A Magnificent Update

So, here we are, a new post. I don't actually have any literature reviews or opinions to give today, I just feel though I should probably update this blog more often in case people actually look at it. At least I'm honest.

Anyway, I'm moving house today, to a place where I haven't bothered to set up the Internet yet, so it could potentially slow down this recent blog momentum I built up, but then if I do write something I'll probably just go to the home of some poor friend or relative and post it there. Current schedule is roughly a Comics Snobbery one, a Discworld one, and a round-up one where I hastily review the few books I've read this year that I didn't bother reviewing. By then I might have finished reading Terry Pratchett's Dodger, which, spoiler alert, is alright. So far.

W. Somerset Maugham- The Magician

The Magician

Vintage Classics

 W. Somerset Maugham

1908

Other Maugham Reviews- Cakes and Ale - The Magician - The Razor's Edge

  

"Yet magic is no more the art of employing consciously invisible means to produce visible effects. Will, love, and imagination are magic powers that everyone possesses; and whoever knows how to develop them to their fullest extent is a magician. Magic hs but one dogma, namely, that the seen is the measure of the unseen."

Riding a mysterious crest of enthusiasm that pushed me forward into writing four posts in about two weeks (side affects yet to be determined), I raced through my next book of choice with a velocity which I haven't experienced in some time, finishing it in about two days (not an impressive brag by any means, but for me the rigours of daily life and its distractions have increased my average reading time for each new book to roughly infinity). Partially, I must admit, this speed was down to the fact that I wrote The Darkened Wardrobe and it reminded me very precisely of just how out of control my unread book pile had become, but the absolute core reason was simply that W. Somerset Maugham's The Magician was the perfect book to capture my attention from beginning to end.

My first exposure to Maugham was through The Razor's Edge, clumsily reviewed on this blog during that curious period where the reviewer only has the context of the one book by the author to go by. It left me with certain impressions of Maugham's style and themes (some of which were even correct) and left me open to more by the author, but things didn't become clearer until reading The Magician opened things up for me. The modern copy I read opens with an author's note entitled A Fragment of Autobiography (presumably included in all new editions of the novel, as I can't imagine reading The Magician without the invaluable context given here) which lays out the obvious inspiration for this book, and in turn completely captured my attention.

Mr. Crowley

Perhaps the most famous of all of W. Somerset Maugham's work (though some might argue the case for Of Human Bondage), The Magician's notoriety exists as an alternative-classic; that is, a novel that primarily appeals to literary hipsters looking for something a little different in tone to your average Charles Dickens novel, and that's because it is decidedly both a gothic horror masterpiece and the birthplace of a very notorious character. As Maugham explains in his introduction; during his earlier years as a struggling younger author attending high societal events, he became well acquainted with a certain Mr. Aleister Crowley. Though the Wikipedia link offers far more actual information than I'm going to bother with, I'm guessing that most people reading will at least recognise the name as the most famous occultist in history. Maugham's introduction sets the scene more firmly for the transition of Aliester Crowley into Oliver Haddo, the villain of The Magician, as a fictional version of Crowley who actually possesses the knowledge of arcane, sinister magics that Crowley claimed to.

The Magician, as a novel, isn't concerned with the stark reality of Crowley's claims and styling, but instead goes about structuring the character of Oliver Haddo into a complex and cultured, if far from original, villain. As Maugham's novels often are, it is set amongst the high class cafes and homes of Paris and London, and the introduction of Haddo is based upon Maugham's encounters with Crowley. The story begins with a small group of characters encountering Haddo for the first time and reacting to his outlandish claims and appearance. Morbidly obese yet tall, handsome and compelling, Haddo regales his new acquaintances with outlandish claims about his life and beliefs, both fascinating and disgusting them in equal measure. The character of Arthur Burdon is the lead protagonist and the reader's primary identification figure, as a witty, slightly withdrawn skeptic who immediately takes a huge dislike to Haddo. Arthur's fiance, Margaret Dauncey is similarly disgusted and disbelieving, but nonetheless is drawn by Haddo's heir of mystery to indulge his stories. The overall progression of the plot from then on is fairly simple and predictable; Arthur and Haddo inevitably clash and Haddo is embarrassed, from which point the magician plans his silent revenge by using his clandestine means to take what is most valuable to Arthur.  


Earlier on I described The Magician as a gothic horror, and it is that in every regard. Maugham's prose style is lavishly detailed in provoking the tone from every line, very positively reminiscent of Victorian English authors like Dickens, but with an extra emphasis on promoting mystery and suspense. I actually feel somewhat silly even attempting to review the talent of an author like Maugham, since he's so clearly an absolute master of the English language, able to construct a sentence with a natural talent few others can hope to match. There's a great sense of adventure that comes with the supernatural elements of this book, combining with the idea of a somewhat heroic protagonist like Arthur to make this reader immediately and favourably compare this with the most famous of all the gothic masterpieces, Bram Stoker's Dracula. Perhaps a lazy example, but Maugham's Oliver Haddo has the same undeniable charismatic personality as Stoker's vampire, to the extent where he leaps off the page as the constant star. It would be easy to predict dozens of re imaginations of Haddo, though the only one I know of is Alan Moore's usage of the character as a primary villain in his literary-obsessed comic book series The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (at some point to be a focus of my Comics Snobbery posts). Also, without giving too much away as regards to the plot, there are elements of the story very much routed in the other gothic horror classic Frankenstein, but with a hint of HP Lovecraft mixed in too.

While I hate to try and criticise a work like this, if I must then it has to be on the same grounds that Aliester Crowley himself critiqued it under (in an article in Vanity Fair circa 1908), it's simply not very original; nothing particularly unique occurs in the plot or with the characters. This didn't bother me one bit, as it's clear from the introduction, the blurb, and the opening chapters that this is a stylistic piece of genre fiction merely concerned with doing what it does as well as possible. Maugham's crafting of the environment is sublime, and once the plot and characters have been established within the gothic horror genre it allows the author to present his own themes and motifs also prevalent in his other works. Maugham focusses on love, obsession, and the thin line separating the two. As in Dracula it is the fear of loss and helplessness in relation to the fate of a loved one that pushes through the tension and sadness surrounding the somewhat unbelievable, almost pulp-fiction like plot. Arthur is a simple protagonist designed to transmit the easily identifiable fear of helplessly losing a loved one to the reader, and then to show the clenched-fist, gritted-teeth, do-what-has-to-be-done English gentleman style response. It is glorious stuff, five star genre fiction that I would mark as an essential read to anyone with an interest in this style of dark, supernatural-based story, particularly as an example of a classical style addressing a subject that's sure to be immediately recognizable to a modern reader thanks to the deluge of similar supernatural stories of today.

