The city is winched along tracks through a devastated land full of hostile tribes. Rails must be freshly laid ahead of the city and carefully removed in its wake. Rivers and mountains present nearly insurmountable challenges to the ingenuity of the city's engineers. But if the city does not move, it will fall farther and farther behind the "optimum" into the crushing gravitational field that has transformed life on Earth. The only alternative to progress is death.

The secret directorate that governs the city makes sure that its inhabitants know nothing of this. Raised in common in crèches, nurtured on synthetic food, prevented above all from venturing outside the closed circuit of the city, they are carefully sheltered from the dire necessities that have come to define human existence. And yet the city is in crisis. The people are growing restive, the population is dwindling, and the rulers know that, for all their efforts, slowly but surely the city is slipping...

The set up is just so incredibly tantalizing. A moving city. A twisted reality. A gradual reveal as our protagonist, who was raised in ignorance, slowly learns the truth of his world. It really is gripping stuff and pulled me right in, which was a welcome change from my recent grinding re-read of The Sprawl series.

What follows is, I hope, a relatively spoiler free review of the book. However, if you really want no hints–and given the book is a bit of a mystery box, with the joy in opening it and revealing its contents–it might be best to read the book before proceeding further!

Though I will say: I don’t understand why the ending is praised. Be ready for a fairly dull, exposition-laden finish and a very sudden ending that at first made me wonder if there was something wrong with my copy of the book.

I never learned to drive.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve thought off and on about this, about how I managed to skip such a typically formative step in life. Looking back I can’t claim I made a specific decision not to get my license. It really was a combination of avoidance, lack of need or desire, and circumstance that led me to never learn.

The lack of need was born of the fact that, living in a city, through a combination of cycling and public transit, it was easy enough to get around, and I had little desire to go further afield. My passions were in school, in front of the computer, or on the basketball court, and all those were close enough that driving wasn’t really necessary. And as I got older, I had a girlfriend and eventually wife who not only could drive, but loved it and was happy to do it.

As for circumstance, I grew up a latchkey kid. My mom, who I now realize was a bit insane, typically worked two or three jobs to ensure we had a roof over our head, food on the table, and to my astonishment in hindsight, a computer to keep her nerdy kids occupied. Simply getting time behind the wheel back then was not easy, and we certainly couldn’t afford to pay for lessons.

As for avoidance, looking back it’s now obvious that as early as my late teens I had some issues with anxiety. I think I was genuinely afraid to get behind the wheel, recognizing the risks and responsibilities that driving entails.

But let’s not forget the greatest anxiety of all: the fear of failure.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that fear of failure often ruled my life well into my mid-twenties. I chose my education not only because it was something I was already interested in, but also because it was something I was already very good at. I chose my career for the same reason, and stayed there, doing the same basic things, for quite a while before I found the will to shift my career into something new. I even delayed proposing to my now wife because I was afraid I’d get it wrong.

But over time I gradually became more comfortable with the prospect of failure and, oddly enough, in part I think I have knitting to thank for it.

Folks who know me, or who have been following my posts here or on social media, know that, after a lot of years of hard work, good planning, and truly monumental luck, last year I found myself in a position to take an extended break from my career. As a decision it was probably one of the most significant ones I’ve ever made, and it was far from an easy one, as I knew I’d be walking away from a lucrative career working with some of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met. But after twenty years at the same company, and a lot of soul searching, I knew that it was time for a change, and rather than immediately jump into a new opportunity, I decided it was better to take some personal time to unwind, reflect, and eventually re-enter the work force with more purpose and intention.

Now, well over a year in, it feels like I made that decision only yesterday. Certainly, fairly early on I noticed just how quickly time can fly, but even then I don’t think I appreciated how short this break would feel fourteen months in. And while, yes, I went in with a lofty list of goals and only achieved a few, I can honestly say there’s little I would do differently.

At the beginning I genuinely assumed I’d eventually get so bored that going back to work would feel like a relief. Certainly, during past extended periods of time off (e.g. over Christmas), that was my experience.

And yet, rather than boredom, I discovered how freeing it is to spend time doing things both meaningful and yet outside any traditional definition of work, and how our western sense of self as being inherently tied to the work we do prevents us from seeing the many other ways that we can build and create and have a positive impact on others outside that narrow perspective.