I need a break from the Masquerade, especially since the next chapter is suddenly huge, so let’s talk about something flawed but good.
A Madness of Angels is the first book in Matthew Swift series by Kate Griffin (a pen name of Catherine Webb). It begins with a young urban sorcerer being brought back to life two years after his death. When he died, his mind was absorbed by blue electric angels – a hive-mind of electricity born out of words lost in telephone transmissions, – and now they decided to come out and experience the world for themselves. Matthew himself says there is no difference or boundary now between him and angels: he is them, and they are him. Though he still switches between ‘I’ and ‘we’ pronounces in his narration, so the claim is somewhat dubious.
Going from there, Matthew learns that his killer – his old mentor in sorcery – has eliminated all other sorcerers and created a powerful organization called Tower, which controls the city’s occult underground and oppresses lesser magic users. Matthew gathers a ragtag bunch of misfits and strikes against Tower, eliminating its members one by one and having a climatic confrontation with his mentor to both liberate the occult underground and get revenge for his death.
So, let’s start with the flaws. The plot is fairly basic. If you replace death with imprisonment or exile, it was done countless times before, and the book doesn’t have anything new to say on the matter. It’s a straightforward revenge plot, with boss fights on the way to the main villain. Not bad, exactly, but pretty predictable.
There are also only two real characters in the book: the protagonist and the main villain. They are written fairly well. Blue electric angels are childish, naive and impulsive, but those traits are tempered somewhat by Matthew’s influence. The main villain was once a decent person before he was brought low by a fatal flaw: a fear of dying that developed after he had a stroke. Their interactions are believable, and you can see the pain of betrayal Matthew experience.
The supporting cast, on the other hand, is pretty bland. The characters are two-dimensional: here is a representative of concerned people who don’t have powers but have connections. He’s slick and rich. Here is a girl from the Order, a religious organization opposed to all things magical. She hates magic and kicks ass. Here is a biker. He’s a biker. And so on. The characters are defined by their role in the narrative and don’t have depth beyond it.
Amusingly, I think that played a role in a reasonably decent treatment of female characters in the book: there is simply no room for negative stereotypes to creep in. The Order girl continues to kick ass through the novel because she simply doesn’t have a character arc where her vulnerabilities can be revealed or anything. The reasonable authority figure (the leader of White Clan – a group of artists bringing graffiti to life) remains reasonable and in charge because there is no place for the protagonist to assume control.
It is not to say that the treatment of women is anything to celebrate: the cast is heavily tilted male, and I think there was one instance of fridging by the protagonist’s old love interest. Still, it’s better than a lot of books, and probably wouldn’t be a deal-breaker for many.
Now, what’s actually good about this book? World-building. It’s absolutely gorgeous and pushes all the right buttons for me.
“Life is magic, and magic is life. Wherever there is life, there is magic.” Those words are repeated multiple times through the book, and they reflect the core of world-building very well.
You know how some magical rituals have started with a specific mundane purpose in mind? Like, there are mantras you are supposed to chant over brewing potion. The words of those mantras don’t really matter, what matters is that pronouncing them in a certain rhythm takes about the right amount of time for potions to brew properly. They are basically a crude way to measure time, but as they are passed from one generation to the next, that aspect is often forgotten, and the words themselves are ascribed mythical properties.
That is how world-building is done in A Madness of Angels: Griffin takes something mundane, like an Underground ticket, dissociates it from its real purpose and grants occult properties based on its symbolism. An Underground ticket promises a safe passage through the Underground, and as such can be used to ward off attacks as long as you remain in the Underground and don’t break any rules here.
This is probably the best example of world-building, but hardly the only one. There is slang becoming words of power, the Beggar King and the Bag Lady watching over all people lost and forgotten, the special walk that makes you a part of the background, accepted by all who see you as normal, and so on and so forth. The book mystifies modern life, makes everything familiar new and strange, and its beautiful.
The book takes place in London, and the author uses her knowledge of the city to full advantage in creating a memorable atmosphere: each part of the city has its own ambiance, its own magic hidden from the eyes of most, but open to us to see.
The book captures a wonder of discovery, and for that alone I recommend it. Trust me: it’s worth it. Plus, other aspects improve as the series progress as well, so it’s definitely worth a try.