Terry Pratchett's Discworld 16- Soul Music

Soul Music

Corgi Press

Terry Pratchett

1994

Other Terry Pratchett Reviews- The Colour of Magic - The Light Fantastic - Equal Rites - Mort - Sourcery - Wyrd Sisters - Pyramids - Guards! Guards! - Eric - Moving Pictures - Reaper Man - Witches Abroad - Small Gods - Lords and Ladies - Men At Arms - Soul Music - Interesting Times - Maskerade - Feet of Clay - Hogfather - Raising Steam - A Blink of the Screen - Sky1 Adaptations- Dodger - The Long Earth (w Stephen Baxter)

"But most people are rather stupid and waste their lives. Have you not seen that? Have you not looked down from the horse at a city and thought how much it resembled an ant heap, full of blind creatures who think their mundane little world is real? You see the lighted windows and what you want to think is that there must be many interesting stories behind them, but what you know is that really there are just dull, dull souls, mere consumers of food, who think their instincts are emotions and their tiny lives of more account than a whisper of wind."
"No. No, I've never thought like that."
"You may find that it helps."

I'm very fond of romanticising the early to mid nineties period of Terry Pratchett's long fantasy satire series as his golden period, and Soul Music has a great deal to do with that, even though it's not one of my favourite Discworld books. The sixteenth book in the series, it follows on from the essential, five star classic Men At Arms, where Pratchett dramatically changed the landscape of Ankh-Morpork, largest city on the Disc by establishing that the City Watch had expanded enough to get a grip on the rampant crime and corruption previously keeping the city in a state of dangerous chaos. Not only was it a landmark title in regards to the shape of this ever-growing fictional universe, but it also followed on from Small Gods in somewhat mastering the satirical elements of the series' tone, putting it to the forefront of the story without being overwhelmed by the power of the fantasy element of the Disc, as earlier novels ocassionaly did. 

Soul Music, then, if not my favourite book (for reasons I'll get to) was another step forward for Pratchett's writing as a whole in seamlessly combining its satirical elements, on the very recognizable topic of rock and roll, with a high fantasy back story somewhat reliant on previous Discworld mythology. In Soul Music, Death returns as the lead attraction, alongside his granddaughter Susan Sto Helit, and unassuming aspiring musician Imp Y Celyn, who has traveled to Ankh-Morpork to seek fame and fortune. When his beloved harp is destroyed, Imp replaces it with a guitar bought from a suspiciously mysterious little shop, and with new-found band mates takes the Disc by storm through their new yet primal genre; music with rocks in.

Within merely days, The Band with Rocks In have been powered by the supernatural guitar to heights eclipsing Beatlemania, causing the citizens of the city to go crazier than usual in their obsession with this strange new sound. Susan Sto Helit, meanwhile, an incredibly intense and unwavering boarding school girl from the nearby city of Quirm, is initially distracted by her own problems. Death, the grim reaper, is in absentia, mourning the deaths of his adopted daughter Ysabell and his former protege Mort, generally wondering what the point of it all is. As a result, the curious narrative path of destiny means that Susan has started to inherit the powers of death, including walking through walls and the ability to speak in capital letters. Taking on Death's duties, Susan becomes aware of Imp Y Celyn when scheduled to attend his demise and usher him into the beyond. Instead, Imp is saved by the spirit incumbent in his guitar, and his very soul is possessed by the spirit of music with rocks in, and things really go awry.

Pratchett's loving satire to rock music is one of the most recognizable of all of his subjects, parodying and punning on numerous famous bands and figures from Buddy Holly to The Sex Pistols, all the while developing the narrative based on both real rock history (similar to Moving Pictures and the film industry) and the mythological legends surrounding. Pratchett plays on the readers' expectation of events thrown in the mix with some of his most carefully crafted mythology in the style of HP Lovecraft meets Neil Gaiman. His mythology surrounding Death isn't too complicated, but exudes an evocative tone that's helped make the character perhaps his most popular. Pratchett's achievement in blending very human, very cultural, and very funny satire on an instantly recognizable subject with the po-faced complex genre requirements of high fantasy is, to my knowledge, uniquely brilliant. 

So with that said, why is it not one of my favourite Discworld books? In certain ways it has everything. Unfortunately my problem is chiefly with one of the main characters; Susan. She is, in many ways, a powerful, independent female archetype, far more capable in the face of almost certain peril than, say Mort was in his eponymously titled book. But she's also not very likable, armed with a flat, straight-(wo)man act personality that stands in contrast to the magnetic oddness of Death himself. As a result, she is the least memorable part of the book for me despite being its lead heroine, and as a reader's viewpoint of sorts was just too bland and uninspiring. Thankfully there's a very varied supply of supporting characters, many of them reoccurring from previous novels to help prop things up and to continue Pratchett's careful but bombastic development of his fictional universe as a detailed and complicated place. Probably a great place to start if you're interested in the series but don't know where to begin.

L-Space- The Darkened Wardrobe

L-Space- The Darkened Wardrobe

Way back in March of this year I created a post entitled The Glass Cabinet, which listed each book on my unread pile. I find it hard not to buy books, especially because I very much enjoy going in to certain charity bookshops and looking for interesting, cheap stuff. My favourite being the many Oxfam Bookshops you get across Britain (and possibly further, I don't know), since they always have the widest selection and have greater standards for second hand books than most. They cost a little more than other shops, but it's worth it, especially for the constant stream of well-kept classics and modern classics that I can't resist buying.

Anyway, the last time I did this it was called The Glass Cabinet because I kept my unread pile in a nice glass cabinet which lit up and had lots of classy glass shelves. Since then I moved house, and sadly don't have said cabinet anymore. Instead, I have the less fancy, but much moodier and mysterious darkened wardrobe, so that's what it's called. Also, I'm probably moving house again in about a week, so six months down the line I'll do this with a different name. Finally, a fair few of these books were on the last list, but some of the books on the last one got dumped because I changed my mind about reading them, or started and quickly gave up in disgust. Cormac McCarthy fans, you may fall out with me when you hear that I dumped the entire Border Trilogy, because I am not a fan. And now, we shall begin;

Terry Pratchett- Dodger, Discworld- Raising Steam & The Long Earth (with Stephen Baxter)

Dodger was on the last list, I'll get around to that at some point, but I wasn't a fan of Pratchett's last non-Discworld novel, Nation, so I'm not excited. Raising Steam, meanwhile, as the latest Discworld book, is something I'm very much looking forward to. The Long Earth is a curious one, as it was written in conjunction with science fiction author Stephen Baxter as the start of a long series, and is based on a short story included in Pratchett's collection of fiction miscellany in A Blink of the Screen.

