A Madness of Angels

[flemmings]

nojojojo is right, A Madness of Angels is-- erm, not necessarily a better book than The Midnight Mayor, but meatier, more hefty, and rather more satisfying in ways that defy description and thus give rise to misleading blurbs. Its action is also easier to follow, given the 'pick off these guys' structure, until it stops being so. (Truly, Midnight Mayor is like an action film; I truly couldn't have told you what happened where and when even as I was reading it. Thus it's probably a good thing that Griffin ramps up her descriptions perhaps more than necessary: the onslaught of adjectives slows down some of the non-stop mayhem, blood-letting, and running away from badnasties.) There being, to my mind, less mayhem and blood-letting in A Madness (but quite as much running), I found myself skipping passages. Some people are never satisfied. And because I'm never satisfied, I shall continue with my nitpicks under the cut.

1. I can live without the topos of 'we need your help so we'll kidnap you, drug you, beat you up, kick in your teeth, threaten everyone near you, and then ask you to work for us.' Does anyone think this approach actually *works*?

2. It was not I who said that biting your lips till they bleed is not as easy as it sounds. I mean, try it yourself.

3. I know that immigrant culture preserves customs long after they've disappeared in the old country. Am informed that old ladies in Italy do *not* all dress in black from the moment they're widowed, but they do in Toronto. Thus the Anglo reticence and good manners of yer average WASP Torontonian may indeed have disappeared from England. I'm still a bit kerblonxed when someone in an English novel, whether Francis' or Griffin's, behaves with a bare-faced rudeness and aggression that would read like caricature if put in the mouth of an American.

But the appearance of archetypes (you know who they are) pleased me mightily in this one, and London felt rather more Londonish than in the other book. That's a bit more like it, that is.

Comments

[i-am-zan.livejournal.com]

I would love to know about your time in England sometime. (Only if you want to of course) I'm just curious about where you stayed, when you did, what your favourite things, seasons, or what nots were and a general of what it was like for you kind of thing. And how you remember it. It's a curiousity. Everytime you mention London in your readings, it rings of a natsukashii sort of itch not quite ever scratched. If that makes sense.

Sorry just musing and being curious.

[flemmings.livejournal.com]

It was just visits, not a stay at all. But I went first as a kid, when I was 9 and again at 12, and London was mostly a grey rainy city seen from black shiny cabs. Then I went in '72, just after studying old English and Beowulf and all, and London was the Brit.Mus and the Sutton Hoo treasure and the National Gallery. Then in my mid-20s, the fall and winter I was living in France, I hopped over from time to time to see friends, and London was the Cafe Royal and Regents' Park and the vertiginous escalators of the underground and the theatres near Leicester Square and the travelling denizens of the cheap hotel in Earlscourt where I stayed (how did I find it, and when? No idea) and the various umm Golden Pots, was that what they were called? thereabouts, serving cheapish food, of which the Indian was the only edible stuff. (Chicken in the mid-70s tasted like fish because of the fishmeal they fed the chickens with.)

Then I went back briefly at 28 and was so fantodded by the speed and traffic and all I had to come home early. London has never felt entirely comfortable since that trip, though all I've done is pass through Gatwick on my way to Yorkshire. And even that was more than 20 years ago.

I twice landed in unusually hot London summers, which proved that London can't handle heat and no surprise there. London winters-- English winters-- of course are infra-blue; I wonder if they've learned a way of providing enough hot water to keep you warm through the night? The fall was a disappointment to a Canadian-- everything just going off-colour, not brilliant red. But an ordinary London summer, if they have those any more, is very pleasant to me. I like moderate cold and can live happily with rain; it's very invigorating.

I figure the unscratchable natsukashii itch goes with the gestalt of London, part of the mythos and its position in any Brit-derived culture. A place one knows even if you've never been there; kind of like New York for over here.