They are too stupid to fear. Vertigo is too complex for them.
China MiévilleThe air was stained by shadows, a darkness burst by lightning like camera flashes.
China MiévilleThere is the heat, which clots the air around her and stops up her pores and her eyes and ears
China Miéville...terrorism could not win once the real terror went.
China MiévilleThe sea is full of saints. You know that? You know that: you're a big boy.
The sea's full of saints and it's been full of saints for years. Since longer than anything. Saints were there before there were even gods. They were waiting for them, and they're still there now.
Saints eat fish and shellfish. Some of them catch jellyfish and some of them eat rubbish. Some saints eat anything they can find. They hide under rocks; they turn themselves inside out: they spit up spirals. There's nothing saints don't do.
Make this shape with your hands. Like that. Move your fingers. There, you made a saint. Look out, here come another one! Now they're fighting! Yours won.
There aren't any big corkscrew saints anymore, but there are still ones like sacks and ones like coils, and ones like robes with flapping sleeves. What's your favourite saint? I'll tell you mine. But wait a minute, first, do you know what it is makes them all saints? They're all a holy family, they're all cousins. Of each other, and of ... you know what else they're cousins of?
That's right. Of gods.
Alright now. Who was it made you? You know what to say.
Who made you?
Tag: religion saints sea kraken
He knows religion is bollocks," Collingswood said. "He just wishes he didn't.
China MiévilleBut this was not quite the right kraken apocalypse.
China MiévilleTag: apocalypse end-of-the-world kraken squids
I don’t generally publicly respond to
reviews, no matter how wrong-headed or perspicacious I think them. Nine times out of ten, writers’ responses to critics seem to me at best undignified.
Tag: literary-criticism
We cannot see the universe. We are in the darkness of a trench, a deep cut, dark water heavier than earth, presences lit by our own blood, little biolumes, heroic and pathetic Promethei too afraid or weak to steal fire but able still to love. Gods are among us and they care nothing and are nothing like us.
This is how we are brave: we worship them anyway.
Tag: god
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