The Somnambulist
Ratings6
Average rating2
15
Ratings6
Average rating2
Be warned. This book has no literary merit whatsoever. Needless to say, I doubt you'll believe a word of it.
Once the toast of good society in Victoria's England, the extraordinary conjurer Edward Moon no longer commands the respect or inspires the awe that he did in earlier times. Despite having previously unraveled more than sixty perplexing criminal puzzles (to the delight of a grateful London constabulary), he is considered something of an embarrassment these days. Still, each night without fail, he returns to the stage of his theatre to amaze his devoted, albeit dwindling audience with the same old astonishments--aided by his partner, the silent, hairless, hulking, surprisingly placid giant who, when stabbed, does not bleed . . . and who goes by but one appellation: The Somnambulist.
On a night of roiling mists and long shadows, in a corner of the city where only the most foolhardy will deign to tread, a rather disreputable actor meets his end in a most bizarre and terrible fashion. Baffled, the police turn once again in the direction of Edward Moon--who will always welcome such assignments as an escape from ennui. And, in fact, he leads the officers to a murderer rather quickly. Perhaps too quickly. For these are strange, strange times in England, with the strangest of sorts prowling London's dank underbelly: sinister circus performers, freakishly deformed prostitutes, sadistic grown killers in schoolboy attire, a human fly, a man who lives backwards. And nothing is precisely as it seems.
Which should be no surprise to Moon, whose life and livelihood consists entirely of the illusionary, the unexpected, the seemingly impossible. Yet what is to follow will shatter his increasingly tenuous grasp on reality--as death follows death follows death in the dastardly pursuit of poetry, freedom, utopia . . . and Love, Love, Love, and Love.
Remember the name Jonathan Barnes, for, with "The Somnambulist," he has burst upon the literary scene with a breathtaking and brilliant, frightening and hilarious, dark invention that recalls Neil Gaiman, Susanna Clarke, and Clive Barker at their grimly fantastical best . . . with more than a pinch of Carl Hiaasen-esque outrageousness stirred into the demonically delicious brew.
Read on . . . and be astonished.
Series
2 primary booksDomino Men is a 2-book series with 2 primary works first released in 2007 with contributions by Jonathan Barnes.
Reviews with the most likes.
I read this book primarily because it was the only one I had available while camping, and I once went hiking in the rain because it bored me so much. There were almost no redeeming characteristics about it; plot, characters, prose, al were uninteresting to me. It's the sort of book that winks at you a lot, taking pride in its own cleverness, except there is none. In short: I did not like this one bit.
The Somnambulist follows the adventures of Edward Moon, magician and detective, and his partner, the mute Somnambulist, as they attempt to solve a series of mysteries in Victorian London. [return][return]The book has its good points. I enjoyed the dark sense of humor in which it is narrated. Barnes effectively conveys the feel of a grim turn-of-the-century London. Many characters were in some way bizarre and unlikable, and I found them all the more interesting for it. Overall, I liked the tone and the writing. [return][return]I enjoyed the first part of the book much more than the ending, which seemed to fall apart, as if the author had lost his way. Once we discover the identity of the narrator, the plot becomes convoluted. A disappointment in a book that began promisingly. [return][return]Promotional materials liken this book to Susanna Clarke and Neil Gaiman. I didn't find that to be the case, although The Somnambulist features two characters who could be taken for pale imitations of Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar from Gaiman's Neverwhere. Read Neverwhere for the vastly superior versions.
This book starts out with a warning: “Be warned. This book has no literary merit whatsoever. It is a lurid piece of nonsense, convoluted, implausible, peopled by unconvincing characters, written in drearily pedestrian prose, frequently ridiculous and willfully bizarre. Needless to say, I doubt you'll believe a word of it.”
I really should have listened to it, because that's a good description. I kept reading - making it to roughly the 2/3 mark - because I kept expecting it to get better, kept expecting it to live up to the glowing blurbs on the back cover. Finally I just gave up.