Haruki Murakami- Dance, Dance, Dance

Aside from Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball, 1973, which are Murakami's first two novels and have yet to be reprinted in English (meaning the few older copies available on ebay and the like are extortionately priced, so I'm patiently hoping for a reprint)  Dance, Dance, Dance is the final Murakami book available to me. I'm putting it off like Desmond Hulme did with A Tale of Two Cities in Lost. Thankfully though, Murakami's latest book should be translated into English next year.

Jay Rubin- Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words

Longtime Haruki Murakami translator Jay Rubin writes a book of literary analysis on the work of the Japanese author. There's almost no way I'm not going to enjoy this.

Anthony Storr- The Dynamics of Creation
J.A.C. Brown- Techniques of Persuasion

Both are Pelican non fiction paperbacks that were in the cabinet, and both are essentially about writing techniques, literary theory, that sort of thing. I'm hoping they're good, but both could easily be dumped after a few unsatisfying pages.

W. Somerset Maugham- Cake and Ale & The Magician

Another two books that've been on the pile for six months, but I've just started reading The Magician and I'm very excited about it, having learned more about the character of Oliver Haddo and the real life acquaintanceship of W. Somerset Maugham and Alistair Crowley.

Sam Kean- The Disappearing SpoonAlex Boese- Elephants on Acid and other Bizarre Experiments 

John D. Barrow- The Book of Universes

My interest in casual science books shows no sign of waning, with The Book of Universes added to this list of stuff that will hopefully make me feel like I've learned something, even if I can't exactly tell you what. Also in this vein...

Richard Dawkins- The Ancestor's Tale: A Pilgrimage to the Dawn of Life

Steven Pinker- How the Mind Works

... two books by two masters of the pop. science genre. The Ancestor's Tale is, as is obvious with Dawkins, about evolution and is worryingly long. Pinker, meanwhile, wrote The Language Instinct, and How the Mind Works looks like an equally interesting look at the human psyche.

Russel Hoban- Amaryllis Night and Day

As I wrote last time, I have no memory of buying this book, nor can I quite figure out why I did. It is very short though, so maybe I'll pick it up soon just to figure out what the hell is going on.

George R. R. Martin- A Dance with Dragons- Book 2- After the Feast

I will definitely read this at some point, but I've also been considering donating my Song of Ice and Fire books to someone else before I move house. It's not that I totally hate them, it's just that I don't like them enough to justify them visually dominating my book collection with their flashy thick spines. Unfortunately the only person I've found who wants them is my fiance, who I'm moving in with, so that probably doesn't help.

Hunter S. Thompson- Hell's Angels & Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degredation in the 80's

I've wanted to read Hell's Angels for years and years but never got around to it. Generation of Swine is a collection of articles in the same manner as The Great Shark Hunt: Strange Tales from a Strange Time. One day I will have read every Thompson book. Probably in sixty years or so.

Carlos Castaneda- The Eagle's Gift & A Separate Reality

Initially bought on impulse ages ago, further research shows me that I really need to read a copy of The Teachings of Don Juan before I read these later books in the series.

Toby Young- The Sound of No Hands Clapping

The sequel to the moderately entertaining memoirs How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. I don't expect it to blow me away, but it should be fun enough.

 
Euripedes- Madea and Other Plays
 Jean-Dominique Bauby- The Diving-Bell & The Butterfly
R.K. Narayan- The Guide

Gore Vidal- The Messiah

Various random world classics I've picked up here and there, none I'm dying to read right now but nonetheless I should get something positive out of all of them.

Johan Goethe- Faust

Horace Walpole- The Castle of Otranto and The Mysterious Mother

I reread Marlow's Dr. Faustus recently, but I'm leaving a gap before starting Goethe's version of the tale. Sticking with gothic fiction, The Castle of Otranto is something I read at university as an example of the first ever Gothic horror fiction, and it's completely mental. The edition I bought contained the play The Mysterious Mother and I'm hoping that it's just as mad.

Phillip Pullman- Grimm Fairy Tales

Though I didn't enjoy Pullman's retelling of the new testament, this retelling of the brothers' Grimm promises to be much, much better. 

Charles Bukowski- Ham on Rye & Woman

As with Hunter S. Thompson, I want to complete Bukowski's entire bibliography one day, hopefully before Skynet takes over the world.

Michael Bollen- Earth Inc.

Mark Gatiss- The Vesuvius Club/The Devil in Anger

Two fairly random comedy novels by British authors that I picked up because they look like fun. I can't remember the last time I found a satirical British author that I really enjoyed, so hopefully one of these authors will remind of the likes of Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams, not much to ask there. Gatiss seemingly has the better pedigree, but Bollen's Earth Inc. has a wonderful-looking dystopian advertising future tone going for it.

Jack Kerouac- On the Road

Ken Kessey- One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Truman Capote- In Cold Blood

Edward Abbey- The Monkey Wrench Gang

Jay McInerney- Bright Lights, Big City

I'm really pleased with my line-up of 20th century US classics, a genre that I enjoy ninety nine times out of a hundred. I read On the Road years ago and promptly forgot most of it, while In Cold Blood is my second Capote after the absolutely brilliant Breakfast at Tiffany's. The other three are American classics that I'm very much looking forward to reading. 

Jon Ronson- The Men Who Stare At Goats

Stephen Fry- Moab is My Washpot

Two more bits of non-fiction picked up on reputation. The Men Who Stare At Goats should be quick, amusing reading, while Fry's autobiography is something I've meant to pick up for some time. Supposedly both brilliantly witty and despairingly depressing.

George Orwell- Homage to Catalonia

Oscar Wilde- Complete Shorter Fiction

Having completed Orwell's novel bibliography (does that phrase make sense? Ah well...) with Burmese Days, I still want to reread Homage to Catalonia because I feel I didn't give it a fair chance the first time around; reading it too quickly with not enough attention paid. Oscar Wilde, meanwhile, I actually find hit or miss, but I'm a literary snob and he's probably the king of the literary snob's bookshelf fillers.

