Midnight Riot by Ben Aaronovitch
I am a big fan of Librarything.com, and particularly their Early Reviewer program. I have found quite a few good, new or at least new-to-me, authors and books that way. Most recently I was introduced to Midnight Riot by Ben Aaronovitch. It's called Rivers of London in the UK. OMG, where to start! Okay, first it's a mash-up of genres, which is a thing I happen to love. Purists, beware. If you don't want your police procedurals mixed with urban fantasy, this may not be for you. Or it might, because I didn't find that either genre suffered for the presence of the other, which is the danger with a mash-up. And when I say urban fantasy, I don't mean the main character is a walking candy store in leather low-rise pants and big black boots with a smart mouth who is getting it on with her preferred gender of the local paranormal population, as seems so often to be the case. No, no no. In this case the main character is Peter Grant, a London constable. He does have a smart mouth, but mostly he is just plain smart, if a little too easily distracted. He is also young, bi-racial, and curious. In the opening of the book, Peter has a conversation with a ghost who is the only eye-witness to a murder, the scene of which Peter is stuck guarding in the freezing pre-dawn hours. Having no idea that ghosts or anything else supernatural is real until that moment, Peter is a bit surprised. This all leads, in ways that would be spoiler city if I were to explain, to Peter becoming apprenticed to the last wizard in England, and a fun new series.
The plot is good, the mystery is good, the pacing is good, the magic system is better than good, but it is the characters that made me love this book. I might not have bother to write about it though, except for the fact that Aaronovitch chose to make Peter Grant bi-racial, and then demonstrated that he clearly knows something about black folks, black women in particular, and immigrant populations, especially the second and later generations. Here's Peter talking to the (white) man who is the last wizard in England:
"How do you become a wizard?" I asked.
Nightingale shook his head. "It's not like joining CID," he said.
"You surprise me," I said. "What is it like?"
"It's an apprenticeship," he said. "A commitment, to the craft, to me, and to your country."
"Do I have to call you Sifu?" That got me a smile at least.
"No," said Nightingale, "You have to call me Master."
"Master?"
"That's the tradition," said Nightingale.
I said the word in my head and it kept on coming out massa.
"Couldn't I call you Inspector instead?"
That's when I began to think there might be something more here than just an entertaining read.
I think it says something about the diaspora, that never having set foot in London outside of a transfer between terminals in Heathrow, I immediately identified with or recognized as familiar several of his characters, just from his description of their homes or clothing. Once they started talking, it was a done deal. Other people closer to the populations in question may find things they disagree with, but I mostly just found myself wondering who this Aaronovitch guy is. I think this section here was where I completely relaxed about the fact that this white guy was writing about us, and just sank into the story without bracing for a mis-step. Peter has just pissed off a black woman, mostly inadvertently:
She'd gone very quiet and that was not a good sign. I'd seen that quiet before, on my mum and on the face of a woman whose brother had just been knocked down by a drunk driver. People are conditioned by the media to think that black women are all shouting and head shaking and girlfriending and "oh no you didn't" and if they're not sassy, then they're dignified and down-trodden and soldiering on and "I don't understand why folks just can't get along." But if you see a woman go still the way Tyburn did, the eyes bright, the lips straight, and the face as still as a death mask, you have made an enemy for life, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred.
Do not stand around and try to talk about it; trust me, it won't end well.
Yes indeed. And he did not let me down at all. I don't want to spoil more than I have, so I won't quote anymore, but good stuff is all throughout.
I am looking to get my hands on book 2, Moon Over Soho, as soon as possible, and there's a third coming out in November, I believe.
x-posted
The plot is good, the mystery is good, the pacing is good, the magic system is better than good, but it is the characters that made me love this book. I might not have bother to write about it though, except for the fact that Aaronovitch chose to make Peter Grant bi-racial, and then demonstrated that he clearly knows something about black folks, black women in particular, and immigrant populations, especially the second and later generations. Here's Peter talking to the (white) man who is the last wizard in England:
"How do you become a wizard?" I asked.
Nightingale shook his head. "It's not like joining CID," he said.
"You surprise me," I said. "What is it like?"
"It's an apprenticeship," he said. "A commitment, to the craft, to me, and to your country."
"Do I have to call you Sifu?" That got me a smile at least.
"No," said Nightingale, "You have to call me Master."
"Master?"
"That's the tradition," said Nightingale.
I said the word in my head and it kept on coming out massa.
"Couldn't I call you Inspector instead?"
That's when I began to think there might be something more here than just an entertaining read.
I think it says something about the diaspora, that never having set foot in London outside of a transfer between terminals in Heathrow, I immediately identified with or recognized as familiar several of his characters, just from his description of their homes or clothing. Once they started talking, it was a done deal. Other people closer to the populations in question may find things they disagree with, but I mostly just found myself wondering who this Aaronovitch guy is. I think this section here was where I completely relaxed about the fact that this white guy was writing about us, and just sank into the story without bracing for a mis-step. Peter has just pissed off a black woman, mostly inadvertently:
She'd gone very quiet and that was not a good sign. I'd seen that quiet before, on my mum and on the face of a woman whose brother had just been knocked down by a drunk driver. People are conditioned by the media to think that black women are all shouting and head shaking and girlfriending and "oh no you didn't" and if they're not sassy, then they're dignified and down-trodden and soldiering on and "I don't understand why folks just can't get along." But if you see a woman go still the way Tyburn did, the eyes bright, the lips straight, and the face as still as a death mask, you have made an enemy for life, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred.
Do not stand around and try to talk about it; trust me, it won't end well.
Yes indeed. And he did not let me down at all. I don't want to spoil more than I have, so I won't quote anymore, but good stuff is all throughout.
I am looking to get my hands on book 2, Moon Over Soho, as soon as possible, and there's a third coming out in November, I believe.
x-posted