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Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch
Nov. 14th, 2011 10:02 pmThe Blurb On The Back:
My name is Peter Grant, and I’m a Detective Constable in that mighty army for justice known as the Metropolitan Police (a.k.a. the Filth). I’m also a trainee wizard, the first such apprentice in fifty years. Officially I belong to ESC9, Economic and Specialist Crime Unit 9, otherwise known as ‘The Folly’, also known as the unit that nice, well-brought-up coppers don’t talk about in polite company.
When I was a kid, I was in charge of changing my dad’s records while he lounged around drinking tea – that’s how I know my Argo from my Tempo. And that’s why, when Dr Walid called me down to the morgue to listen to a corpse, I recognised the tune as ‘Body and Soul’ – something violently supernatural had happened to the victim, strong enough to leave its imprint on his corpse as if it were a wax cylinder recording. The former owner of the body, Cyrus Wilkinson, was a part-time jazz saxophonist and full-time accountant who had dropped dead of a heart attack just after finishing a gig.
He wasn’t the first, but no one was going to let me exhume corpses to see if they were playing my tune, so it was back to old-fashioned police legwork, starting in Soho, the heart of the scene, with the lovely Simone – Cyrus’ ex-lover, professional jazz kitten and as inviting as a Rubens portrait – as my guide. And it didn’t take me long to realise there were monsters stalking Soho, creatures feeding off that special gift that separates the great musician from someone who can raise a decent tune. What they take is beauty. What they leave behind is sickness, failure and broken lives.
And as I hunted them, my investigations got tangled up in another story: a brilliant trumpet player, Richard ‘Lord’ Grant – my father – who managed to destroy his own career. Twice.
That’s the thing about policing: most of the time you’re doing it to maintain public order. Occasionally you’re doing it for justice. And maybe, once in a career, you’re doing it for revenge.
( The Review (Cut For Spoilers): )
The Verdict:
I didn’t think that this was as good a read as RIVERS OF LONDON - mainly because the central mystery was just too obvious. But there are some great elements here, including a final set-up that promises good things for book 3. It’s definitely one of those series that I intend to keep up with.
My name is Peter Grant, and I’m a Detective Constable in that mighty army for justice known as the Metropolitan Police (a.k.a. the Filth). I’m also a trainee wizard, the first such apprentice in fifty years. Officially I belong to ESC9, Economic and Specialist Crime Unit 9, otherwise known as ‘The Folly’, also known as the unit that nice, well-brought-up coppers don’t talk about in polite company.
When I was a kid, I was in charge of changing my dad’s records while he lounged around drinking tea – that’s how I know my Argo from my Tempo. And that’s why, when Dr Walid called me down to the morgue to listen to a corpse, I recognised the tune as ‘Body and Soul’ – something violently supernatural had happened to the victim, strong enough to leave its imprint on his corpse as if it were a wax cylinder recording. The former owner of the body, Cyrus Wilkinson, was a part-time jazz saxophonist and full-time accountant who had dropped dead of a heart attack just after finishing a gig.
He wasn’t the first, but no one was going to let me exhume corpses to see if they were playing my tune, so it was back to old-fashioned police legwork, starting in Soho, the heart of the scene, with the lovely Simone – Cyrus’ ex-lover, professional jazz kitten and as inviting as a Rubens portrait – as my guide. And it didn’t take me long to realise there were monsters stalking Soho, creatures feeding off that special gift that separates the great musician from someone who can raise a decent tune. What they take is beauty. What they leave behind is sickness, failure and broken lives.
And as I hunted them, my investigations got tangled up in another story: a brilliant trumpet player, Richard ‘Lord’ Grant – my father – who managed to destroy his own career. Twice.
That’s the thing about policing: most of the time you’re doing it to maintain public order. Occasionally you’re doing it for justice. And maybe, once in a career, you’re doing it for revenge.
( The Review (Cut For Spoilers): )
The Verdict:
I didn’t think that this was as good a read as RIVERS OF LONDON - mainly because the central mystery was just too obvious. But there are some great elements here, including a final set-up that promises good things for book 3. It’s definitely one of those series that I intend to keep up with.
