Europe at Midnight – Dave Hutchinson

I think the general consensus among SFF fans is that Dave Hutchinson was robbed (robbed I tell you!) of last year’s Arthur C. Clarke Award. His 2015 novel Europe at Autumn is a brilliant Science-Fictional spy novel – cum – satire set in a near-future Europe that has Balkanized into hundreds of different countries, city states, and polities; “the big thing in Europe these days was countries, and there were more and more of them every year”. Hutchinson is remarkably playful in creating his emergent nations, despite the fact that his fractured Europe has roots in some pretty serious contemporary politics (the increasing instability of the EU, the rise of reactionary nationalism right across the continent, austerity and the counter-emergence of a new and optimistic socialism, not to mention debt and refugee crises). There’s one country, for example, that’s occupied and governed by fans of Gunter Grass. Another appears to consist of two warring tribes of football hooligans. And one “nation” is a cross-continental railway simply dubbed “The Line”, a nod to the popular Science Fiction trope of the perpetual train.


Hutchinson’s prose is lyrical, his politics insightful, and his satire of European national identities (and the rivalries therein) is spot-on. The heart of the novel, though, is the well-drawn and sympathetic character of Rudi, a chef recruited by the Coureurs des Bois, a secretive organisation of couriers determined to keep the spirit of Shengen alive in a Europe of ever-shifting Borders. Finally, Europe at Autumn was notable for its deft deployment of so many thriller/espionage tropes. Hutchinson does a sort of masterfully self-aware thing whereby he mocks and ridicules the more out-there clichés of the spy genre, but employs them as plot devices nonetheless, because he recognises that they’re damn good fun.


26009702Europe at Midnight is the follow up to Europe in Autumn, and, like its predecessor, has been shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award. It’s set in the same fictional universe, but other than a brief cameo, doesn’t feature any of the same characters. It’s a risky sequel in that’s it’s very, very different from the book that came before it. EaM is markedly more science-fictional, concerning itself with a parallel universe version of Europe called “The Community” and a further pocket-universe called “The Campus”, both of which were introduced in the final act of the last book.

Unfortunately, Europe at Midnight isn’t quite as successful as its predecessor. Neither of its two central characters are as compelling as Rudi. The frequent jumps in place and time – though sometimes good at generating momentum – can be disorientating as hell, and some of the book’s gender politics are a tad indelicate. I also missed the wonderful observations of European cultural idiosyncrasies that so coloured the previous novel. Their absence is mostly a consequence of Europe at Midnight being set almost entirely in England (or versions of…), so I recognise that there are plot-related reasons for this shift in narrative style, but still, the descriptions of, for example, Polish cooking, Hungarian aloofness and Estonian wit were among my highlights of the previous book.

None of these complaints are deal-breakers, however. Europe at Midnight is still really, really good, despite the aforementioned niggles. The two central characters are Jim and “Rupert”. Jim comes from the fractured Europe of the previous book. He’s a detective recruited by a shady department of the English secret service. “Rupert”, like Jim, is also an intelligence worker, but he comes from The Campus, a pocket universe consisting of a giant university in which the previous ruling body “The Old Board” has recently been overthrow in a democratic coup. The technology of the Campus is relatively old (there are no cars or mobile phones), but the mysterious Faculty of Science are conducting grotesque experiments using tech that’s out-of-sync with the rest of the pocket universe. Spooky. It’s Rupert’s job to investigate.

It’s not long before the narrative arcs of these two characters intersect, and both learn about “The Community”. This is a parallel universe version of Europe (of which The Campus is a small part) that was somehow created by a family of English cartographers in the Nineteenth Century. Jim’s team is interested in The Community mostly for national security/diplomatic reasons: are they a threat? Can they get to us? Can they be traded with? etc. Rupert’s interest is more personal, as various clandestine goings-on between The Community, The Campus and Europe may-or-may not have had a role to play in several personal tragedies the befall him in the book’s opening chapters. This dualism between Jim and Rupert – the personal versus the national interest in Europe – is a nicely balanced thing, perhaps reflective of the concerns may real-world Europeans harbour about the state of the continent. A dissonance of head versus heart.

So let’s talk about the novel’s parallel universe version of Europe (not the fractured, split one… I mean the other one, dubbed ‘The Community’). The Community is a brilliant conceit on Hutchinson’s part, narratively fruitful and loaded with symbolism through which he critiques real-world Europe. The Community is a fantasy manifestation of England that spans the entire European continent. Everybody is English, the only language is English, and there are no traces of non-English culture or history. It basically represents what certain sections of contemporary British society probably consider to be the ideal Europe, perhaps encapsulated by the “England Abroad” holiday resorts that’ve been cropping up on the continent in recent decades. This is Europe without foreigners, and represents an atavistic fantasy of English colonial ambition:

[It’s] very attractive to a certain type of English person. I know Tory politicians who are delighted that there’s a version of Europe where we conquered the Continent.

