Review of Awake in the Floating City by Susanna Kwan
When I first laid eyes on Susanna Kwan’s debut novel, Awake in the Floating City, I was immediately drawn in by the concept: a submerged San Francisco, transformed into a haunting, liquid landscape. As someone who’s deeply concerned about climate change, I found myself intrigued by the eerie familiarity of Kwan’s setting—what felt like a prophecy unfolding before our eyes. Diving into this story was not just an escape; it was an exploration of the threads that bind us to our environments, even as they shift beneath our feet.
At the heart of the narrative is Bo, a painter stuck in a psychological limbo following the disappearance of her mother during a storm surge. Kwan masterfully uses Bo’s stagnation to mirror the physical state of her surroundings—a city caught in a slow-motion disaster that has transformed familiar streets into waterways. The imagery of rooftop markets replacing street vendors and high-rises linking via bridges brings a visceral sense of loss and adaptation, reminding us of what we cling to in the face of inevitable change.
One of the most poignant aspects of Kwan’s story is the relationship between Bo and Mia, an elderly woman whom Bo cares for. Mia, nearly 130 years old, carries the weight of forgotten histories and lost places, revealing how intertwined individual memories can be with our shared environment. A particularly striking exchange between Bo and her cousin Jenson encapsulates the essence of denial in the face of overwhelming loss: “If I leave,” Bo asks, “how can I be found?” This exchange resonates deeply, highlighting our collective hesitance to confront uncomfortable truths.
Kwan’s writing style is fluid and lyrical, echoing the waterlogged world she depicts. The prose feels alive, imbued with sensory details that make the setting almost tangible. Her dialogue is authentic, particularly in the moments shared between Bo and Mia, as they navigate the fragile intimacy formed through caregiving and memory. It’s as if Kwan invites us to swim alongside her characters through their sorrow and resilience, lingering in moments that feel both heavy and ephemeral.
While the novel excels in its emotional depth, I did find moments where the pacing slowed, particularly during the development of Bo and Mia’s relationship. Some dialogues meandered, and I occasionally wished for a bit more narrative momentum. Moreover, certain practical aspects of the submerged city—like how electricity still flows or how daily life operates—felt underdeveloped, which occasionally distracted from the emotional core.
Yet, these minor shortcomings don’t overshadow the profound questions Kwan raises. As Bo embarks on a project to create a memorial for Mia, her evolving relationship with art becomes a means of processing grief and preserving what matters. This project transcends mere personal significance; it acts as a reflection on the collective memories of a community facing the ravages of climate change.
Awake in the Floating City will resonate with readers who appreciate character-driven narratives that explore weighty themes of memory, loss, and the human instinct to preserve what matters. Through Kwan’s lens, we’re invited to reflect on what deserves to be remembered and how we adapt when our surroundings become unrecognizable.
In conclusion, Kwan’s novel is not just a story about a flooded city but a touching meditation on the intricate relationship between place, memory, and identity. It left me pondering long after I turned the last page, making it a significant and thought-provoking read. If you’re looking for a narrative that combines intimate character studies with deep reflections on our climate predicament, I highly recommend diving into Awake in the Floating City.
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