But before examining our players and plot, we must know the venue, which dominates the action. Picture a sizable irregular chasm, opening in the middle of a desert. String across this gulf a webwork of huge land-anchored chains, from one edge to the other. Then erect a city on the foundation of chains. Let 3,000 years pass, during which time the city is ramified into a sprawling three-dimensional maze, with lesser chains supporting factories, workshops, dwellings, inns, churches and so on, with nets strung underneath the city to catch falling offal. This bizarre agglomeration is Deepgate.

Deepgate has been built here for one reason: religious piety. Supposedly, the godling named Ulcis lives at the bottom of the abyss. If human corpses are prepared properly by church officials and sent down to Ulcis, they will enjoy an afterlife as part of his growing army—an army destined to wage a heavenly war some day. In obedience to this complicated theology, which also involves a rival god name Iril, all the citizens of Deepgate are ruled by the church, which is currently led by Presbyter Sypes and Adjunct Fogwill. They are bolstered in their reign by controlling a potent icon, the last living angel, a young winged boy named Dill.

Dill has reached his majority, and is about to be trained as a warrior by one of the Spine, the church assassins, a woman named Rachel. Rachel undertakes her task grimly at first, but finds herself becoming fond of Dill. But whether either of them will live much longer is in doubt.

The state Poisoner, Devon, who has for decades helped protect Deepgate against its enemies—barbarian desert-dwellers—has become besotted with the notion of making himself immortal with "angelwine," a legendary concoction derived from the blood of 13 innocent victims. His murderous depradations are upsetting various power balances. Devon has a rival in his bloodletting, in the form of a mysterious being named Carnival, who takes one victim every Scar Night, the night of no moon each month. Finally, the half-mad father of one of Devon's victims, a "scrounger" named Mr. Nettle, is wreaking havoc in the city as he pursues his vengeance against Devon.

Whether the city of Deepgate can survive all the contending factions within it is the stimulating issue at hand.

Robust second-generation New Weird

"Big Dumb Object" is a critical term—more affectionate than disparaging—generally more useful in discussing science fiction than fantasy. Think Niven's Ringworld or Clarke's Rama to instantly apprehend the concept. It's the notion of a massive mind-boggling artifact that serves as playground for the story, assuming almost as much centrality and development as the characters. However, the occasional fantasy does make use of BDO's. The most important and seminal instance of such is Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy (1946-1959). In his conceit of Deepgate, fledgling author Campbell is plainly intent on echoing that classic. But, it seems to me, echoing by way of an intermediary.

China Miéville's novels about the exotic city of Bas-Lag, beginning with Perdido Street Station (2000), kickstarted a literary quasi-movement known as the New Weird. The movement has since produced many fine books, reviving a strain of fantasy that occupies the opposite end of the spectrum from Tolkienesque quest trilogies. And with Campbell's novel, I get the sense that we're entering a second-generation of such books, influenced more by Miéville than by Peake.

In any case, Campbell pulls off a bravura performance here. First off, his initial conceit is vivid and unique. He then fleshes it out brilliantly, limning the infrastructure of his unlikely city with such tactility, particularity and logic that it comes alive. He also creates solid metaphysical underpinnings for his culture. He next populates his venue with some suitably eccentric Dickensian characters (although none achieve quite the well-rounded substance of Peake's or Miéville's personages).

As for plotting, Campbell proves to possess the slambang propulsiveness of a video game without rendering his action down to mere collection of plot coupons and advancement of gaming levels. In fact, the action of the novel is full of organic twists and unlikely turns. Campbell is not afraid to rend and tear at his creation, and the reader gets the pleasant sense that nothing and no one is safe.

And speaking of rending and tearing: Campbell displays a decided bent for the horrific. The book is full of gothic excruciations, almost as if the blood of Clive Barker has gotten into its veins. This is an aspect of the New Weird which has always been implicit (consider Miéville's "Remade" criminals) but which receives more emphasis here. Perhaps the ultimate illustrator for this novel would be Giger.

I'd fault the book only insofar as its tone is unleavened by much variety. There are indeed rare moments of black humor or tenderness or simple domestic matters to lighten or counterbalance the culture of death that permeates Deepgate. But for vast long stretches there is only uniform suffering—riveting to watch, but sometimes a tad dreary and disspiriting as well.