In the last outing, Midnight Riot, I was treated to a great deal of London’s history. There was another blast of history this time as well; it remains a primer on the foundations of the city and running commentary on the architectural abominations foisted upon the area since the ’50s. Were it not for all the gore and sex I’d say that ol Prince Charles would get a kick out of this series, but who am I kidding. We know how that man feels about tampons! Cymbal Crash!
Peter and company have set out to solve a string of mysterious deaths involving jazz musicians, meaning that on top of cheeky local history lessons we are also treated to a crash course in jazz, baby! He is also investigating a string of apparent vagina dentata attacks? Happenings? DisMemberments! and unlucky for us, we do not get a history lesson around that toothy subject.
The pace has picked up a bit since Grant’s initial outing, both literally and figuratively. There are quite a few high-speed pursuits, and I particularly enjoyed the mechanical details of whipping a Jag through congested city streets. I did not think I would be so enamored by a literary car chase, but words have power! Aaronovitch is a stickler for specifics, and he never introduces a scene without giving the reader the full array of what to expect; he tries to hit all of the senses, but his penchant for smell is my favorite. He can describe things that are utterly foreign to me, but when given a scent profile I can feel right at home.
I haven’t been a sucker for a series in years; I took a break between this entry and the first, but I plan to dive straight into the next entry. I am looking forward to seeing what sort of new sensational setups await beyond the next corner!