The Community is a satire of right-wing uber-nationalist self-importance in which England isn’t just a significant player in Europe: England is Europe.

The most successful part of Europe at Midnight is its simultaneous presentation of two extreme versions of European future: the homogenous super state, versus the fractured, ever-shifting mess. Of course both of these situations are hyperbole: Europe at Midnight is a satire in the sense that it takes two potentialities and pushes them to their most absurd conclusions, but, like all good satire, it’s telling in the way it exposes real-life issues, highlighting just what a cross-roads real-world Europe is currently faced with. It’s tempting to describe the book as being about two Europes: the fractured versus the superstate, but it’s actually about three, with our real Europe providing the paratextual context from which so much of the satire springs forth. Europe at Midnight works so well because its future Europe seems to alarmingly probably; what with brexit, the devaluation of the Euro, the rise of nationalist right-wing parties into government etc..

In fact, Europe at Midnight is at its best when Hutchinson takes the basic idea of his setting, and really runs with it. There’s a very funny passage in which he imagines what the Eurovision Song Contest would be like in a Europe with hundreds and hundreds of participant nations:

There were five hundred and thirty-two entries in this Eurovision […] The final was scheduled to last two days, with another three days set aside for voting.

Sure, the song contest has no bearing on anything that’s happening in the novel, and it would be easy to accuse Hutchinson of using it as a backdrop merely so he can crowbar the joke into the story, but it’s wry observations like this that ground the science fictional in the familiar. It works because it’s recognisable and it’s new at the same time.


Other aspects of the novel, however, aren’t quite as strong. There’s a real paucity of deep female characters in the book, and the three women who show the most potential for interesting development are variously and violently killed off before we really get to know them. Even with their very limited screen time, these women vastly outshine the sometimes bland male protagonists, which makes the brevity of their involvement all the more frustrating. I was especially taken by Araminta, for example, who arrives on The Campus and shakes up Rupert’s entire life while simultaneously hinting at a personal history that primed me to expect a complex narrative to follow. The ending of her story is so abrupt and unsatisfactory that I was half expecting her demise to be some kind of red herring, and for Araminta to show up later in the book, so we could continue learning about her story (people sometimes survive nuclear explosions… right?). Dave Hutchinson can definitely write strong, compelling women; the problem isn’t with how they’re presented, but with the roles they’re given in the text. It’s difficult to think of a single female character in Europe at Midnight whose primary narrative function isn’t reducible to motivating something that happens to one of the two male leads.

There are also difficult shifts in setting, character and time that can be so disorientating as to take quite a few pages to get your head around. This adds a layer of obfuscation that the already complex plot doesn’t really need. I’d have preferred a gentler way-in to some of the jumps in place and character. But who knows? Maybe this is just me being a lazy reader.

Taken as a whole, however, Europe at Midnight is still very good, and definitely the best book on this year’s Clarke shortlist. The conspiracy elements of the novel are complex enough to be unpredictable, but not so obtuse as to be confusing. The writing is characteristically swift, with a few well-deployed phrases (such as the casual mention of a “ten-pound coin”), Hutchinson can establish setting, tone and satire that would take lesser writers many pages to explain.

Dave Hutchinson is also very good at nailing that certain “this is exactly what would happen” cynicism that defines the best works of speculative political satire. For example when we learn about the capitalist organisations with an interest in the parallel universe Europe, “Two fast-food corporations, a sports clothing manufacturer [and] all the main high street coffee chains”. The prosaicism of these high-street brands, coupled with the inevitability of their involvement, is just so on point. It’s brilliant. What happens when we extrapolate contemporary neo-liberalism into a science fictional setting? Well, the invaders from another dimension are our profit-hungry coffee chains and sports shops, of course! The vision of capital enterprise being so ravenous for new markets that they’re willing to invade another dimension is funny because it feels so depressingly plausible, despite the inherent silliness of the situation.

It’s all to do with potentialities, really. What Europe is, what Europe could be, what different groups want to make Europe into, and the ways in which individual lives try to cope with and respond to this. Like it’s fractured setting, Europe at Midnight is a fluid patchwork of different ideas: part spy novel, part science fiction romp, part satire, part state-of-the-nation commentary, and I’m pleased to report that it handles most of these things very well indeed.