Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Date Read: July 31 to September 21, 2016
Amazing. What a ride. Had to read it twice and will most likely reread it for a long time to come, just for the prose.
We’re back in London and some time has passed, but it’s good to be back underground wading through the muck with Matthew Swift leading the way. And it’s so good to feel the city being alive and pulsing beneath my feet and to breathe in all those delicious exhaust fumes… and to splash across murky-looking puddles… and to crawl for miles through the sewers… dig through mountains of landfills…
I may wax poetics about nature and the wilderness a lot, but I’m a city dweller through and through, and these books speak to me because… well, they just do. And they embrace the beauty and soul of a city and turn it into magic and wonder. These books make London come alive in ways even nonfiction or documentaries of London could not because the writing is just that good. I’ve never been to London, but it feels like I have.
Kate Griffin has created the perfect urban fantasy series, in my humble opinion, because it’s got everything I ever asked for in UF. If only she had written more and continued the series beyond the 4 Matthew Swift and the 2 Magicals Anonymous books. She writes about the illusions of a city being alive like no one I know, and she suffuses it with so much life. Everything I loved about the previous book, A Madness of Angels, is once again present in this book, but amplified to a pulsating level that you can almost feel through the pages. And did I mention I just love the writing?
Once again, we find Matthew Swift waking up injured and disoriented and finds himself being chased by another vile city incarnation that’s set out to kill him. The rest of the story is a whirlwind ride through almost every nook and cranny and crevice in London to find out who’s after him and why. Turns out, many people/creatures are, and they all have their reasons. Unraveling–pun intended–this little problem leads Swift and the blue electric angels to the mysterious Midnight Mayor and his aldermen, and saving the city while they’re at it is just another day at the office*.
They never lose sight or their sense of humor though. Here’s Swift and the angels being quippy and pragmatic, all the while the city is on the verge of yet another upheaval.
Coincidence is usually mentioned only when something good happens. Whenever it’s something bad, it’s easier to blame someone, something. We don’t like coincidence, though we were newer to this world than I. Inhabiting my flesh, being me as I was now us, we had quickly come to understand why so many sorcerers had died from lack of cynicism. I had been a naive sorcerer, and so I had died. We, who had been reborn in my flesh, were not about to make the same error.
It is our final opinion that the fusion of the sorcerer Swift and the entities commonly known as the blue electric angels during their shared time in the telephone wires, has resulted in the creation of a highly unstable entity in the waking world. The Swift-angel creature, while appearing almost entirely human, is at its core a combination of a traumatised dead sorcerer and infantile living fire, neither of which is fully equipped to handle living as two separate entities, let alone one fused mind.
“Let’s establish this right now. I am we and we are me. We are the same thought and the same life and the same flesh, and frankly I would have thought that you, of all entities to wander out of the back reaches of mythical implausibility, would respect this.”
“But it’s not healthy!” replied the Hag. “A mortal and a god sharing the same flesh?”
“You know, this isn’t why we’re here. I can get abuse pretty much wherever.”
“Yeah,” sighed the Maid, “but I bet a tenner I can make you cry in half a minute.”
I looked at Judith. “This sounds strange, but I don’t suppose you saw three mad women with a cauldron of boiling tea pass by this way?”
“No,” she replied. The polite voice of reasonable people scared of exciting the madman.
“Flash of light? Puff of smoke? Erm . . .” I tried to find a polite way of describing the symptoms of spontaneous teleportation without using the dreaded “teleportation” word. I failed. I slumped back into the sand. What kind of mystic kept a spatial vortex at the bottom of their cauldrons of tea anyway?
I got dressed. You can’t be Midnight Mayor in your underpants.
Never argue with the surreal; there’s no winning against irrationality.
Swift may joke a lot about irrationality and morality, but he (and the angels too) always does the right thing when confronted with a difficult problem, like whether or not to let someone die because he or she might become an uncontrollable magical risk to the city of London. I like that he’s mostly gray, except when it comes to matters of life and death.
*we may very well find Swift sitting in an office in the next book seeing as how he got promoted and all at the end of this one.