Boneshaker

History and science: two of my favorite subjects in the whole wide world, mostly because they explain the world to me in ways that elicit constant wonder. Growing up, I have found that logical explanations for phenomenon are far more fascinating to me than some hazy explanation rooted in religion. The idea that a sunrise is caused by the Earth spinning on its axis is far more wondrous to me than anything a priest could tell me about the sunrise. I appreciate the religious explanation, to be sure, since it is a good encapsulation of the feeling of awe one experiences when one encounters a sunrise, but its explanation for why it occurs simply isn't satisfactory. It is only when science cannot provide an explanation for a phenomenon that I begin to believe in the other explanation - and nowadays, science is actually finding answers to some very mysterious things.

My love for history came somewhat later, in fifth grade. I had suddenly come to the realization that history, despite being about dates and facts, was actually a grand story, with the human race as its primary characters. There were main characters and supporting characters and minor characters, and there were grand, epic plots and battles and intrigue, like most of the stories that I already liked to read - except most of it actually happened. Like my interest in science, the idea that history could explain some very big things in a more-or-less logical manner was a major contributing factor to my interest in the subject - that, and the fact that I love a good story.

This lifelong interest is the primary reason for a whole lot of my reading choices, both when I was younger and now in my adulthood. I read a lot of history and science, both fiction and nonfiction, and wherever I can get my dose of both subjects at the same time is always a treat. This is why genres like steampunk, alternate history, and time travel sci-fi appeal to me so much, enough that I can wander into these stories quite blindly, just on sheer potential.

This indiscriminate approach, of course, does not always do very well by me. There are days when I find a winner: Westerfeld's Leviathan is a very good example. So when I stumbled across Cherie Priest's Boneshaker, I pretty much decided, without even reading the blurb or any reviews, that I would read it. I suppose the cover convinced me: nothing says “steampunk” quite like goggles and an airship.

But once again, I have found myself at the mercy of the old adage “Do not judge a book by its cover,” because for every cover that delivers on its promise, there are usually five more than don't. And sadly, Boneshaker is an example of a book with a cover that promises much, but delivers rather little.

Boneshaker is set in an alternate-universe of the United States wherein the Civil War has lasted far, far longer than it did in actual history. The reasons behind this extension of the war are explained in the novel, but they are only incidental to the main plot itself. Boneshaker is primarily set in Seattle - or what's left of it after a mechanical genius named Leviticus Blue destroyed an enormous portion of it several years back, with a machine that provides the title of the novel. Aside from destroying the very center of Seattle, the Boneshaker also released a mysterious yellow gas called the Blight, which turns everyone who inhales it into rotters - essentially zombies. In order to protect the surviving population, a wall is built around the area where the Blight comes up from out of the ground and onto the surface - locking in both the Blight and the rotters.

It is under these circumstances that the reader gets to present setting of the novel, and its main characters: Briar Wilkes, once married to Leviticus Blue, and her son, Ezekiel. In an attempt to learn about his roots, Ezekiel runs off to go over the wall and into the portion of the city enclosed within it - and Briar runs after him, hoping to save her son before he is killed, or, worse, turned into a rotter. It is here that the story branches, hopping between Ezekiel and Briar as they make their way through the Blight-ridden center of Seattle, meeting some very interesting characters along the way.

None of this is truly anything new to me: as I have mentioned earlier, a lot of the books I love to read pretty much fall along the same lines. I do enjoy a good zombie apocalypse novel, and absolutely adore steampunk, and yes, a good mother-and-son, coming-of-age story as well. One would think that, with all of these elements put together into one novel, Boneshaker ought to have been a winner. Unfortunately, it's not, precisely because all those elements are put together in one novel.

Individually, the concepts are solid. Noxious gases turning people into zombies is a pretty good concept (my personal preference is for a modified rabies or mad-cow virus as the primary cause for zombification), though in truth there's nothing that remarkable about the rotters themselves. Anyone who has read enough zombie apocalypse material, or has at least watched a few episodes of The Walking Dead, will have sufficient familiarity with zombies to recognize the rotters as such.

