fantasy book reviews science fiction book reviewsSFF book reviews Ian McDonald The Dervish HouseThe Dervish House by Ian McDonald

Necdet, a troubled young man, is witness to what looks like a botched suicide bombing on a crowded city tram; afterwards, he starts seeing djinn and other supernatural creatures. Can, a nine year old boy with an amazing robotic toy — and a heart condition that confines him to a silent world — accidentally becomes involved in the intrigue. Ayse, a gallery owner, is contracted to find a mysterious and elusive relic, while her boyfriend Adnan, a successful trader, works on his own scheme to become rich. A retired Greek economist, Georgios, is recruited into a secret government think tank, and Leyla, a young social climber, tries to get involved with a promising nanotech startup.

These six narratives all take place in Istanbul, less than 20 years into the future. The city, historically a crossroads and now also the capital of the newest EU member nation, is where East meets West, old meets new, Christianity meets Islam, and Europe and Asia meet across the Bosphorus river that dissects the ancient city. Likewise, the lives of these six strangers will meet and interconnect in The Dervish House, a gorgeous new SF novel by Ian McDonald.

Just like in The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi, that other excellent near-future SF novel set in a capital city where ancient cultural traditions mix with a strong modern and western influence, the various point-of-view characters tell a complex, multi-faceted story, but they also create a vivid impression of life in a bustling, endlessly fascinating metropolis, seen from several equally effective angles. However, don’t draw the comparison between those two novels too far: The Dervish House isn’t without some darker moments, but it’s considerably less grim than The Windup Girl, and Ian McDonald is a much more experienced writer, resulting in a more accomplished novel. Readers who liked The Windup Girl will probably love The Dervish House, but the reverse isn’t necessarily true, even though they’re both excellent and memorable novels.

The Dervish House is initially a bit confusing, as the six separate narratives are each introduced in rapid succession, but Ian McDonald has enough talent to help you settle into the novel quickly. After a few sub-chapters, you’ll start recognizing characters, and even before that point, you can just enjoy the gorgeous prose and the loving look at Istanbul. Luckily, the author doesn’t overdo the exotic, evoking the city’s atmosphere with a few details here and there, letting much of it come across naturally as the story progresses. Leyla hectically trying to get across the city to a job interview, Georgios gossiping in a coffee house with his ancient Greek friends, Adnan and his colleagues obsessing over an upcoming soccer match: it’s hard not to feel as if you’ve actually visited Istanbul after reading The Dervish House.

Even though there are connections between the six narratives, especially towards the end of the novel, it may occasionally feel as if you’re reading six novellas that just happen to be set in the same city. Luckily, they’re six really, really good novellas. Even though you may like some of the story lines more than others, as often happens in novels with multiple p.o.v.’s, don’t skim over any of them, because you’ll find that they all have strong, multi-dimensional main characters and solid plot arcs. By the end, when the stories weave together towards the novel’s climax, I felt as I’d read the literary equivalent of Robert Altman’s Short Cuts, a movie that combines several Raymond Carver short stories into one big, impressive, bustling movie.

In the end, spending some time with these six characters in the fascinating city of Istanbul was pure enjoyment. Look for The Dervish House on the shortlists of the major SF&F awards next year. Highly recommended.

~Stefan Raets

SFF book reviews Ian McDonald The Dervish HouseSet in the near future, Ian McDonald’s The Dervish House explores the rise of nanotechnology — the next great technological revolution — in Istanbul. McDonald’s story has six protagonists whose stories are held together by the titular Dervish House, which is located in Adem Dede Square, a backstreet in the Queen of Cities.

A terrorist bombing on a public tram sets off McDonald’s plot. A woman has killed herself, but, unusually, there are no other casualties. Instead, one survivor, Necdet, discovers that he is suddenly able to see djinn. Leyla misses her job interview because of the suicide bomber, but her family sets her up with a nanotech startup. Retired professor of economics Georgios Ferentinou’s terror market is up 20 points, and the government calls to offer him a job with a new think tank. The bombing does not greatly affect the markets that the trader Adnan is manipulating to make his fortune, nor does it disrupt his wife Ayşes buying and selling of religious antiquities. Nine-year-old Can Durukan, who has Long QT syndrome, does not witness the bombing, but he sends his BitBot into the city streets to see what happened.

