, receive payment and time off—but they allow a level of autonomy to be stripped away from them.
Actually what Akhmim is is never made very clear. For most of the book he’s referred to as a harni but in the final chapter we learn this has acquired something of a derogatory term and what he actually is is a chimera:
I share 98 percent of my DNA with Hariba, but so does a chimpanzee […] I’m not, though, I’m a harni. 98 percent is a number, 2 percent is a number, these are numbers I’ve been taught, but they don’t explain differences.In much the same way as humans are purpose-built in Brave New World and replicants are designed for specific tasks in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep so too are harni. Presumably they’re cloned— Akhmim says he was “born in a crèche”—but really we learn very little about what makes them different. Like the jessed though they are engineered to feel incredible loyalty to their owners and they are owned; they are regarded as property and only have minimal rights—they are born slaves—although this is not the case worldwide, indeed it is frowned upon in most of the world but not Morocco.
Setting the book in a futuristic Morocco was an inspired choice. It is still a Muslim country although by this time their holy book is The Second Koran from which we get occasional gems like:
[J]ust as a jessed hawk is tamed, not tied, so shall the servant be bound by affection and duty, not chains, with God’s blessing.Even today when Westerners read about what life’s like in countries like Iran things are so different that we might as well be reading a book of science fiction. It’s not a matter of rights and wrongs, just of differences. This was a clever choice on the author’s part because although the society she describes in Nekropolis is different to what life in today’s Morocco must be like it’s not that different. They have disposable cardboard phones and homes with artificial intelligence and stuff like that’s not hard to imagine but mostly the world in the Nekropolis itself is one we’re oh so familiar with: it’s a ghetto or a shanty town.
[R]ibbons are a symbol of devotion to the Most Holy, as well as an earthly master.
A human in need becomes every man’s child.
[T]he darkness in ourselves is a sinister thing. It waits until we relax, it waits until we reach the most vulnerable moments, and then it snares us.
The title is striking but although it is true that much of the action in the book takes place in the Nekropolis if you’re looking for a novel along the lines of Robert Silverberg’s Born with the Dead you’ll be disappointed. As far as titles go the reason for its choice it’s subtler than that; think, for example, of Iain Banks’s The Crow Road. The only deaths here are metaphorical:
No one has ever loved me like he does. I am already dead if I stay with my mistress. I realise that I’ve been thinking about death. I really want to die.A necropolis is a large (usually) ancient cemetery with elaborate tomb monuments. There’s one in Glasgow. What’s happened here—presumably because of a growing population although it never fully explained—is that poor people have moved into the mausoleums and are literally cohabiting with the dead. This is where the Hariba grew up and it’s where she instinctively returns to when she decides to run away from her mistress.
“Maybe we are already dead, living this way,” I say.
He doesn’t understand me, not at all.
In the past slaves ran away all the time. What’s insidious about jessing is that they get sick if they spend an extended period of time away from their masters. And that’s what happens here: Hariba decides to run away and manages to persuade Akhmim (who has a very strong inbuilt desire to please all humans) to follow. They cling to each other and they talk about love but are they in love? If anything raises this book the level ‘literary’—an unclear term at the best of times—it’s McHugh’s handling of this and particularly the book’s ending which obviously I’m not going to give away. But it’s like freedom. As I’m writing this the big issue I live is Scottish independence and there’re a lot of valid arguments both for and against. What’s surprising most of us, however, is that the answers to our questions are nowhere near as simple as we might’ve hoped and most of them, if answered honestly, are: We simply don’t know. Hariba wants freedom but just like Eve and the fruit from the tree she doesn’t really know what she’s letting herself in for.
The bottom line is there’s a lot in this book to think about, uncomfortable questions with even more uncomfortable answers. As far as the writing goes McHugh is no Joyce—she’s not a literary stylist—but she tells her story efficiently enough. What’s clever about her approach is that she uses four different narrators: Hariba narrates the first and last sections, Akhmim, the second, Hariba’s mother, the third and Hariba’s friend, Ayesha the fourth. Some reviewers have suggested that the voices are too similar (with the exception of Akhmim) but I didn’t find that to be the case. I enjoyed this approach and she handles it well. The actual story itself is straightforward, even a little boring. Everyone involved in the book is an ordinary person struggling to cope with the unexpected. None of them is a hero but they all find they have reserves they probably never imagined they had which is what always happens to ordinary peopleduring times of crisis.
