This is a dark, beautiful, dangerous book. It is a nested fiction: a novel dressed as an afterword to an essay which becomes memoir and a meditation on family and history. Unravelling the metatextual conceits, the reader is drawn further into the world of Ambergris, until, reconciled to the nature of the text, he finds himself throroughly under it's spell. Long after you have finished reading it, you will find yourself haunted by the characters, by the locales, unable to shift the impression that this corner, that that building is undeniably Ambergrisian.

Vandermeer weaves his narrative voices convincingly, and it is just as well, because this is vital to the text. Janice Shriek's sometimes bitter, sometimes melancholic reminiscences are utterly believable. There are whole sections of this book that are autobiography. They just happen to be the autobiography of a woman who has never lived, in a world that doesn't exist.

Duncan Shriek's interjections into this account are wholly distinct from Janice's style. Dropped in in parentheses, these are the words of a man who is at once sibling (with all the twinned animosity and tenderness that implies) and editor. His humour is dry, and his response to having his life dissected by his own sister is the source of much comedy and much sadness.

The story ranges over a variety of subjects, the Shriek siblings having lived full lives. The sections set during the War of Houses are particularly striking - visceral and pitiless as the vast incomprensible terrors of war overwhelm the day to day realities of urban life.

Duncan and Janice both rise and fall, in this book. Their triumphs and disasters are sensitively conveyed, and we read from within two stories that from without would seem distasteful at best. I shan't spoil the book, but one particular event, described (as with everything) from two sides, speaks of personal experience and perhaps goes some way to explain why the book took Vandermeer almost ten years to get write.

And the Grey Caps. I can't not mention them. They are present throughout the novel as they are throughout the city of Ambergris, (half of) Duncan's obsession and ruin, an unnerving presence of the other. It is the secret underground of the city that is the most overtly fantastical element in the book, and unless carefully handled it would swamp the verisimilitude of the other events. But they, and their lairs, their fungal technologies, are described with such fear, such an instinctive cognitive rejection by most of the characters that we can accept them. They are as strange to the rest of Ambergris as they are to us.

It is spoiling nothing to say their mysteries are not fully revealed here. For those who are interested in these things, beyond the characters, beyond the setting, there are more books due. Vandermeer's latest Ambergris story, Finch, should be out this year. I can't wait. Until then, and most likely afterwards, haunting us, drifting gently in the back of heads, we must accept that not all things are comprehensible, and the Shift that Ambergris experiences, alluded to, but never fully described, is as ripe a metaphor for this as any. The future is coming. It is dangerous, and you will not understand.

VanderMeer is all over the place in this book, like the fungus that plays such a prominent role in the story. The story is essentially a fictional memoir of a former art-gallery owner in the imaginary city of Ambergris. The memoir also contains interpolations from her brother, a historian who sees trouble coming. In the distant past, the city was wrested from a race called the "gray caps," who cultivate fungus in their underground realm. The story essentially concerns the nature and imminence of their "revenge" on their conquerors.

The touch of genius is that the gallery-owner's brother "revises" the memoir with his own commentary, offering often-contradictory views of events. Added to that is a layer of editing done to the overall work prior to publication by still another character. The contributions and edits of each character reflect his or her agenda, biases and personality in interesting ways.

The effect is of a darkly humorous, engrossing and macabre story of a civilization in decline overlaid with two fine character studies.

VanderMeer manages to keep the story rolling along, despite the profusion of literary devices. However, I would recommend reading [City of Saints and Madmen] first, if only because Shriek refers to it so often that many very funny jokes might otherwise go unnoticed. ( )

Jeff Vandermeer has a wonderful imagination. He is a master of the surreal, the uncanny, and the striking set piece - skills shown to brilliant effect in the linked novellas of his City of Saints and Madmen. The same skills and the same imagination are on show in this novel, but although the set pieces are well worth persisting for, I found myself getting impatient at times with the digressive narrative. The digressions are quite deliberate, and they play a key role in this story of two siblings going in and out of favour in Ambergris, but there were times when I wanted to tell the author to get on with the story, already! If you're new to Vandermeer, I'd suggest starting with City of Saints and Madmen to get the flavour of his style, and of the fungal ripeness of Ambergris. ( )

Sad, oddly quiet, creepy, somewhat difficult and pretty brilliant. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Definitely read "City of Saints and Madmen" as well. ( )

A dark book with an interesting story and a difficult ending. Good characters, you didn't know whether to like or dislike some of them. ( )