Awake in the Floating City: A Heartfelt Journey Amidst Rising Waters
When I stumbled across Awake in the Floating City by Susanna Kwan, I was instantly drawn in not just by its evocative title, but by the heart-wrenching premise of a San Francisco submerged under years of relentless rain. In a time when climate change is at the forefront of our collective consciousness, Kwan’s debut feels eerily prophetic yet intimate, capturing both the beauty and tragedy of a world transformed. It’s the kind of read that lingers like a soft fog over the city, compelling and haunting at the same time.
At the heart of the narrative is Bo, a painter whose grief is as stagnated as the waters flooding her city. Two years after her mother’s disappearance during a storm surge, Bo finds herself adrift—suspended between staying in a city that’s slowly being erased and the allure of a life in a world unscathed by climate catastrophe. Through Bo’s journey, Kwan masterfully delves into themes of memory, loss, and the human instinct to hold onto what matters most even as it slips through our fingers. Her interactions with Mia, a 130-year-old woman she cares for, are particularly poignant, as if Bo is capturing not just Mia’s life, but the essence of a city that once thrived and now hovers in an unending state of decay.
Kwan’s prose resonates with a fluidity that mirrors the very setting she has crafted. The way she pulls readers into a world where rooftops replace streets and makeshift economies thrive amidst despair paints a vivid picture of both the physical and emotional landscapes. There’s a haunting quality to her writing, particularly in passages like when Bo questions, “If I leave, how can I be found?” It speaks to a deeper fear many of us grapple with—the fear of losing not just our homes but the connections that define us.
However, while Kwan’s insights are profound, the pacing at times stutters. The focus on Bo and Mia’s relationship, although rich in emotional depth, finds itself in moments that could have benefitted from a tighter narrative arc. Some might find Bo’s reluctance to leave her dilapidated surroundings frustrating, but I found it a striking reflection of our broader societal inaction towards climate change—it begs the question, what does it mean to feel “at home” when the very foundation is crumbling?
The most resonant theme, for me, was the interplay of memory and grief. Kwan invites us to ponder significant questions: What deserves to be remembered? In a world that changes so quickly, how do we honor past lives and lost homes without losing ourselves in the process? This questioning culminates in Bo’s project to create a memorial for Mia, an endeavor that spills over into public art—ephemeral projections that reflect the city’s transient beauty and the fragility of memory.
Ultimately, Awake in the Floating City is a beautifully crafted meditation on how we navigate loss while trying to preserve what defines us. It invites readers to reflect on their own lives in the face of uncertainty and adaptation. I believe this novel will resonate with those who appreciate intimate stories set against broader existential dilemmas, and it’s a must-read for anyone concerned about our planet’s future.
As I closed the book, I found myself considering my own connections to places and people, an introspective echo left by Kwan’s poignant storytelling. It’s a powerful debut that not only marks Susanna Kwan as an essential voice in climate fiction but also as a designer of memory, loss, and resilience.
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