Jose Luis Borges- Doctor Brodie's Report

Ryu Murakami- Piercing

Mikhail Bulgakov- The Master and Margarita

Some wordwide literature here. Borges is someone I want to explore further, Ryu Murakami is a guy who I read one good book by five years ago and forgot about for some reason, and Bulgakov is my latest attempt to get into Russian literature, having failed to enjoy Dostoyevsky on first try.
 

Paul Auster- Moon Palace & The Book of Illusions

My second favourite contemporary author behind Haruki Murakami, I've been saving the work of Paul Auster over the years but I'm getting closer and closer to the end of his bibliography. 

Neil Gaiman- The Absolute Sandman Vol. 4 & Signal To Noise

Last but not least, my unread comics. 

Oh my god, this list is ridiculously long. I really need to get a move on reading this crap, and not adding to it. In the meantime, I really should write the next Discworld review after this, and I've got about three or four more Comics Snobbery columns to write. Also I want to do an L-Space column on the three or four books I read over the past year and didn't write full reviews for. Anyway, to the publish button!

Comics Snobbery II- Grant Morrison's Batman

Comics Snobbery II- 
Grant Morrison's Batman

Cover by Frank Quietly

 Comics Snobbery I- Judge Dredd

Despite the (hopefully) tongue in cheek title of this blogging miniseries, in hindsight my love for Judge Dredd comics isn't really that objectional in terms of snobbery. After all, classic Judge Dredd strips aren't nearly as widely read as most mainstream comics and sit nicely in the fantastically niche genre of classic British science fiction. Put another way, logging on to a comics forum and unabashedly proclaiming your love for classic Dredd isn't going to seem annoying to anyone, even in an environment where usually anyone will argue about anything for any reason. The subject of today's meandering ramblings, however, could start a mass fanboy fight in an empty room, in a vacuum in space. And I love it to death.

For those of you who don't keep up with comics, you still might have heard of Grant Morrison. The Glaswegian native began his career as a comics writer in the 1980's, making his name with various strips in UK comics including 2000AD and Marvel Comics' then fairly separate UK publishing house. Following the success of several UK authors across the pond (most notably Alan Moore), DC Comics reached out to Morrison, and so began a long-term association that led to Morrison's ascension to superstar status, thanks to DC universe comics like Animal Man, Arkham Asylum, his long run on JLA, All Star Superman, and the unique The Invisibles for DC's Vertigo imprint (more of which may be written about at a later date on this old blog). By 2006, the man could simply do whatever he wanted, such was his selling power and reputation. What he wanted was Batman, and lo, Batman issue #655 heralded the start of a near seven-year run with the character that, to me, stands as the definitive version.

Morrison's take on Batman is actually fairly simple to sum up, but is absolutely laden with intricate details that are going to make it annoyingly hard to sum up. For a start, the full run on the series takes in about six differently-titled comics across the seven year period; the long-running Batman comics from the aforementioned issue #655 to #702, Batman & Robin #01-16, Final Crisis #01-07, The Return of Bruce Wayne #01-07, Batman Incorporated v1 #01-08 and Batman Incorporated v2 (don't ask...) #01-13, with a few other single issue specials that vary in importance. Thankfully this madness is much easier to follow in the collected formats, which is what I've been doing for a while now, all in very nice looking and well-constructed deluxe hardback editions that, thanks to Amazon, were well-priced. 

With that out of the way, the essential motif of Morrison's exploration of the character of Batman was to progressively develop, change, and explore him through reinventing both classic and obscure Batman concepts and stories from past years (a lot from the apparently acid-infested 1950's) to create a fresh, progressive take on the Bat. The first, and most important feature is the introduction of Damian Wayne; the eight-year-old, league of assasains-trained son of Bruce and Talia al Ghul,, thrust into an unsuspecting Bruce Wayne's life to throw his whole world upside down. The second is the introduction of the mysterious criminal organisation known as the Black Glove, led by Dr. Simon Hurt; a cold, incredibly black and unnerving association of newly created villains determined to break the Bat. The majority of the Batman comic run is comprised of the escalating war on Batman, in which The Joker plays an integral part too. The art for the Batman books is mostly by Tony Daniel, who does a stereotypical 'serious' dark comic style that DC loves, which is fine but uninspiring.

Cover by Andy Kubert

After that came Final Crisis. Truth be told, Final Crisis isn't essential for someone only interested in Batman, since he only plays a small, but very important part. It's a big DC Universe wide crossover starring Superman et al battling an invasion of alien gods in the very essence of humanity. I'm not going to attempt to go into any more detail because it's massively complicated. A lot of people don't like it as a comic, and I can kind of see why because it's simply not possible to fully grasp the intricacies through a single reading. Or five of them. If you're me, anyway. Anyway, the wide-screen super-heroics of Final Crisis lead to the Batman and Robin series, and the Return of Bruce Wayne series.

The Batman and Robin collections are my absolute favourites. The key premise is that, due to the events of Final Crisis, Bruce Wayne is missing presumed dead. Taking his place in a more seemless and natural transition than I could ever have hoped for is Dick Grayson; aka Nightwing, aka the first Robin. On a fanboy note, Dick Grayson has always been one of my favourite characters as a guy who's as important to the foundations of DC Comics as Batman and Superman. Since jettisoning the Robin suit for his own identity he's naturally struggled to remain popular in the comics mainstream, but Morrison writes him perfectly. The key to the set-up, though, is Damian Wayne as Grayons's Robin, forming a new dynamic duo that are a joy to read. Fighting against the forces of Dr. Hurt and the Black Glove still, this is like a window into an alternative world where comics characters do age and progress, all the while furthering the long-term arc of just who exactly Simon Hurt is. The artist for this comic rotates with each story arc, and altogether comprises of Frank Quietly (who is absolutely amazing), Philip Tan, Cameron Stewart. Andy Clarke and Frazer Irving. From artist to artist, this book constantly looks fantastic. 

The Return of Bruce Wayne, meanwhile, is the six issue miniseries that tells the reader what Bruce Wayne has been up to since the events of Final Crisis, and his apparent death at the hands of Darkseid, the alien god of evil. Of course Bruce isn't dead, he's merely been thrown backwards in time and given a nasty case of amnesia. Like much of Morrison's run, the real theme of this book is showing just how capable Bruce Wayne is of defeating evil and the extraordinary resourcefulness propping up his superheroism. The first issue shows caveman Bruce Wayne, but each one propels him further through time, brilliantly giving us pirate Batman and cowboy Batman, amongst others. The overall plot becomes clearer towards the end of the series as it starts to explain the true danger caused by Darkseid, and the relation of all of this to Simon Hurt. I'm not giving anything away here, but there's a very circular, compact nature to the story that amazed me more and more further into it. The end of this series links up with Morrison's latter issues of Batman and Robin, finishing off certain key elements and clearing things up for Morrison's final part of his Batman odyssey.

