Angry Robot Books, 2010
Jacana Media, 2010
This book does not appear to be part of a series. If this is incorrect, and you know the name of the series to which it belongs, please let us know.
|Sub-Genre Tags:||Contemporary Fantasy|
|Avg Member Rating:||
WHERE NO ONE ELSE DARE VENTURE...
Zinzi has a Sloth on her back, a dirty online 419 scam habit – and a talent for finding lost things. But when her latest client, a little old lady, turns up dead and the cops confiscate her lastpaycheck, she's forced to take on her least favourite kind of job: missing persons.
An astonishing second novel from the author of the highly-acclaimed Moxyland.
In Zoo City, it’s impolite to ask.
Morning light the sulphur colour of the mine dumps seeps across Johannesburg’s skyline and sears through my window. My own personal bat signal. Or a reminder that I really need to get curtains.
Shielding my eyes – morning has broken and there’s no picking up the pieces – I yank back the sheet and peel out of bed. Benoît doesn’t so much as stir, with only his calloused feet sticking out from under the duvet like knots of driftwood. Feet like that, they tell a story. They say he walked all the way from Kinshasa with his Mongoose strapped to his chest.
The Mongoose in question is curled up like a furry comma on my laptop, the glow of the LED throbbing under his nose. Like he doesn’t know that my computer is out of bounds. Let’s just say I’m precious about my work. Let’s just say it’s not entirely legal.
I take hold of the laptop on either side and gently tilt it over the edge of my desk. At thirty degrees, the Mongoose starts sliding down the front of the laptop. He wakes with a start, tiki tavi claws scrabbling for purchase. As he starts to fall, he contorts in the air and manages to land feet first. Hunching his stripy shoulders, he hisses at me, teeth bared. I hiss back. The Mongoose realises he has urgent flea bites to attend to.
Leaving the Mongoose to scrolf at its flank, I duck under one of the loops of rope hanging from the ceiling, the closest I can get to providing authentic Amazon jungle vines, and pad over the rotten linoleum to the cupboard. Calling it a cupboard is a tad optimistic, like calling this dank room with its precariously canted floor and intermittent plumbing an apartment is optimistic. The cupboard is not much more than an open box with a piece of fabric pinned across it to keep the dust off my clothes – and Sloth, of course. As I pull back the gaudy sunflower print, Sloth blinks up at me sleepily from his roost, like a misshapen fur coat between the wire hangers. He’s not good at mornings.
There’s a mossy reek that clings to his fur and his claws, but it’s earthy and clean compared to the choke of stewing garbage and black mould floating up the stairwell. Elysium Heights was condemned years ago.
I reach past him to pull out a vintage navy dress with a white collar, match it up with jeans and slops, and finish off with a lime green scarf over the little dreadlock twists that conveniently hide the mangled wreckage of my left ear – let’s call it Grace Kelly does Sailor Moon. This is not so much a comment on my style as a comment on my budget. I was always more of an outrageously expensive indie boutique kinda girl. But that was FL. Former Life.
“Come on, buddy,” I say to Sloth. “Don’t want to keep the clients waiting.” Sloth gives a sharp sneeze of disapproval and extends his long downy arms. He clambers onto my back, fussing and shifting before he finally settles. I used to get impatient. But this has become an old routine for the pair of us.
It’s because I haven’t had my caffeine fix yet that it takes a little while for the repetitive skritching sound to penetrate – the Mongoose is pawing at the front door with a single-minded devotion.
I oblige, shunting back the double deadbolt and clicking open the padlock which is engraved with magic, supposedly designed to keep out those with a shavi for slipping through locked doors. At the first crack, the Mongoose nudges out between my ankles and trots down the passage towards the communal litter tray. It’s easy to find. It’s the smelliest place in the building.
“You should really get a cat-flap.” Benoît is awake at last, propped up on one elbow, squinting at me from under the shade of his fingers, because the glare bouncing off Ponte Tower has shifted across to his side of the bed.
“Why?” I say, propping the door open with my foot for the Mongoose’s imminent return. “You moving in?”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Don’t get comfortable is all I’m saying.”
“Ah, but is that all you’re saying?”
“And don’t get smart either.”
“Don’t worry, cherie na ngayi. Your bed is far too lumpy to get comfortable.” Benoît stretches lazily, revealing the mapwork of scars over his shoulders, the plasticky burnt skin that runs down his throat and his chest. He only ever calls me “my love” in Lingala, which makes it easier to disregard. “You making breakfast?”
