Review: Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld

As ‘what-ifs’ go for the starting point of a novel sequence, this one’s a doosie. 

Assume that Darwin not only came up with natural selection but that he also pre-empted Crick and Watson, discovered DNA, or ‘life-threads’ as they are called here, and then set about fabricating all kinds of species to help mankind. Then assume that the new ‘technology’ is only accepted by Britain and her allies, whilst Germany pursues a more historically accurate technological development, albeit, unwittingly influenced by the ‘Darwinist’ fabrications.

Now place all that in the historical setting of 1914, add a couple of kids who are not quite what they seem, snap your fingers, and voilà, Leviathan! Well, not quite.

Leviathan is the first in a new series by Scott Westerfeld, he of Uglies fame, and you can tell it’s the first in a series because it ends on one of those cliff-hangers that have you turning the page desperate to find out what happens next. 

It opens with the night-time escape of young Prince Aleksandar, Alek for short, in the company of Count Volger and Otto Klopp, master of mechaniks. Alek’s parents have just been murdered in Sarajevo, and the Count knows that the true assassins (not the Serbian scapegoats) will be after Alek next as the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. So, under cover of darkness, they take a Cyklop Stormwalker, stuffed to the gills, with gold bars and the family insignia, and make their escape, trudging across central Europe in disguise and desperately trying to keep one step ahead of their ‘Clanker’ (ie German) pursuers.

Now, the Stormwalker is one of those traditionally powered vehicles that have been subliminally influenced by Darwin. It’s very much a tank or armoured vehicle, but instead of running on tracks (Alek has a little joke about how daft this would be) it uses huge mechanical legs. This provides the reader with no end of fun as Alek learns how to guide the walker at night without tripping over, stop safely from a run and walk on bended ‘knees’ to duck under low archways or keep under cover of trees.

Meanwhile, the other kid, Deryn, is about to apply to enter the British Air Service. Which would be fine, of course, if it weren’t for the minor fact that Deryn is a girl. Of course, she isn’t any girl. She’s the daughter of an aeronaut and has virtually been brought up in the air. She is tough, feisty, clever, and resourceful and she has an endearingly boyish turn of phrase, all of which is aptly demonstrated on her very first day in the service when she successfully pilots a Huxley through a storm.

And this is the point where the reader is first introduced to a ‘hydrogen breather’, for a Huxley is a sort of organic air balloon, a fabrication made from the life-chains of assorted medusae (jelly fish and other poisonous sea creatures) whose belly is full of hydrogen exhaling bugs and bacteria. Therefore, as the medusa feeds it produces hydrogen which fill gas bags in its belly and enable it to rise.  (So hydrogen breathers are actually hydrogen exhalers but that just doesn’t trip off the tongue so well.)

Sadly, Huxleys are also rather primitive beasties, as Deryn calls them, which are easily spooked by high winds. Thus Deryn’s feat is considerable even if she does end up having to be rescued by the Leviathan.

The Leviathan. This is the blue whale sized version: a massive ecosystem, part airship and part weapons carrier. But because it is a ‘fab’, because it is organic, it seems to have something resembling a personality, such that when it lies, deflated and famished on a Swiss glacier later in the story, you feel real pity not only for the humans aboard but also for the ship itself.

Westerfeld’s prose, superb as it is, is only partly responsible. For Leviathan isn’t just a written book. It’s an illustrated one and Keith Thompson’s monochrome drawings and their tender depiction of the fabs, all smooth, sinuous lines, and misty depths, cannot but entice the reader into this mindset.  I love these drawings. They have a delightfully early-twentieth century feel to them at the same time as being undeniably modern. The attenuated figures and impish faces are reminiscent of Chris Riddell’s Edge Chronicles characters, and some of the battle scenes are pure steampunk, but then you get illustrations like that of the Captain’s cabin which would not be out of place in a Sherlock Holmes story.

Of course Deryn and Alek meet eventually and Westerfeld has no end of fun with roles, allowing, for example, Deryn, the pretend boy, to take Alek, the pretend Swiss villager, hostage. By the end of this novel Deryn has discovered Alek’s true identity, but hers remains hidden, although not for long one suspects given her burgeoning romantic inclinations.

I will reveal no more.  

Leviathan, the book, is as superb and captivating a fabrication as Leviathan, the hydrogen breather. It has action, mystery, deception, and even the first stirrings of love. It also raises some fascinating questions about man’s relationship to beasts, should you want to get philosophical, and provides a spin on early twentieth century which makes your mouth water.

It was published only a few days ago. So there should still be some copies left. But move fast as this one is bound to become a bestseller quickly.

Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld, illustrated by Keith Thompson, published by Simon & Schuster, £12.99 harback