Book Review: Awake in the Floating City by Susanna Kwan
From the moment I picked up Awake in the Floating City, I knew I was in for something special. Susanna Kwan’s debut novel beautifully bridges the gap between the familiar and the eerie, crafting a world that feels both alarmingly prophetic and deeply personal. Set in a San Francisco submerged by relentless rain, Kwan’s haunting narrative left me pondering the fragile interplay between memory, loss, and our human instinct to hold onto what matters.
Kwan paints a portrait of a city transformed, where rooftops become market stalls and bridges connect high-rises—fragments of a recognizable San Francisco rendered almost surreal by climate change. I was struck by how the setting becomes a character in itself, reflecting the internal struggles of the inhabitants. Bo, our protagonist, grapples with the psychological weight of her surroundings, mirroring the physical and emotional paralysis that climate displacement inflicts. Her journey—from a painter who has stopped creating to a daughter grappling with the disappearance of her mother—will resonate with anyone who’s felt the heavy pull of grief or the fear of letting go.
The relationship between Bo and Mia, a 130-year-old woman who hires her as a caregiver, is particularly beautiful and poignant. Kwan masterfully uses Mia’s memories to explore the collective losses we face as both people and places vanish from memory. One of their exchanges sticks with me, capturing Bo’s denial and the broader societal reluctance to confront the inevitable: “If I leave, how can I be found?” This compelling dialogue beautifully encapsulates the essence of human vulnerability in the face of impending change.
Kwan’s prose flows with a fluid, almost lyrical quality. Time becomes malleable in her hands—sometimes stagnant, other times rushing forward like the relentless rains that reshape Bo’s world. Her vivid descriptions brought the waterlogged streets of San Francisco to life, making me feel as though I were navigating the treacherous currents alongside Bo: "Ceramic water-storage tanks filled and overflowed… Mouths to swallow a city up." These sensory details and the authenticity of Bo’s relationship with Mia created a resonance that lingered long after I turned the last page.
Yet, while the novel has many strengths, it occasionally stumbles. There were moments in the middle that felt drawn out, with dialogues that repeated themes, potentially testing the patience of some readers. Bo’s indecision can be interpreted as relatable but may leave others feeling frustrated by her refusal to confront reality. Moreover, I found myself wishing for deeper exploration of the practical logistics in this drowning city—how daily life persists amid such chaos? These unanswered questions sometimes distracted me from the emotional core of the narrative.
As I reached the last pages, I found the ambiguous ending both poetic and haunting—a mirror reflecting our uncertain climate future. Kwan provokes thoughtful questions about memory and the responsibility of preservation that resonate beyond the story. Who bears the weight of remembering? What happens when both a person and their place of belonging fade?
In conclusion, Awake in the Floating City is a luminous debut that will appeal to readers invested in climate fiction and those intrigued by intimate character studies of resilience in the face of existential change. Susanna Kwan has carved out a significant space for herself in contemporary literature, one that invites us to reflect deeply on what we cherish and how we navigate a world in flux. I walked away profoundly impacted, compelled to explore and preserve my own memories amid the tides of change. If you’re ready for a journey that immerses you in longing, adaptation, and the persistence of art in troubled times, then this book is definitely for you.
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