The potential steampunk factor for this novel is, in my opinion, off the charts. Much of the steampunk I've read so far is set in England and Europe - a natural thing, honestly, given how it was England that first used steam to power its industries, while the Germans were the first to create the gigantic rigid airships commonly known as zeppelins. The former gave birth to the idea of complex steam-powered machinery that would form the heart of steampunk, while the latter gave birth the idea of airships that, when combined with complex, steam-driven technology, could do more than just get people from Point A to Point B. Obviously, the United States has been left out of a great deal of this fun, mostly because at more or less the same time, the Civil War as underway.

Which is why I rather appreciate what Priest did in Boneshaker. By choosing to drag out the Civil War instead of having it end when it did, Boneshaker shows how the basic elements of steampunk could have been used by both sides in the Civil War. Sometimes all it takes is a little bit of adjustment to get things going, really.

And then there is the more basic (and more important) story: that of Briar and Ezekiel. I like reading stories about parents and their children and how the children grow up as a result of their parents' actions and rearing, and I like it when a writer chooses to make that relationship the heart and soul of a story. What I appreciate most about Briar is that she knows she could be a better mother, and she really does try, but she is also willing to accept that she has made some very grave mistakes about the way she has reared Ezekiel. Although the voicing of this regret comes somewhere in the middle of the novel, she does not let it get in the way of finding her son and hoping she can change herself as a parent. It's that inner determination, to keep on going despite the odds, to know her mistakes and move on, that makes me really love Briar as a character and as a mother.

Ezekiel, though, on his own, isn't particularly interesting. I suppose I can attribute this to the fact that he is pretty much a blank slate until he gets into trouble over the wall - then he actually becomes a character I can appreciate. He's a little annoying at times, but his determination to learn the truth about his father is something I can stand behind. I like the way he grows up in the midst of all this running and ducking and hiding, and how, upon being reunited with his mother, Briar finds herself surprised by how much Ezekiel has changed - though to be sure, Briar herself has changed since the last time Ezekiel saw her, too. That is the kind of character development I can get behind as a reader, especially when I factor in how much weight the supporting characters have in effecting that change.

These good things, however, are good as long as they are taken individually. But when Priest threw them together to make Boneshaker, I found myself having a very hard time getting through the novel. I cannot really put my finger on it, precisely, but I was very put-off just a few pages in. I thought it would get better as I continued to read (lots of novels start very slow, and if I gave up just because a novel is slow to start I would have missed out on a lot of fantastic books), but the novel turned out to be too choppy. There were a lot of great moments, sure, but to get to those moments there was also a lot of slogging around that needed to be done.

I attribute this to the fact that the chosen genres for this novel are rather incompatible. Steampunk is, for the most part, an optimistic genre, or at least, starts out optimistic before it descends into the darkness. Zombie apocalypse stories are distinctly dystopic, and hence not very optimistic at all - and might thus be considered the antithesis of what steampunk stands for. And yet Boneshaker puts the two of them together. The attempt to reconcile them is an admirable one, to be sure, but for some odd reason they just don't mesh that well. There's not enough steampunk to make this a good steampunk story, and there aren't nearly enough zombies to make this a good zombie apocalypse story, either. In seeking to meet a middle ground between the genres, the overall story is weakened. I found myself wanting to just get this over with, not because I didn't like the characters (I adore them), but because I want to get out of their world as fast as my reading pace will take me.

I am sure, of course, there is a way of making these two genres meet comfortably. I am sure that, somewhere out there, is a novel that does just that, and makes it work wonderfully well. I can actually imagine how that would work, and I love what I see in my head. The problem with Boneshaker is that it doesn't manage to become what I see in my head, nor even that imaginary novel out there somewhere that finds the perfect middle ground between steampunk and zombies. While I do like the characters, major and minor, in Boneshaker, I just don't like the world they inhabit - or, more precisely, I don't like the way the world they inhabit is built.