One reviewer suggested that although the book was a good book it didn’t warrant a second read. As I tend to use this as a way of judging the quality of a book I’m not sure I agree. I’m not sure I’d want to sit down and reread it right away but I do think a second read wouldn’t hurt. Is this as good as, say, The Handmaid’s Tale? Maybe not. But it’s a brave attempt.
December 13, 2017
Our main character, Hariba, used to live in a necropolis in her middle eastern city. This was the district where poor people lived- tombs are cheaper than housing. Hariba couldn't see a future for herself there and so sells herself as a slave, essentially, by being jessed. This procedure makes Hariba bond emotionally and involuntarily to the one who buys her bond. She can be sold again and rebonded if her owner desires. Hariba begins in a fairly wealthy household, but trouble comes along soon enough in the form of Akhmim, an artificial human who also serves.
Although there is future technology sprinkled throughout the book, really what it's about is a meditation on choice and freedom. Hariba gives up her freedom, but what freedom did she really have as a female in a fundamentalist Muslim country when her marriage prospects dimmed? How much choice are we truly allowed? Akmim is even worse off than Hariba, for he has no true sense of himself as a person. Raised in a creche with constant physical contact, he suffers without his own kind around him but doesn't even know how to ask for what he craves. When he has the opportunity to be with others like him he takes it, but otherwise endures mutely. He has involuntarily bonded with Hariba and so he must care for her. He tries to make her happy, read her body language, without expecting any partnership in return.
Really, the whole country where the characters live is a necropolis. It is a social monument to the past, not allowing for cultural change and growth but instead controlling and policing its citizens' morality. As Hariba tries to escape her bondage, her family and friends are drawn into her plight and are in danger of suffering the consequences of helping her. Each chapter we get a different point of view. Each character is just trying to live their life day-to-day and is constrained by cultural norms and religious expectations. It makes me wonder just how many hidden jesses constrain me.
In the end, the novel begins to explore the experience of a refugee. I can't even begin to imagine how lonely it must be. Everything is different: language, food, culture, clothes. So much loss that can't truly be mourned for fear of appearing ungrateful, for refugees are now beholden to the culture that rescues them.
This is a book that hit me straight in the heart while innocently prattling about women going day to day. It doesn't preach or say anything, just lets you see the whole sad mess of a dying culture and what it does to hold on.
Although there is future technology sprinkled throughout the book, really what it's about is a meditation on choice and freedom. Hariba gives up her freedom, but what freedom did she really have as a female in a fundamentalist Muslim country when her marriage prospects dimmed? How much choice are we truly allowed? Akmim is even worse off than Hariba, for he has no true sense of himself as a person. Raised in a creche with constant physical contact, he suffers without his own kind around him but doesn't even know how to ask for what he craves. When he has the opportunity to be with others like him he takes it, but otherwise endures mutely. He has involuntarily bonded with Hariba and so he must care for her. He tries to make her happy, read her body language, without expecting any partnership in return.
Really, the whole country where the characters live is a necropolis. It is a social monument to the past, not allowing for cultural change and growth but instead controlling and policing its citizens' morality. As Hariba tries to escape her bondage, her family and friends are drawn into her plight and are in danger of suffering the consequences of helping her. Each chapter we get a different point of view. Each character is just trying to live their life day-to-day and is constrained by cultural norms and religious expectations. It makes me wonder just how many hidden jesses constrain me.
In the end, the novel begins to explore the experience of a refugee. I can't even begin to imagine how lonely it must be. Everything is different: language, food, culture, clothes. So much loss that can't truly be mourned for fear of appearing ungrateful, for refugees are now beholden to the culture that rescues them.
This is a book that hit me straight in the heart while innocently prattling about women going day to day. It doesn't preach or say anything, just lets you see the whole sad mess of a dying culture and what it does to hold on.
January 30, 2024
3.5 rounded up.
I very much like the author's voice, and that was what carried this story. It's at its core a rather straightforward exploration of slavery and human rights, and what it means to be human. It examines love and dependence and how a love that is engineered to be perfect can also be empty. It's a sad story. I can't comment on the author's portrayal of Islam and near future Morocco, it seems respectful but I'm not someone who would know any better.
The plot itself is interesting enough but rather slight and not groundbreaking (which is to me the reason why the book isn't rated higher). I think it's the characters who matter more. The choice of first person perspective was the right one for giving us insight and empathy, and each character had their own voice that was well written and made them easy to relate to. Having started with China Mountain Zhang, I can tell that this is what I like most about the author — she crafts a believable world, but it is full of real people with ordinary concerns. It is human-scale. It reminds me a little of Ursula Le Guin in that way, and I enjoy that.