Art by JG Jones

That comes in the form of Batman Incorporated, which is basically exactly as it sounds; the now-returned Bruce Wayne, now sharing the Batman mantle with Dick Grayson, begins to put together an international Batman-themed crime fighting force comprising of local vigilantes inspired by his work. The purpose; to fight the mysterious crime group known as Leviathon, who have been quietly attempting to lower a noose over the Bat's head without him noticing. Without giving too much away, this story comes full circle in relation to the origins of Damian Wayne, as Morrison closes up his arc and prepares to leave Batman for good. Unfortunately, the final run of Batman Incorporated (which, due to reasons I do not want to discuss, comes in two individual 'volumes', where the latter suffers from awkward DC editorial interference that ruins it as a continuity piece) is the weakest part of Morrison's whole run. After Simon Hurt's fate was resolved and explained in Batman and Robin, things loose a little oomph as the Leviathon group just don't offer the same intrigue as the Black Glove. Also I'd grown incredibly attached to Dick Grayson as Batman, and found it disappointing that the Dick & Damian partnership ended before its time. I could happily have read those two as Batman and Robin forever.

Okay, that was a much longer summation of Grant Morrison's run with Batman than I intended, but somehow I feel I barely scratched the surface. The bottom line is that it was the most progressive, interesting and traditional use of the franchise that I've ever seen, and everything else in comparison just seems bland and uninspired- including Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for comics to really make you think, that stand out as legitimate literature rather than just overblown genre fiction. Unfortunately the reoccurring nature of the comics industry actively seeks to stamp out progression with its long-standing classic character, so inevitably most of the cool ideas, themes and plots that Morrison came up with were never going to fully stick, but on the other hand I have to give props to DC comics for allowing him to run for so long, so powerfully with such an important money spinner of theirs. I had a whale of a time; my mind was truly blown away by the imagination of the author and the talented artists portraying his directions, where somehow they managed to create a Batman that was both perfectly definitive and derivative at the same time.

Haruki Murakami- After Dark

After Dark

Vintage Press

Haruki Murakami
2004 (Japanese)/ 2007 (English)
Translated by Jay Rubin
 

Other Murakami Reviews- A Wild Sheep Chase - Dance Dance Dance - Underground - Sputnik Sweetheart - after the quake - After Dark - Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman - What I Talk About When I Talk About Running - 1Q84- Books I & II - Book III - Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage - Strange Library

“In this world, there are things you can only do alone, and things you can only do with somebody else. It's important to combine the two in just the right amount.”
 

After Dark was one of the first Murakami books I'd read, back during the times where I'd read through an author's bibliography relatively consecutively, and I didn't like it very much at all. Five years on, and my growing infatuation and obsession with the work of Haruki Murakami, including the need to have my own copy of each book, led me again to After Dark. This time, though, I was confident I'd enjoy it, because it's much easier to doubt the reviewing credentials of my younger self than it is to imagine that my current literary hero wrote a bad book. To cut a long story short, I really enjoyed it this time.

At only 201 pages of decently-sized font, After Dark only just escapes the 'novella' catagorisation. In truth before I just checked the number I would've guessed that it was even shorter than that. In both size and atmosphere, I'd compare it to Murakami's South of the Border, West of the Sun (one day to be reviewed), though really it's a fairly unique piece of work from the author considering both its length and the short space of time in which the story plays out. It's also written in the present tense, which is something that nine times out of ten annoys me, but here wasn't a problem because of the large amount of dialogue.

After Dark is set over the course of one night, focusing around the experiences of a small group of characters. Each chapter has a small illustration of a clock at the beginning, showing the story progressing in real-time, in a manner of speaking. The main character is Mari, an intense and withdrawn 19-year-old girl who misses her last train home and settles herself in an all-night diner with a book. Soon after she is interrupted by Takahashi, a jazz-loving (Murakami staple alert) student who recognises Mari from going on a date with her sister. As the night progresses, Mari is dragged into a series of events at a nearby low-class hotel involving gangsters and a Chinese prostitute. Segueing in between the chapters, the reader is shown Mari's sister, Ari, who two months ago went to sleep and hasn't woken up since. 

After reading this again it became clear to me that Murakami was having fun with this book. He changes his narrative tone somewhat, talking to the reader very directly in the manner of simulated stage directions, as thought this were a short movie of sorts, where he as the narrator is the omniscient god cutting between scenes. As a result, the cuts between the adventures of the main characters and of Ari, the sleeping beauty seemingly in danger from typically Murakami-esque mysterious ethereal dangers are presented in a much more direct way than the author's usual manner. 

Essentially what I feel the reader has with After Dark is a short story that Murakami enjoyed so much he extended it to a small novel. The noticeably different style of narration and the rather direct positioning of the two events occurring that night suggest to me the attempts of the author to establish the context for the mysterious existential happenings in a short space, only to find himself extending the whole narrative. Personally, I'm not entirely sure what to make of the brief flashes into Ari's strange sleep in relation to her sister's very urban, realistic experiences through the night. It's so brief and mysterious that lodged itself firmly into my brain, but without leading me to mull over it as much as I did with a novel like, say, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. It's more like a dark fairy tale, a tribute to the intangible uniqueness of the witching hours. I enjoyed it very much, though perhaps its brevity and unenlightening conclusion forces me to place it only about half way on my mental list of Best Murakami that one day I might even write.

AA Gill- The Angry Island: Hunting the English

The Angry Island: Hunting the English

Simon & Schuster

AA Gill

2007

 My recent indulgence in more non-fiction than what I did used to read led me to this random little number, a book I wouldn't call 'good' as an overall description, but had enough about it for me to at least be glad that I read it. To a certain extent, anyway. If I fall off a cliff and get amnesia I probably won't read it again. Anyway, this review should be a pretty short one; not because I'm lazy (far from it), but because hopefully it'll be reflective of AA Gill's The Angry Island in being highly stylised in its use of yea olde English language without actually saying much of relevance.