“Deliveries,” I shrug.
“Anything interesting today?” He loves hearing about the things people lose.
“Set of keys. The widow ring.”
“Ah, yes. The crazy lady.”
“That’s right,” Benoît says, and repeats himself: “Crazy lady.”
“Hustle, my friend. I have to get going.”
Benoît pulls a face. “It’s so early.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“All right, all right.” He uncocoons himself from the bed, plucks his jeans from the floor and yanks on an old protest t-shirt inherited from Central Methodist’s clothing drive.
I fish Mrs Luditsky’s ring out of the plastic cup of Jik it’s been soaking in overnight to get rid of the clinging eau de drain, and rinse it under a sputtering tap. Platinum with a constellation of sapphires and a narrow grey band running through the centre, only slightly scratched. Even with Sloth’s help, it took three hours to find the damn thing.
As soon as I touch it, I feel the tug – the connection running away from me like a thread, stronger when I focus on it. Sloth tightens his grip on my shoulder, his claws digging into my collarbone.
“Easy, tiger,” I wince. Maybe it would have been easier to have a tiger. As if any of us gets a choice.
Benoît is already dressed, the Mongoose looping impatient figure eights around his ankles.
“See you later, then?” he says, as I shoo him out the door.
“Maybe.” I smile in spite of myself. But when he moves to kiss me, Sloth bats him away with a proprietary arm.
“I don’t know who is worse,” Benoît complains, ducking. “You, or that monkey.”
“Definitely me,” I say, locking the door behind him.
The blackened walls of Elysium Heights’ stairwell still carry a whiff of the Undertow, like polyester burning in a microwave. The stairway is mummified in yellow police tape and a charm against evidence-tampering, as if the cops are ever going to come back and investigate. A dead zoo in Zoo City is low priority even on a good day. Most of the residents have been forced to use the fire-escape to bypass this floor. But there are faster ways to the ground. I have a talent not just for finding lost things, but shortcuts too.
I duck into number 615, abandoned ever since the fire tore through here, and scramble down through the hole in the floor that drops into 526, which has been gutted by scrap rats who ripped out the floorboards, the pipes, the fittings – anything that could be sold for a hit.
Speaking of which, there is a junkie passed out in the doorway, some dirty furry thing nested against his chest, breathing fast and shallow. My slops crunch on the brittle glitter of a broken light-bulb as I step over him. In my day we smoked crack, or mandrax if you were really trashy. I cross over the walkway that connects to Aurum Place and a functional staircase. Or not so functional. The moment I swing open the double doors to the stairwell and utter darkness, it becomes obvious where the junkie got the bulb.
“Well, isn’t this romantic?”
Sloth grunts in response.
“Yeah, you say that now, but remember, I’m taking you with me if I fall,” I say, stepping into the darkness.
Sloth drives me like a Zinzi motorbike, his claws clenching, left, right, down, down, down for two storeys to where the bulbs are still intact. It won’t be long until they too find a new life as tik pipes, but isn’t that the way of the slums? Even the stuff that’s nailed down gets repurposed.
After the claustrophobia of the stairwell, it’s a relief to hit the street. It’s still relatively quiet this early in the morning. A municipal street-cleaning truck chugs up ahead, blasting the tarmac with a sheet of water to wash away the transgressions of the night. One of the transgressions in question dances back to avoid being sprayed, nearly stepping on the scruffy Sparrow hopping around between her high heels.
Seeing me, she pulls her denim jacket closed over her naked breasts, too quickly for me to figure out if they’re hormone-induced or magic. As we pass, I can feel the filmy cling of a dozen strands of lost things from the boygirl, like brushing against the tendrils of an anemone. I try not to look. But I pick up blurred impressions anyway, like an out-of-focus photograph. I get snatches of a gold cigarette case, or maybe it’s a business-card holder, a mostly empty plastic bankie of brown powder and a pair of sequinned red stilettos – real showgirl shoes, like Dorothy got back from Oz all grown up and turned burlesque stripper. Sloth tenses up automatically. I pat his arm.
“None of our business, buddy.”
He’s too sensitive. The problem with my particular gift, curse, call it what you like, is that everybody’s lost something. Stepping out in public is like walking into a tangle of cat’s cradles, like someone dished out balls of string at the lunatic asylum and instructed the inmates to tie everything to everything else. On some people,...
