Cubism: The 2009 Nissan Cube

We writers are a finicky bunch. Given the right conditions, we can churn out text on command. Hell, sometimes it’s even half decent. But most have what some people would call an... erm... “issue.”

Call it OCD. Call it picky. Call it ridiculous. Call it the boon of editors worldwide. But the reality is that we all have some sort of condition that must be satisfied before we can sit down and pound out a story. For the majority of my fellow writers, that condition would seem to be the overconsumption of caffeine. For others, it’s the overconsumption of certain scotches (a particularly problematic condition for an automotive journalist). And for the remaining few that scratch out a meagre existence with the written word, it’s environmental. You most often see these types scratching thoughts into little notebooks at the local coffee shop while furtively glancing about to ensure someone’s playing witness to their one-act reality show of angst and despair. Make eye contact, and he’ll bustle everything up into a courier bag festooned with badges and needless pins shortly before showing you that, yes, those jeans were indeed purchased from the children’s department at Sears. Off the girl’s rack.

I am one of those. Kind of.

You see, my notebook came from Dell as a reward for signing up for super-ultra-mega-high-speed internet, and I prefer... nay... demand sweatpants over tight jeans. Courier bags are frustrating and cause spinal misalignment; I’ll keep my backpack. And angst? No thanks, I find a certain degree of panic pertaining to a looming deadline to be the perfect catalyst for inspiring writing.

Which makes me, in no way, shape, or form, the target market for Nissan’s aptly named cube. No, the cube is hip, happenin’ and stylish; it’s tight jeans on wheels with a pair of Converse All-Stars to boot (pun very much intended). Hell, its squarish profile even resembles a courier bag. It’s asymmetrical shape is non-conformist. And it’s all surprisingly good.

Based upon the successful Versa five-door hatch, the cube stretches the familiar platform to almost caricature-like heights. With four tiny wheels shoved to the extremes of the cube’s perimeter, it presents an incredibly boxy profile that’s become its name. Smaller than the Scion xB that shares its silhouette, it’s almost comically small, and is dwarfed by nearly everything else on the road; something you don’t notice from simply viewing the cube in photos. And while the bizarre shape of the front and rear fascias, asymmetrical quarter panels, and jelly-bean bunker windows definitely provoke a myriad of responses, it’s definitely something that gets noticed. Just like tight jeans, the bodywork is certainly not for everyone.

And if I’m blunt, it didn’t win me over. Thankfully, I didn’t have to look at it very long before I hopped aboard and was pleasantly surprised. Having experienced a variety of Nissan products before, I’ve come to expect a certain degree of quality that’s accompanied by an almost unparalleled level of practicality. But, faced with the cube’s wild exterior, I had no idea exactly how well laid out the interior would be. Sure, it’s funky styling reflects the exterior (if you need proof, just check out of the ripple effect pressed into the headliner; an effect that should be familiar to anyone who’s owned one of Creative’s Zen MP3 players), but is incredibly easy to use. Although very vertical and relatively small, the windshield affords a surprisingly good view and the upright seating position and soft, cosseting seats provides excellent long-range comfort. Every control is easily laid out and falls readily to hand, and there’s plenty of storage bins for Blackberrys, Ipods, wallets, and all the other stuff that accompanies life in the modern era. The dashboard isn’t dominated by switchgear either; with the HVAC controls centralized in the middle and a Rockford Fosgate double-DIN unit handling audio duties it’s as simple as can be. Subsequently, everything is easily accessed, and you get plenty of excellent cupholders and trays. In the rear seating position space abounds thanks to the rear wheels occupying their sternmost position, allowing engineers to move the seat bench as far back as possible without being forced to squeeze it between the shock towers. Of course, those shock towers did have to go somewhere, and they end up behind the rear seat, flanking the rear cargo area. That makes the cargo space much narrower than you’d expect, and should be forced to fold down the rear seats, you may be dismayed at their inability to fold flat. And the last fly in the ointment? Strange, unexplained cutouts in the interior door pulls; almost as if a nylon strap-style door pull should have been fitted.

And the drive? Surprisingly good too. Admittedly, the look and the interior is what will sell cubes, but salemen won’t hear much in the way of complaints about the cube’s roadgoing manners. Oh sure, the familiar overly sensitive Nissan throttle is still there, but the peppy little four cylinder puts its 122 horsepower to excellent use through the CVT gearbox. Almost devoid of the dreaded rubber-band effect, the cube’s powertrain is almost indiscernible from a torque-converter equipped automatic, and that’s a good thing. Inputs at the helm are well interpreted upon the asphalt, as the upright seating position and almost unbolstered seats quickly make themselves apparent as the weakest links handling-wise. Keep pushing (literally) and the tires will get overwhelmed in short order; not surprising given their small section width. But, the side effect of those low-rolling resistance doughnuts comes at the pump; my relatively aggressively driven cube netted a week-long average of just over seven litres consumed per hundred kilometres.

And it all adds up to a surprisingly good package. I say surprising, because, well... look at it. There are very few people who would take such a vehicle seriously, and even less would do so while sober. But, the reality of the situation is, as an affordable entry-level people mover, the cube does quite well. Sure, it looks a little weird, but it works. And that’s a hell of a lot more than I can say for skin-tight denim on a dude.