Can’s story is often the most charming part of The Dervish House. Can imagines himself as a heroic “Boy Detective,” and his BitBot — which can transform from snake to rat to monkey to bird — recalls the freedom offered by familiars like Lyra’s Pantalaimon from Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass. Can’s age, his heart condition, and his protective parents make him the least independent character in this novel. However, his BitBot allows him access to more adventure than any of the adults, all of whom are constrained by the realities of a world where workers need to inhale nano shots to improve their focus so that they can remain professionally competitive.

In many ways, The Dervish House feels less like a contemporary work of SFF than a Golden Age science fiction novel. Today’s SFF is often full of warnings about the future problems our technology enables, and, yes, the technology that McDonald describes is quite dangerous. For example, nano that improves our focus can also be used to erase our memories, or even to alter our beliefs. However, McDonald allows more than enough room to make the future seem, if not wonderful, at least wondrous. And I found it interesting that he chose to set this story at a time when nano was on the cusp of fundamentally changing the world, leaving his visionary character Aso to speculate about what the world might be like after the nanotech revolution is complete.

The treatment of technology is somewhat unusual, but the novel’s reliance on many perspectives feels familiar. McDonald’s decision to tell this story from the point of view of six characters that only happen to live near each other is a bold one. It allows him to really open up this future Istanbul, and his cast gives him access to the government, the academy, the market, robotics, art, and religion. McDonald is an author that likes to stop and look through every window in his future world, suggesting that he, like Georgios, takes a great deal of pleasure from the ingenuity of ideas. There are many moments to admire, but one of my favorites is Selma Özgün’s profession. Selma is a “psychogeographer” that has mapped the many layers of Istanbul through history. She looks for trends, such as why one side of a street has tended to be disastrous for business while the other has tended to be profitable.

Because McDonald’s story contains so many perspectives, I found that The Dervish House often had to rely on the premise, rather than the plot or even the characters, to keep my interest. There is very little time for complications and setbacks, and our characters generally move from one successful venture to another. It’s an approach that does little to enhance suspense. For example, when Can decides to truly live out his “Boy Detective” fantasy and leaves his home, his greatest obstacle is a group of old men that are curious about his robot. Will he be able to come up with an explanation that will satisfy their curiosity, or will they ask him to go home?

The future that McDonald envisions is indeed compelling. Though I found the plot too convenient, there is a great deal here that warrants acclaim. I would encourage hesitant readers to pick up a copy of The Dervish House.

~Ryan Skardal

(2010) It begins with an explosion. Another day, another bus bomb. Everyone it seems is after a piece of Turkey. But the shockwaves from this random act of 21st century pandemic terrorism will ripple further and resonate louder than just Enginsoy Square. Welcome to the world of The Dervish House; the great, ancient, paradoxical city of Istanbul, divided like a human brain, in the great, ancient, equally paradoxical nation of Turkey. The year is 2027 and Turkey is about to celebrate the fifth anniversary of its accession to the European Union; a Europe that now runs from the Arran Islands to Ararat. Population pushing one hundred million, Istanbul swollen to fifteen million; Turkey is the largest, most populous and most diverse nation in the EU, but also one of the poorest and most socially divided. It’s a boom economy, the sweatshop of Europe, the bazaar of central Asia, the key to the immense gas wealth of Russia and Central Asia. Gas is power. But it’s power at a price, and that price is emissions permits. This is the age of carbon consciousness: every individual in the EU has a card stipulating individual carbon allowance that must be produced at every CO2 generating transaction. For those who can master the game, who can make the trades between gas price and carbon trading permits, who can play the power factions against each other, there are fortunes to be made. The old Byzantine politics are back. They never went away. The ancient power struggled between Sunni and Shia threatens like a storm: Ankara has watched the Middle East emerge from twenty-five years of sectarian conflict. So far it has stayed aloof. A populist Prime Minister has called a referendum on EU membership. Tensions run high. The army watches, hand on holster. And a Galatasary Champions’ League football game against Arsenal stokes passions even higher. The Dervish House is seven days, six characters, three interconnected story strands, one central common core — the eponymous dervish house, a character in itself — that pins all these players together in a weave of intrigue, conflict, drama and a ticking clock of a thriller.


  • Stefan Raets

    STEFAN RAETS (on FanLit's staff August 2009 — February 2012) reads and reviews science fiction and fantasy whenever he isn’t distracted by less important things like eating and sleeping.

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  • Ryan Skardal

    RYAN SKARDAL, on our staff from September 2010 to November 2018, is an English teacher who reads widely but always makes time for SFF.

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