The Windup Girl

[sawyl]

Now that I've read it, I can understand quite why Paolo Bacigalupi's novel The Windup Girl won this year's Nebula for best novel. Set in a post peak-oil Thailand, it gives a strong impression of place and culture, albeit one modified by rising sea levels and serious green values. It also provides an interesting take on the ways that world's cultures have been reshaped in response to their changing circumstances: the Thais embracing a combination of Buddhism and environmentalism; the Japanese growing a workforce of genetically modified New People — the windups of the title — in vitro; while the remaining Americans, mostly midwesterners, exert their influence through the genetically engineered crops and diseases peddled by the powerful calorie companies.

The characters are all well drawn and sensitively handled, especially in the case of Emiko, the titular windup girl. Created as a modern geisha for a Japanese salaryman, only to be ditched when her patron decides to upgrade to a new model, Emiko finds herself shunned by the Thais — as a created things, windups are seen as soulless and outside the cycle of samsara — she finds herself working in a brothel. While this might seem like a cliche, Bacigalupi dodges the worst of it by showing how, despite her own innermost desires, Emiko's behaviour remains strongly constrained by her genetic and cultural heritage — her personality has been trained, bonsai-like, to be submissive, obedient and needed of male attention. And to her credit, she is able to recognise this and to fight against it, desiring her own emancipation only to find that, when she does achieve a degree of freedom of movement, she can't really escape from her background.

It's also made clear that windups in general, and Emiko in particular, are treated quite appallingly be all the other characters in the novel. Even those who don't really intend to behave badly towards them. Thus Anderson Lake, a covert agent from the powerful AgriGen combine, despite becoming obsessed with Emiko doesn't really do anything to improve her circumstances for fear that it would upset his Machiavellian schemes. Whereas a Japanese official casually lends his windup secretary to a group of Thai soldiers from the Environment Ministry, despite knowing that she is unlikely survive the experience, presumably on the grounds that her death will give him a good excuse to upgrade to a newer model. It's not that he wishes her any active harm, but that he doesn't see her as a person with her own ideas and thoughts and desires; something that the reader, exposed to Emiko's inner narrative, can't deny.

In addition to Emiko and Lake, most of the other characters are strongly drawn and worryingly believable. Hock Seng, an exiled Chinese Malaysian who manages the factory that Lake uses as cover for his real work, is particularly good. A wealthy man prior to the religious uprising that saw him expelled from Malaysia, Hock Seng is constantly planning and making deals to try to set himself back up in business and to regain some of his lost status. But at every step along the way, just as things seem to be going his way, he'll be confounded by a piece of bad luck or an unfortunate accident that will confound all of his careful planning. Despite his constant scheming against Lake, who only really views his factory as a cover and doesn't really care very much about it, Hock Seng is actually rather sympathetic. His constant misfortunes have given him a strong understanding of the fragility of life and society, how simple it is to go from being rich and powerful and respected to being a refugee, and this goes a long way to explaining his behaviour. He is also shown going out of his way to help those who are loyal to him, even though he can't quite understand why.

The two terrors of the Environment Ministry, Jaidee Rojjanasukchai, the Tiger of Bangkok, and Kanya, his deputy are also excellent. Jaidee is a holy terror, a former muay thai star, is legendarily incorruptible and determined to fight for queen and country against the calorie companies and the smugglers whose covert activities risk the importation of yet another bought of genetically modified plague. Kanya, while less gung-ho than her boss, is the more complicated character. Later in the novel, as the political situation starts to deteriorate, she finds herself caught up in some particularly trick dilemmas that leave her deeply uncomfortable with the person she has become.

The setting too, feels deeply plausible. The Bangkok of the novel is at the mercy of rising sea levels, its precarious existence maintained by a vast levee and a series of huge coal powered pumps. These pumps, along with a couple of coal-powered cars, represent almost the only fossil powered technology in the book. Almost everything else is powered by muscle, either than of humans or of megadonts, a form of genetically modified elephant. This power is either used directly, as in rickshaws and bicycles, of it is stored in clockwork kink-springs and used to drive everything from dirigibles to handguns. Taboos against energy wastage are strong. In one scene, a government minister's power and influence become suddenly apparent when it is clear that the lifts in his stronghold are powered by electricity rather than human counterweights. In another, Kanya visits a government lab and is appalled by the profligate use of electronic computers and monitors, almost able to see the sea level rising as she looks on.

The Windup Girl is an excellent novel with a lot going for it. It has a strong non-Western setting — see also Ian McDonald's River of Gods — excellent characterisation, and no easy answers. Well worth reading.