nojojojo is right, A Madness of Angels is-- erm, not necessarily a better book than The Midnight Mayor, but meatier, more hefty, and rather more satisfying in ways that defy description and thus give rise to misleading blurbs. Its action is also easier to follow, given the 'pick off these guys' structure, until it stops being so. (Truly, Midnight Mayor is like an action film; I truly couldn't have told you what happened where and when even as I was reading it. Thus it's probably a good thing that Griffin ramps up her descriptions perhaps more than necessary: the onslaught of adjectives slows down some of the non-stop mayhem, blood-letting, and running away from badnasties.) There being, to my mind, less mayhem and blood-letting in A Madness (but quite as much running), I found myself skipping passages. Some people are never satisfied. And because I'm never satisfied, I shall continue with my nitpicks under the cut. 1. I can live without the topos of 'we need your help so we'll kidnap you, drug you, beat you up, kick in your teeth, threaten everyone near you, and then ask you to work for us.' Does anyone think this approach actually *works*?
2. It was not I who said that biting your lips till they bleed is not as easy as it sounds. I mean, try it yourself.
3. I know that immigrant culture preserves customs long after they've disappeared in the old country. Am informed that old ladies in Italy do *not* all dress in black from the moment they're widowed, but they do in Toronto. Thus the Anglo reticence and good manners of yer average WASP Torontonian may indeed have disappeared from England. I'm still a bit kerblonxed when someone in an English novel, whether Francis' or Griffin's, behaves with a bare-faced rudeness and aggression that would read like caricature if put in the mouth of an American.
But the appearance of archetypes (you know who they are) pleased me mightily in this one, and London felt rather more Londonish than in the other book. That's a bit more like it, that is.