Anyway, I picked this book from the charity bookshop shelf simply because of its topic, rather than having any inclination towards AA Gill's writing. Though I knew the name, I didn't really know who he was (previously confusing him with Will Self), but a quick bit of background looking-up and a quick bit of reading revealed the truth; he's basically Jeremy Clarkson with an upmarket image, and a vastly superior command of the English language. He's also full of shit at least 90% of the time, but it's rather entertaining all the same. As the title suggests, this is book is about English people. As an English person, I was intrigued. AA Gill is also mostly English in nationality (and completely so in appearance), but he pretends not to be, seemingly for the sake of annoying his readers (this is a common theme).

Gill's method of analysing the nation consists of addressing the key features and stereotypes of English culture, adding a bit of historical and anthropological perspective, then mercilessly poking fun at them through his incredibly dry and well-constructed prose. This is, in some places, very good stuff indeed. The historical stuff is enlightening (well, for me) and amusing in places, though Gill rarely goes into much detail. It's a short book, and its brevity is both a gift and a curse, as his genuinely interesting historical knowledge is dealt short shrift for the sake of keeping his witticisms from overstaying their welcome.

There's really not much else to say about this book than that. In a certain way I absolutely respect it for what it is; a character piece. I have no idea what AA Gill is really like, but here his narrative is directly linked to an exaggerated character designed to provoke both controversy and loyalty in equal measures. It became clear early on to me that this was the case, which changed the nature of my reading it substantially; in its attempts to achieve its goals as an aggravating, charismatic extended magazine piece it works almost perfectly, but that's essentially all it is. As a highlight of its author's talent with words it is very good, like a modern day Thomas de Quincy (whose Confessions of an English Opium Eater is of course the title I stole/homaged for this blog), but there's only so far that can actually take you. When comparing this book with the last piece of non-fiction I read, Richard Dawkin's The Blind Watchmaker, it becomes clear just how little actual substance there is in this book; while Dawkin's friendly, amiable tone works very well in presenting heavyweight, astounding real-world facts, Gill has to struggle to be as loud as possible in an effort to disguise the fact that he barely says anything.

Nevertheless, I did enjoy reading this book, almost entirely to indulge and hopefully learn from Gill's mastery of language (particularly in establishing a narrative tone), but I can guarantee I'll never read it again. I'd recommend it to other people looking for a short, amusing lightweight read (and even then only British people, since it's not going to tell a non-Brit anything valuable), but only if you take the gentle prodding with a pinch of salt and don't expect too much.

Chuck Palahniuk- Fight Club

Fight Club

Vintage

 Chuck Palahniuk

1996

“You are not your job, you're not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. You are all singing, all dancing crap of the world.”

In 2013 it would be incomplete to talk about Chuck Palahniuk's most famous novel without constantly and incessantly referring to the 1999 Hollywood adaptation from David Fincher, so if there's anybody out there reading this who hates the entwined nature of virtually all film and literature in popular culture, then you're out of luck.  Furthermore, if my passive/aggressive assault on books that slightly annoy me but I nevertheless like also irritates you, then you should probably leave this one, since I kind of like Fight Club, but I also kind of don't like it too.

Fight Club is another book I first read as an academic (not to study, just for fun) about six years ago and I'm just returning to. My initial memories of it were good, if a bit disconcerting, but by no means a classic. Since then I like to think I've expanded my reading context a bit, enabling me to find new levels of insight when discussing literature with a bit of depth. With that in mind, my updated thoughts about Fight Club: The Book Version are that I quite liked it, but not that much... but for much better reasons, probably.

The plot of Fight Club and its essential twist is so well known I don't think spoiler warnings are necessary. Palahniuk's unnamed narrator meets a mysterious and extremely cool man named Tyler Durdan, who teaches him through extreme ways how to let go of his consumerist worldview and become a stronger, much more dramatic individual with control over his own life. This involves the forming of something called fight club, where a disenfranchised group of men- which is essentially what this whole book is about; the frustration of first-world nobodies who live comfortably but pointlessly and need to feel capable of effecting their own lives- come together to mutually fight like manly men. Fight Club is just the beginning of Tyler's plot though, and it transforms into blatant organised urban terrorism with Project Mayhem, which is where things really begin to spin out of control. Then the narrator finds out something important about the relationship between himself and Tyler. There you go, I didn't spoil it.

Anyway, I must admit that the power of the 1999 film unfairly takes away credit from Palahniuk's ideas through its ubiquitousness. Fight Club the movie is so good, and the performances by Edward Norton and Brad Pitt so memorable that I instinctively associate the title with that film before I do the novel (which is something I never normally do). Obviously this is unfair, since the vast majority of ideas, lines, and plot twists from the film are taken directly from the book, from the imagination of Palahniuk. These ideas are genius, as proved by the movies' popularity and influence on pop culture as a whole, and the author deserves every royalty payment he gets from just having these ideas, and presenting them in such a direct style as to appeal to everyone. In this respect, I really like Fight Club.

Also no tag backs.

The problem is- and this is going to annoy purists- that in terms of the presentation of the ideas, the film does it much, much better. Reading this novel felt like I was reading a slightly beefed-up premise for an idea, a sort of bizarrely presented screenplay to be expanded upon. Partly this is due to the style of Palahniuk's narration. As represented by Edward Norton's onscreen unenthusiastic tones,the narration is stripped down and intentionally understated. In fact the whole book is a very short read, as the author writes in short outbursts of thoughts, one line at a time; like an obsessive compulsive stream of consciousness. Almost every sentence in the book is a potentially memorable line, which, again, translated perfectly onto the screen. 'I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.'

On paper, though, it wore thin for me and was inconsistent in quality. Mostly I was put off (though not greatly) by stylistic similarities to authors who, I feel, do this sort of thing a lot better. The most prominent in my mind are Charles Bukowski and Kurt Vonnegut (who I'll actually review something by, one of these days). two authors with a far greater talent for putting down one memorable, powerful line after another. I've yet to read anything else by Palahniuk, but it seems clear that he's comfortable as a counter-culture writer like many other great names before him, paying homage to William Burroughs and such with his style and intent. As a nineties writer my closest comparison would be to Bret Easton Ellis, in particular comparing Fight Club to American Psycho. I guess the problem with this type of literature in this decade is that it's just not as interesting or progressive as the counter-culture movements of the 1960's. I'm not saying it's any less relevant; as someone who grew up in the nineties it's even more relevant than something like Slaughterhouse Five, for example, which actually serves to make it seem more depressing rather than shocking.

