Utopia Avenue is disappointing. Not just because it's another lackluster outcome from an incredibly talented author, but because I want to agree with Mitchell's central thesis: that styles and genres (naturalism! fantasy! character sketch! superheroes!) can coexist harmoniously, or even benefit from jostling up against one another.

As I write this, something occurs to me: it's not that Mitchell has a hard time welding the natural and real onto the pulp fantasy, but that his fantastical world-building isn't up to the task. He's writes remarkable and sensitive inner lives, but his dueling groups of magical immortals in whose hands lie the fate of the world are a snooze.