Contemporary fantasy ("urban fantasy" gives the wrong idea now, even
if it's much more appropriate to this book than to many published
under that banner). New constable Peter Grant is about to be sent off
to the paperwork unit, but while he's standing guard over a murder
scene in the small hours a ghost starts to talk to him. Then things
get stranger.
The book is written as a first-person narration, and Grant's
voice is self-deprecating and witty: almost too witty at times, but
there's enough to him beyond the snarky lines that his character comes
out as interesting rather than self-important. He's of mixed ethnicity
(Sierra Leonean mother), and this is well integrated into the story,
rather than just being casually mentioned to get trendy points.
(Indeed, ethnicity becomes quite important during the plot, something
still significant in modern London though many writers ignore it or
handle it badly.) Conversely, his sexuality is more on an adolescent
level than one might have hoped, and I felt that mention of sex at all
was mostly wedged in because it's necessary for a fantasy book these
days. (The final chapter is an unfortunate example of this.)
Grant is perhaps a bit too ready to leap into the magical world he
discovers; his attitude is more "oh, OK then" than "oh wow". A
protagonist who kept saying "I don't believe it" would be far more of
a problem, but his affect sometimes comes over as just a bit too
flat in the face of gruesomeness; he gets neither excited nor scared.
I wonder whether this, and the general "first novel" feeling of having
to cram in lots of stuff, are hangovers from the constraints of
Aaronovitch's Doctor Who days.
Plotting is the weakest area, possibly because there are two separate
problems going on which have only tangential connection. Grant's habit
of not explaining what he's doing until after he's done it (and not
always then), while obviously helpful in maintaining a sense of
immediate tension, robs the overall plot of some of its impact. I
suspect that future volumes, not having to introduce the magical
world, will do better in this regard.
In any case, while the plots may sometimes sag a little, the writing
covers up the shortcomings. I was reminded of the better parts of
Christopher Fowler's Roofworld in that there's always a very
thorough sense of place, whether it's in Covent Garden market, Russell
Square, or the roads round University College Hospital. Aaronovitch
has clearly walked across London much as I have, and the result is a
song of love for the city in all its messed-up glory.
US vt Midnight Riot. Followed by Moon over Soho.
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