Nope. Sorry. 
 A few decades ago when Mr Mieville was traipsing around foreign climes for a year I'd have been prostrating myself at the temple of his wizardry had he written this book then. I never had a problem in those heady daze with Robert Heinlein et al, so I hardly think I'd have failed to make room in my literary bed for good ol' China. 
 Let's just say I've arrived at the party a little too late. He's innovative rather than inventive, he's concocted a christmas cake of the fantasmagorical and spliced everything together as a rape of the genre - everything old is new again. I'm reminded of JK Rowling, but for adults, with an eye on the money as well, despite the self-proclaimed socialist allegiance. 
 (Which reminds me, it irks me no end that a writer with the claim to academic fame of Mr Mieville calls a spade a spade when he is really talking about clubs - his depiction of the garuda society is not a discussion on the allocation and organisation of resources but rather a description of a particular political system - anarchy (in its conservative sense) does not equal Marxist communism.) 
 Worse, the one aspect which I cannot bear, in a writer who is lauded for having upended and re-written the tropes endemic in the genre, is the male fantasy porn inherent in this novel. The lead male character is the scientist, the lead female the artist. The lead male is 'normal', the lead female, exotic. And the lead female is intact where it counts - a true paper bag job. The lead male emerges unscathed, the lead female suffers derangement. The lead male is redeemed, the lead female is left....helpless. Of course, there's no such thing as being commercial, if you're being 'revolutionary', is there? 
 Urgh. Read it by all means, if that's your cup of tea. It's just not enough to make me swoon anymore.