But seeing as I could probably ramble on about Fight Club all day and I have a bunch of other stuff I need to catch up on, I should probably round these rambles off a little bit. First of all, I absolutely recommend Fight Club to anyone with an interest in the history of counter-cultural literature (including postmodernism and other hippy phrases) and to anyone who really loves the film; that's a no-brainer. If you're not naturally inclined towards that style or philosophy, than Fight Club will more than likely annoy you because of how hard it tries to be cool all the time. Its philosophy is extreme and uncompromising, and shouldn't be taken at face value, but it is powerful and deep-routed. Perhaps the real key to this story's worldwide success is that it appeals to the psyche of those similar to the protagonist, which is essentially a lot of people, and creates an undeniable atmosphere of chillingly realistic tension, though through a (probably) very unrealistic plot. It's unlikely to be the best book you've ever read, but it would be amongst the most memorable, and for mostly good reasons too.

Richard Dawkins- The Blind Watchmaker

The Blind Watchmaker

Penguin

Richard Dawkins
1986

“There is something infantile in the presumption that somebody else has a responsibility to give your life meaning and point… The truly adult view, by contrast, is that our life is as meaningful, as full and as wonderful as we choose to make it.”

I am not a science person, though I'd like to be. I smoothly passed my various science GCSE exams at the base level C without much trouble, but any real exposure to actual scientific things since then typically led to me frantically waving my arms around to make myself look big and scare the science away. I like to think of myself of one of those people who displays the right amount of restrained amazement and sense of awe when beholden to science. I guess I'm pretty awe-some.

Recent brushes with the harsh finger of mortality prompted me to try to understand the world around me a little bit more, at least enough to convince me of the absence of evil magicks. My first, rather fatherly tour guide was the reassuringly British gentlemen scholar who made quite the name for himself a few years back with a little book you may of heard of named The God Delusion. I first read that book about four years ago, approaching it with a great deal of enthusiasm in the knowledge that it was preaching to the converted, so to speak. Years spent in the dying remnants of the Church of England sponsored educational system quickly sent me down the atheist route, and so The God Delusion amused me in such a way as a book full of pictures of dead cats might appeal to someone who really hates cats.

After that I read The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution, which was essentially the follow up to God Delusion excepted routed in more scientific fact rather than theological debate. Unfortunately I was not ready for such heady scientific analysis and terminology, and I ran from the genre of popular science for some time, until one day I came across a second hand copy of The Blind Watchmaker. Like all of Richard Dawkins' books, Watchmaker is about evolution and/or Darwinism (that's not a criticism on repetition by the way, Dawkins himself confidently assures that, as a topic, it encompasses every living thing on this planet and potential others), though it was first published back in 1986, a while before Dawkins' fame became mainstream.

Author's photo.

Though the topic is too complex to be easily narrowed down and rigidly adhered to by the author, the prime focus of this book surrounds the theory of evolution verses that of intelligent design (and its variations). The title of the book is a particular reference to an argument presented by anti-evolutionist and overall god bothering theologian William Paley, roughly stating that if you found a gold watch in the middle of the desert you would know that, because of its complexity, someone had built this watch, therefore life must have been created by God. To be fair, Paley wrote this before Darwin in the 17th century, where English life was somewhat entrenched in religious dogma. Nowadays, for a modern scientist like Dawkins to take this on is rather like shooting at fish in a barrel. In fact, my enjoyment of this book is in direct opposition to any attempt to analyse this as a scientific argument. I am the converted, I believe in evolution already.

Dawkins was able to stifle those possible complaints for me by going into far greater detail about things than I could've possibly hoped to imagine with my limited knowledge. Though admittedly certain aspects discussed went completely over my head, that's not the book's fault, and for the majority of it Dawkins does a splendid job of talking down to the average reader not possessing a education costing tens and tens of thousands (this is a total guess, it's probably more) of pounds. As a result this book is a resounding success in its goal of educating the ignorant in an entertaining way, and though this might be understating his actual credentials, pushes Dawkins into the public figure stratosphere of only Sir David Attenborough as teachers to an entire nation, or even globe.

My criticisms are limited to the occasional dryness of the source material. I don't mean to insult the majesty and complexity of science, but much of it is inevitably boring, and this does sometimes seep through. Really though, I took more valuable information from this book than I have from any in a good while, making any tedium clearly worth it. Hopefully reading this book has cracked the glass of ignorance blocking my understanding of science (strained analogy alert) and the next science book I eventually read will be that much clearer through the magical touch of context. Big opposable thumbs-up.

Comics Snobbery I

 Comics Snobbery I

 In the near two year history of this humblest of humble blogs I've successfully managed to resist the constant temptation to write about the comic books I've been reading (or 'graphic novels', if you're insecure), based on the entirely accurate logic that I can barely write two individual book reviews per month anyway. This has been hard since I've been a big reader of comic books since I first noticed the growing collection of the local library when I was about ten years old (and for years before that I read The Beano and The Dandy every week, back when they only cost 40 pence), and since the arrival of the Internet in its current form made it easy to follow the industry on a 24/7 basis.

Still though, it's only been over the last couple of years that my physical collection of comics- a slight misnomer since, unless I'm forgetting, 100% of my collection is comprised of hard and paperback collections or original graphic novels- has really grown. I borrowed a lot of complete series of classic contemporary comics when I was younger, and my heart's desire to revisit and own them won out over my brain's desire to protect my wallet.

In this ever-growing blog post I just want to talk about the comics series that I've only partially collected, but before I do that I must explain; I'm a self-confessed comics snob. That is, I only put down my money on widely well-regarded series with critically acclaimed superstar authors. I don't buy comics on a whim and I don't give chances to authors of whom I feel aren't up to presenting comics as real literature (I'm not overly worried about artists). My reasoning is pretty simple though; I've only got a certain amount of money to spend and only so much free time to read, and my comics reading time is integrated into my novel reading time. And I'm a snob. Let's crack on;

Judge Dredd- The Complete Case Files (2000AD)

Cover art by Cliff Morrison

I'm ten volumes deep in to this absolutely massive complete collection of Judge Dredd stories; the only bullying fascist lawman of the future I ever loved. For those who don't know of him, Judge Dredd first appeared back in 1977 in the second issue of the British science fiction anthology strip 2000AD and perseveres to this day as the country's number one character, popular enough to star in the half-decent 2012 Hollywood movie Dredd. Created and consistently written by John Wagner, Judge Dredd as a character and concept is an immensely curious blend of influences, born of a depressed British society swamped by a deluge of US popular culture, creating this mean, stone-jawed militant policeman who, early on in the strip especially, appalls almost as much as he appeals. The overt fascist, right wing politics of Dredd are cranked-up tongue-in-cheek portrayals of a world too big and too dangerous to be organised by diplomacy. 

