Now, I really like Alan Dean Foster. Sure, he's the undisputed king of movie novelizations (Star Wars: A New Hope). So I was looking forward to this.
I should have known it was too good to be true when I read the blurb: "This gripping adventure reveals a place where criminals are punished through genetic engineering and bodily manipulation—which poses profound questions about what it means to be human.
Wow, I'm currently rereading Perdido Street Station".
So, the writing was bad, the plot pitiful, the characters barely one-dimensional and
he's no China Miéville. Sorry, Alan, you may have just caught me at the wrong time, but I won't be reading volume two.