Storyline: 4/5 
 Characters: 3/5 
 Writing Style: 4/5 
 World: 5/5 
 Mieville treats us readers as if we're ignorant.... Which we are (unless you preemptively read reviews or summaries of the book, in which case you will have spoiled the best part of the story before you even began), because Mieville gives us reason to doubt everything that we think we know about the environment in which this is set. (view spoiler)[The time period is familiar but certain incongruities give us pauses to reconsider. The geography is identifiable except that the place doesn't actually exist. The political history is referenceable except for the loose deviations. The ancient history is fantastical except for where it isn't. Who knows fact from fiction? Mieville might, but he's not necessarily telling. (hide spoiler)]No, the reader starts in ignorance and is dependent upon the pace and directions set by our tour guide. Fortunately, we're in good hands. 
 This is an amazing book because of the walking tour Mieville provides us through and out of ignorance. The worldbuilding here is surely reminiscent of fantasy. Too often the first chapter of a fantasy novel starts off with something akin to, "Zlotnic, daughter of Quasi-Tertiary Regent of New Amlnoi, walked along with her pet odinc and an undistinguished Fahrer whom had yet to earn her bands." On that walk we'll undoubtedly be introduced to some skyline of a city with a name with apostrophes or military personnel with confusing ranks and loyalties. Maybe there will be an extra sun or moon in the sky, and its name will be confusingly similar to that of the odinc (You'd already forgotten what that was, hadn't you?). Experienced fantasy readers are familiar with the disorientation and suffer it willingly and patiently for those gratifying moments when the picture coheres. This is a different kind of fantasy experience (if, indeed, it is fantasy at all) because Mieville allows the reader the conceit that they're not actually ignorant. Remember, you are! We all are! It is only as we read that we realize that the world sits slightly askance, and that we should assume nothing. As you read, you find yourself jumping at shadows (no, not the explicit ones threatening our hero, though you might jump at those too) - picking up on words or context clues that hint that this world has something unique to offer. Did that conversation mean something different than it seems to mean to me? Does that word have another meaning in this story? How deep is the world? How does it differ from our own? What genre is this really? Once you admit to having these questions, you are ready to accept your ignorance and total reliance on the tour guide. Remember, too, that this is all extra. What you've signed on for is a murder mystery. Anything extra you get beyond that is a bonus, something in addition to the much-better-than-average crime novel. 
 I say this is a much-better-than-average crime novel because I actually enjoyed it, and I usually don't like them. That is in large part due to the fact that Mieville generally omits what I find to be the most annoying genre device (though one which is employed across genres) - that sequence of scenes when our protagonist has picked up on some clue or solved some riddle and proceeds to act on it; engaging in unexpected activities and going inexplicable places that make sense to the protagonist, but not for the reader, at least until the proper time has come for the reveal. When that device is invoked, the knowing first person perspective is artificially limited and abruptly circumscribed so as to create a new mini-mystery and some additional drama to the story. The device can probably be used effectively if used smartly, but Mieville stayed away from it (most of the time). The other way in which this was a much-better-than-average crime novel was that it was not simply about the crime. It was about the world. I was far more interested, entertained, and satisfied by that portion of the story. 
 Our tour through ignorance is brief, fortunately. No matter how well-planned and guided the tour, no one likes to stay there long. The satisfying moment of clarity comes satisfyingly early. Then - this is where we get to my favorite part of the book - we get to see if Mieville can hold it together. He's made a challenge, announced a duel, slapped us with a glove (gauntlet? something like that). If Mieville is doing what he suggests he is doing, then he has a lot of work to do. It is a project to see to completion, a thought experiment to follow to its end. And remember, all along you are solving the murder mystery as well; this whole worldbuilding is all bonus. Despite my high regard for the book, I don't think Mieville got every detail right or thought every possibility through. That wouldn't have been such an annoyance had he not come so close. A book with more obvious plotholes and more haphazard worldbuilding would be forgiven more, for instance, because it hadn't even tried to play the game. I've read Mieville's Bas-Lag trio, and this was far superior. I can admire his creativity and effort there while also decrying it as pretentious. This was much more carefully realized. 
 Looking back, I highly enjoyed my tour into, through, and out of ignorance. To say that I'm totally liberated from that prior condition would be folly. Mieville never promised to reveal everything. He did, however, make the tour (and here I speak of the worldbuilding, not the murder mystery) engaging, challenging, and dramatic. One's enjoyment of the tour depends a lot on not knowing anything before-hand and on appreciating a slow, meticulous reveal. If, before reading, you already know what the title means, then you've already spoiled the carefully-laid tour (though there's still the murder mystery and some scenery). 
 Below I grumble a little about the worldbuilding that I think Mieville got wrong. Definite spoilers follow. (view spoiler)[ 
 First - let's get it out of the way - I'm experiencing a little amateur critic resentment that this wasn't completely original and that Mieville didn't give credit to a certain 1950s short story by Jack Vance. It wasn't just that there was some similarity. This was really an updating and filling out of a woefully underdeveloped and promising idea. I'm glad someone thought to make a full story out of it - I'd wanted one since I read it. I had some unjustifiable bitterness when I realized the connection though and wanted Mieville to suffer a little for the lack of acknowledgement. That was petty of me, and I'm over it now. Thank you for hearing my confession. 
 Second (and last, I think), it is seeing, unseeing, and not seeing that I've got to grumble with. I'm okay with the super armor and guns of breach and their abilities. I'm alright with most of the mechanics of living in the City and the City. In fact, I'm thrilled with the idea of cultural boundaries and reinforced and policed habits that are ingrained from childhood. My main objection (and this is something discussed in the aforementioned short story) was that Mieville failed to admit that there would be some deeper psychological ramifications due to seeing, unseeing, and not seeing. In the short story, it actually became impossible for the citizens to see one another. The protuberances, as Mieville calls them, in Vance's story were attributed to spirits. Mieville didn't have to go that far, but it is clear in The City & the City that everyone really does see and then have to unsee (at least most of the time). In the author interview at the end of the book, too, he reiterates this. What Mieville doesn't give fair consideration to is the not seeing. This kind of taught, reinforced, and supervised "seeing," I think, would be far more insidious and successful than Mieville suggests here. This was most evident when Borlu goes to Ul Qoma. There's just no way that Borlu could switch cities and then unlearn a lifetime of habits. There's no way he could walk the streets, see Ul Qoma, and not see Beszel. He should have been experiencing complete and utter disorientation, confusion, and fugue. It should have made him sick to try, he should have bumbled into traffic and people, and made a fool of himself in Ul Qoma, running into things he normally would have never seen. I don't however, think this was mere sloppiness on Mieville's part. I think it was willful bias to protect his political leanings. I suspect that Mieville does not want to concede that a lifetime under a system can so sharply limit and shape someone. It runs against a lot of progressive politics that assumes that the privileged (Ul Qoma) and the impoverished (Beszel) can change their attitudes and ways. If Mieville admits that these discourses have that kind of power, the kind of political changes he desires become much less likely to happen. It is a somewhat strange position to take, however, as there are plenty of Marxist and Marxist-leaning theories on false consciousness that would give Mieville reason to build the world more consistently. And really, that's my complaint in the book - not Mieville's personal politics or their appearance in the book, but that they dented his worldbuilding and added a wrinkle that was unnecessary and which marred what was really a fabulous and masterful piece. Of course, I could be wrong about Mieville's bias. I'm fairly confident that I'm right about the wrinkle, however, and I'm more willing to ascribe to him allegorical intentions than I am negligence. (hide spoiler)]