Stamping Butterflies

So, about a month ago the Guardian ran a short review of Jon Courtenay Grimwood‘s new novel, Stamping Butterflies. I’m glad they did, because it had somehow escaped my notice that the book was out–sometimes that happens with UK-original hardcovers, as my coverage of what’s new there is weaker than in North America–and I promptly ordered the book. It got here today, and I intend to read it this weekend at some point (maybe on the New Couch, if it arrives on schedule tomorrow.)

Those of you who have read Grimwood’s Arabesk books (Pashazade, Effendi, Felaheen) will understand why he’s moved onto my ‘just buy it’ list. Those three books were noir murder mysteries, in an exotic alternate history setting where the Ottoman Empire survived into modern times. Each one was better written than the last, with the murders never really being the important things, but just a framework on which to hang the story of the protagonists personal journey (and, in the best noir tradition, to provide a platform for commenting on the world). The books did suffer slightly from the unavoidable comparison to Effinger’s Budayeen books (When Gravity Fails, etc.), but these books are after a different thing than Effinger was after.

Anyway, I liked those books enough to put Grimwood on the list, but even if I hadn’t these two paragraphs from the review would certainly have been enough to catch my attention:

In 1970s Marrakech, orphaned street-kid Moz falls into the clutches of pop idol Jake Razor and his manager Celia Vere. Moz copies the materialistic decadence of Jake as an escape from a life of poverty. He finds himself sexually used and abused by Celia, lured into acting as a police informer, and ultimately manipulated by criminal factions into delivering a bomb disguised as drugs.

Four thousand years in the future, Emperor Zaq, the 53rd reincarnation of Chuang Tzu, the captain of Earth’s first starship, lives a life of mind-numbing ennui in a replica of the Forbidden City. His every wish is granted by the all-powerful Library, except for his wish to die. The multi-billion audience on the 2023 worlds, enclosed within a vast shell built around a distant sun, watch his every move, while 14-year-old Tris schemes to grant his wish and assassinate the emperor.

Come on–how do those two paragraphs both deal with the same book? Admit it, you’re interested now…