Ironclads is a near future sci-fi piece by Adrian
Tchaikovsky; it's been a good month for Tchaikovsky - his Dogs of War was absolutely brilliant. So this short, near-future novel had some very big shoes to fill. In that, it largely succeeds.
In a near future Europe, run in large part by corporations and
their super-rich members (‘Scions’), one of those members has gone missing.
This is a bit of a problem, because he was wearing a suit of allegedy
impenetrable armour at the time. This makes his relatives, and others who rely
on their invulnerability to supplement their economic control, rather nervous.
If a Scion in a suit can be disappeared, it’s always possible that they’re not
as invulnerable as they thought.
The foundation of the world of the Scions is distressingly
familiar. Large corporations control vast amounts of capital. With the creation
of suits of impenetrable armour which only they can afford, the corporate class
are working to merge corporatism with feudalism. If the invention of gunpowder
democratised war, allowing the poor to hold the chivalric types to account,
then the invention of the Scion suit reverses the trend. With their fingers in
a lot of pies, the corporations can also restrict access to anything which
would be able to crack a Scion suit – and so hold onto their effective monopoly
of violence. There’s some interesting undercurrents there as well – the US
government is implied to be hard-libertarian, and sceptical of rights for
women, workers or, well, anyone who doesn’t run a multinational. By contrast,
European governments re more sceptical, but the same hierarchy runs through
them as well.
The conflict between these two philosophies has led to an
actual war, the US marching into Sweden, and using its armed forces as cannon
fodder, backed by the rich men in invulnerable suits who will see the benefit
of any success. Looking at this from one angle, it’s a suggestion of where a
world increasingly in thrall to a corporate vision will go; from another, it’s
rather depressing. This is a world where the rich are going to stay on top, and
everyone else is going to bleed, one way or another.
Our insights into the world are given by a squad of US
grunts, sent after the missing Scion suit. They’re a diverse set, and that
emphasises their humanity alongside their low status. There’s the corporate
worker, now a drone operator. There’s the giant who believes firmly in the
truth of libertarianism, and has the fire of religion to sustain him; then
there’s his opposite, the near-socialist who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut,
cynically pointing out the way everyone is getting ripped off, but unable to
offer the hope of something better. They’re all under a Sergeant willing to do
quite a lot for them, the everyman – smart enough to acknowledge the cynicism
put forward by one of his squad mates, but also smart enough to reign it in, to
look at the world from a smaller, more immediate perspective – and so survive
firefights. It’s to Tchaikovsky’s credit
that though we’re with the squad a relatively short amount of time, they feel
like people. Troubled, wry, and rather aware that they’re not expected to
survive, their resilience in the face of great events mixes with their
awareness that there’s nothing spectacular about them – they’re the everyman, and that makes them easier for
the reader to identify with.
There’s a lot of cool stuff here – marches through parts of
occupied Sweden are cold, stark, and bleak – whilst also offering up the
essential humanity of both sides of the war. That they also include
tripod-esque drones, enormous helicopter gunships and the occasional
power-armoured death match is icing on the cake. There’s a fair bit of blood on
the deck, but this is a book which helps show off the futility of war, the
crass motives behind it, and the way in which the costs are borne, wrapped in
rhetoric. In that sense, it’s not a positive book, but it does feel like one
which is true. There’s a fair amount of high-octane firefights, carefully,
lethally described, which will keep you turning pages to see who survives (if
anyone does). But these scenes bookend a more nuanced story about how the
little man can work within the confines of his situation to do something
better, and how even if the deck is stacked against you, it’s possible to hope,
and to be human.
Ironclads is a book which throws an interesting political
reality together, extrapolated plausibly from the present. It adds nifty
technology – drones, cyberwarfare, bio-weapons – to the mix, and then stirs in
a soupcon of war, and a healthy measure of humanity, up to its eyeballs in
chaos and just trying to make the best of it. It’s a smart book, with an
interesting, unflinching message – and that makes it a very good read.
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