Veddy, veddy British..If Bryant did not have Holmesian gifts, he might not be tolerated by any modern law- enforcement agency. And in this book, when the Peculiar Crimes Unit is transferred from its turf in Bloomsbury to the tiny, compact, immensely important part of London known as the City, the unit’s new boss certainly entertains that thought. Happily, the crime at the heart of this book involves a newly buried corpse of a man who appears to have risen from his grave several days after his so-called death. The occult, the creepy, the just plain weird: this is exactly the kind of thing that ordinary detectives fob off onto the Peculiar Crimes team, if they possibly can...Bryant & May seem well aware of the world of detective fiction. They rarely mention it openly, but they have been created as sweet, fusty holdouts against pointless violence and cogitation-free thrillers, endearing throwbacks to a time when this genre was brainy and pure. They are the last of a breed and they know it. They remain exactly where they belong. Mr. Fowler has no trouble convincing readers that London is a place where the occult lives on, the dead might rise, and a detective might absently pluck a kitten out of his pocket. Their very credibility puts quaint old Bryant & May in a class of their own.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Nov 2014 00:19:44 +0000
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