A shame for the world she isn't better known, and for me that she isn't more prolific. I'll have to hunt down the rest of her work eventually.
I very much like the author's voice, and that was what carried this story. It's at its core a rather straightforward exploration of slavery and human rights, and what it means to be human. It examines love and dependence and how a love that is engineered to be perfect can also be empty. It's a sad story. I can't comment on the author's portrayal of Islam and near future Morocco, it seems respectful but I'm not someone who would know any better.
The plot itself is interesting enough but rather slight and not groundbreaking (which is to me the reason why the book isn't rated higher). I think it's the characters who matter more. The choice of first person perspective was the right one for giving us insight and empathy, and each character had their own voice that was well written and made them easy to relate to. Having started with China Mountain Zhang, I can tell that this is what I like most about the author — she crafts a believable world, but it is full of real people with ordinary concerns. It is human-scale. It reminds me a little of Ursula Le Guin in that way, and I enjoy that.
A shame for the world she isn't better known, and for me that she isn't more prolific. I'll have to hunt down the rest of her work eventually.
October 29, 2017
Another surprisingly perceptive book by McHugh. There are multiple narrators who carry the various stages of this book. It is set in Morocco, in a near (but unstintingly different) future. The sci-fi elements serve as aspects in the life of the characters, and are not explored otherwise.
I think while it works very well in many regards, it still shows superficial understanding of essential aspects of Arab/Muslim life. One sore point that sticks out to me is all the references to the so-called "Second Quran". How could such a thing come to pass? Keep in mind we're talking about a near-future, here, at most 100 years. I think this is the major failing of the book: a cheap and unconsidered addition.
Otherwise, it deserves a read because of the emotional depth of portrayal, and the quite good portrayal of multiple points-of-view. I would have given it a four, but for the Second Quran thing, which I find quite offensive, I'll knock an extra star: so three stars out of five.
I think while it works very well in many regards, it still shows superficial understanding of essential aspects of Arab/Muslim life. One sore point that sticks out to me is all the references to the so-called "Second Quran". How could such a thing come to pass? Keep in mind we're talking about a near-future, here, at most 100 years. I think this is the major failing of the book: a cheap and unconsidered addition.
Otherwise, it deserves a read because of the emotional depth of portrayal, and the quite good portrayal of multiple points-of-view. I would have given it a four, but for the Second Quran thing, which I find quite offensive, I'll knock an extra star: so three stars out of five.
March 19, 2020
A very strange and disturbing novel. (You don't need a summary—read the review above.) Humanity under enormous pressure. McHugh does not write happy endings or tragic endings but complex and provocative possibilities. She's a stretcher, and given that I still recall the plot vividly after more than 15 years, it's fair to call her interesting and memorable.
McHugh has a powerful and entirely believable writing style. Even when writing about genuinely bizarre events, the characters are fully developed and authentic—their world is all too real. I just read her story "Cannibal Acts" in Boston Review, but did not recognize the author's name until I search it on Goodreads.
I read this years ago when Molly Gloss recommended it to me. I am not sure I still have a copy—I used to lend out books so often and the last time I looked for it, it was not there. Now I will go search my shelves again and order another of her novels.
McHugh has a powerful and entirely believable writing style. Even when writing about genuinely bizarre events, the characters are fully developed and authentic—their world is all too real. I just read her story "Cannibal Acts" in Boston Review, but did not recognize the author's name until I search it on Goodreads.
I read this years ago when Molly Gloss recommended it to me. I am not sure I still have a copy—I used to lend out books so often and the last time I looked for it, it was not there. Now I will go search my shelves again and order another of her novels.
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March 10, 2021This was depressing af. I guess that just adds to the realism and what the book is trying to portray? I didn't get the ending, though I know it was supposed to mean something. I wish Hariba had ended up happy with Akhim but alas, this is not that kind of story. Left me feeling kind of bitter, the ending.
April 7, 2019
Lots to ponder regarding AI and man made humanoid entities, all set in a believable future Muslim Morrocco. I enjoy McHugh's style of writing. You get the feeling of being in each character's head, immersed in their internal dialogue as they meander though their lives.
October 3, 2020
Another fascinating character study by Maureen McHugh. She explores what it means to be human, what it means to be free, what it means to be moral, the nature of love, all amid the dynamics of family and friendship.
June 6, 2019
Good story: original sci-fi idea, skillfully blended with cultural and ethical quandaries. Really great characters and development. I just feel the story could have been edgier somehow.
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