Mega City One is the home of Dredd, an immense metropolis stretching down almost the entire east coast of the US and home to millions upon millions of potential criminals. The only thing that can keep things civil is the power of the judge system, where each highly trained judge patrols the city and acts as policeman, judge, jury and executioner rolled into one. Dredd is the most capable and the most feared of all the judges, and he's always at the front line when Mega City One needs protecting. The 10 volumes I've read (though there are 21 available so far) chronicle Dredd's mission to protect the city against all manner of apocalyptic threats, while dealing with crime on the street that you could barely imagine if John Wagner hadn't done it for you.

The earlier volumes mostly contain the more traditional, often straight-faced sci-fi stories written in multiple parts, such as The Cursed Earth Saga, The Judge Child, and The Apocalypse War. They're exciting, classic, and full of admittedly zany British comics humour influenced by the more traditional comics of the time. There's also a strong sense of pastiche as Dredd fulfills a traditional bad ass, never give up, never compromise hero role despite pretty much being a bastard. The later volumes change the tone of the stories somewhat, shortening the long form stories into typically one or two part strips. There's an increased focus on comedy, more satirical and blacker than ever before. It would take a far better deconstructionist than I to properly analyse the development of Dredd in relation to John Wagner's views of society (which, by the time of the contents of Volume 10, was deep into Conservative political territory), but there's no doubt Wagner's authorship improves over the years.

With so many more volumes to read, I'm not entirely sure if I'll make it to the end, simply because I've already been suffering from Dredd fatigue. I'll almost certainly be buying volume 12 though, as it marks Judge Dredd's first foray into colour; a very welcome addition by this point, as the heavy black inks only offer limited detail and add a massive dose of extra repetitiveness. The other nine volumes (so far) may have to wait. Still, despite my complaints of over exposure I can only say that, individually, each volume is of great value; they're massive, and fairly cheap by typical standards. They're also very consistent in quality, though the fact remains that there's a fairly specific niche aspect to the satirical elements that, thirty years on specifically, might not be particularly obvious to non-Brit readers without reference points. 

That's enough comics talk for now. Especially since I originally planned on doing this all in one post, and completely failed. More comics talk soon, probably around 2052 or so.

Terry Pratchett's Discworld 15- Men At Arms

Men At Arms

Corgi Press

 Terry Pratchett

1993

Other Terry Pratchett Reviews- The Colour of Magic - The Light Fantastic - Equal Rites - Mort - Sourcery - Wyrd Sisters - Pyramids - Guards! Guards! - Eric - Moving Pictures - Reaper Man - Witches Abroad - Small Gods - Lords and Ladies - Men At Arms - Soul Music - Interesting Times - Maskerade - Feet of Clay - Hogfather - Raising Steam - A Blink of the Screen - Sky1 Adaptations- Dodger - The Long Earth (w Stephen Baxter)

 "If you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you at his mercy, then hope like hell that man is an evil man. Because the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you are going to die. So they'll talk. They'll gloat. They'll watch you squirm. They'll put off the murder like another man will put off a good cigar. So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word."

Men At Arms is one of the finest and most popular books in the Discworld series, and, regards its narrative direction is one of the most important. It's the sequel to Guards! Guards!, one of my favourite Discworld novels, and as such follows the adventures and expansion of the City Watch; the policemen of Ankh-Morpork (grandest and most disgusting of all the cities on the Disc). Guards! Guards! introduced readers to the Night Watch, the unwanted, uncared for bastards of the city guard. Fred Colon and Nobby Nobs were the regular, grimy patrolmen too worried about themselves to deal with crime. Carrot Ironfoundersson was a new recruit, a bit stupid and naive to the ways of the big city but very, very capable in that way that only mysterious heirs to the kingdom are. Captain Sam Vimes, meanwhile, was the man in charge of this unwieldy bunch, and it was the sheer strength of his character that provided the backbone to the whole thing and eventually led him to become the most commonly reoccurring character of Sir Terry Pratchett's lengthy fantasy comedy series... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

In Guards! Guards! the night watch, those most unlikely of heroes led by Sam Vimes, rescued the city from an intelligent, talking, and rather pompous full-sized fire breathing dragon. As a result, the Patrician of the city Lord Vetinari has not only given them a new tea pot but has given the night watch command of the day and put Vimes in charge of the whole expanded thing. New to the watch include Lance-Constables Angua, a werewolf, Detritus, a troll, and Cuddy, a dwarf, all of whom play a vital role in this novel and set the tradition for all future Watch members to be some sort of monstrous weirdo in some shape or another.

As the title for the book somewhat suggests, this time the city watch have to face a far more realistic threat to the relative peace of Ankh-Morpork; the invention of the Disc's first gonne (one of those metal things that shoot people with powder). Invented by frequently reoccuring Discworld character and Renaissance man Leonard of Quirm, the gonne is stolen by rather downbeat assassin Edward D'eath. D'eath is a class-obsessed monarchist who despises the increased diversity in Morporkian society, and who believes that the real heir to the abandoned lineage of Ankh-Morpork royalty still lives in the city. The reader already knows that he's right,, and it's Carrot. Shortly a series of bloody murders occurs, and Captain Vimes must solve them while having to deal with his upcoming wedding to the richest woman in the city.

Men At Arms is a wonderfully entertaining book about the class system in England and the social trends and changes cause by increased immigration. Though written twenty years ago it's perhaps more relevant now than it was then, though the strength of the characters ensures that the political aspects of Pratchett's writing do not overshadow the development of the plot. Sam Vimes becomes an even better character throughout these pages, as the down-on-his-luck, drowning-in-booze joke of a professional that we first met in Guards! Guards! has quickly become one of the most important men in the city. I love the tongue in cheek humour of Vimes, a man who thoroughly believes himself to be one of the lower class, rising through the ranks to eventual nobility through the careful manipulation of the Patrician, who remains one of the most fascinating characters in the cannon thanks to careful under-exposure.

Men At Arms is a fantastic read on its own, as a sequel, or taken in the context of the whole series. Pratchett captures a cinematic spirit in his creation of the characters, and arguably adds more in this novel to develop the Discworld as an almost living and breathing alternate dimension than in any other. Fully recommended as a five star book, and probably perfect for a high budget adaptation.