Copyright © 2010 by Lauren Beukes
- September 2013 Book Giveaway Competition ? Win A Copy of Zoo ...
Zoo City (by Lauren Beukes) Readers will love our choice for this month's book giveaway competition. Originally published in South Africa by Jacana Media in 2010 (and internationally in 2011 by Angry Robot), Zoo City (by ...
- Zoo City by Lauren Beukes | Lynn's Book Blog
Just finished reading Zoo City by Lauren Beukes which I loved. I recently read the Shining Girls by this author and on the strength of that novel went to look at her past work and boy was this book worth it! This story has so ...
- Ainehi Edoro Reviews Zoo City by Lauren Beukes | Books LIVE
Verdict: carrot Zoo City is not science fiction in the classic sense. There are no flying saucers, sexy body suits, slimy aliens, or sterilized outer space stations. There is witchcraft, 419, drugs, and genetic mutation. Zoo City ...
- Lauren Beukes and African Science Fiction Array Africa in Words
zoo city I had the pleasure to hear Beukes speak twice at this year's Edinburgh Book Festival and she definitely referred to her latest book, 'The Shining Girls', as ?high concept fiction?, and what's more it isn't even set in Africa ...
- The Magical Science of Fiction: A Review of Lauren Beukes' Zoo City
Zoo City by Lauren Beukes Zoo City is not science fiction in the classic sense. There are no flying saucers, sexy body suits, slimy aliens, or sterilized outer space stations. There is witchcraft, 419, drugs, and genetic mutation.
- Zoo City author Lauren Beukes on how to write a sci-fi novel ...
Lauren Beukes. Lauren Beukes won a calvacade of awards, including the Arthur C. Clarke Award, for her second SF novel Zoo City. Speaking to SciFiNow about her upcoming book The Shining Girls, Beukes gave us some ...
- 52 Book Reviews: Zoo City by Lauren Beukes
t's safe to say that my tastes as a reader are changing because of this blog. In my pre-blogging days, my reading followed the same well worn and predictable path. The mix was fairly predictable; epic fantasy, urban fantasy, ...
- Book Review: Zoo City by Lauren Beukes | A Little Rebellion
Jean-Paul's Rating: 2/5 stars. Another award winning novel that I didn't much care for. I had a very hard time getting into ?Zoo City? so take what I have to say here with a grain of salt. ?Zoo City? takes place in semi-modern day ...
- Lauren Beukes wants Idris Elba for Zoo City film | SciFiNow - The ...
Idris Elba as Captain Janek in Prometheus. Arthur C Clarke Award-winning author Lauren Beukes hopes that Prometheus and Pacific Rim star Idris Elba will star in the film adaptation of her multi-award-winning novel Zoo City ...
- Lauren Beukes on hunting a time-travelling serial killer | SciFiNow ...
Lauren Beukes on hunting a time-travelling serial killer Lauren Beukes has established herself as one of modern science fiction's most exciting voices with her multi-award winning novels Zoo City and Moxyland. We talked to ...
- Zoo City by Lauren Beukes | Things Lizzy Reads
Zoo City is a book about crime and punishment. It is a book where the moral compass swings wildly between each chapter. And it is a book that challenged my assumptions. The area known as 'Zoo city' to which the title refers ...
- Book Review: Zoo City, by Lauren Beukes | bookwanderer
I have waited a long time to read Lauren Beukes' sophomore offering, Zoo City--it was one of my first TBR adds on Goodreads--and happily, I was not disappointed! In just a few words, Zoo City is a creative, unique, and ...
- Review of Zoo City by Lauren Beukes | Odd Engine
Title: Zoo City. Author: Lauren Beukes. Rating: 4 star. Publisher: Angry Robot. Review: Non-Western settings are en vogue right now in fantasy fiction, which works out quite well for South African native, Lauren Beukes.
- Review: Zoo City, by Lauren Beukes | Jeff Xilon - Looking for a ...
A short review of the excellent book Zoo City, by Lauren Beukes.
- The Wertzone: The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes
The Shining Girls is the third novel by South African author Lauren Beukes, whose previous novel Zoo City won the Arthur C. Clarke Award. The Shining Girls is a novel told primarily from two perspectives, one from the ...