Making time for what’s important
Afew weeks ago, I realized I’m off my game in a big way. Reading books has basically defined who I am for as many years as I can remember.
At school, I’d get my work done as soon as I could so I could get back to reading Robert Aspirin or Harry Harrison.
At college in London, I was easily identified as the guy with the canvas satchel flapping about behind me. (It was an old gas mask bag that was the perfect fit for two hardcover books and two tallboy cans of beer.)
In my professional life, as a green cub reporter, I was taken to task for reading at my desk during a slow night shift.
Tim Horton’s staff got to know me all over the city as the English guy who’d retreat to a corner with a large black (double cupped) and a book or two.
Books were everywhere and everywhen for me. I read fast and — because I was basically filling any dead time during my day with reading — I was churning through five or six books a week.
But since I made a switch in my job and moved from night shifts to a regular day shift last year, I’ve noticed my reading has decreased — a lot.
I wasn’t reading much at lunch break and by the time I got home and made supper, etc., I wasn’t in the mood or was too tired to sit back and read. It got me seriously concerned. Was I sick? Had I lost the spark? Could I get it back? Then, last month, it all got better. I credit two things with getting me back on the right track. First, my daughter, Alex. One day she asked where my copy of David Eddings’ “Pawn of Prophecy” was. This was a good thing. Not only was my daughter reminding me that she was very much following my footsteps in terms of a blossoming love of sci-fi and fantasy, she also forced me to get off my butt and rummage through the overflowing bookstacks to find one of my favourite authors.
While I was searching for the book, I came across a tonne of titles that I haven’t seen in ages. (My bookstacks are very full, haphazard and chaotic. Books can be lost forever if I’m not careful.)
I found the book and she started reading.
Naturally I had to read Eddings, too. I haven’t read his stuff in ages, and felt it was time I got to know my old friend again.
She’s still going through Book 3 of the first five-book series “The Belgariad,” while I’ve leapt ahead and have now just cracked Book 5 in the second series, “The Mallorean.”
It’s been a homecoming for me. I’ve rediscovered the joy of making time to sit down and reread an old favourite. And the pace has been good, too. I can read at my own speed, knowing I have the following books in the series ready to go.
And when I’m done that one, I have both of Eddings’ other trilogies waiting in the wings, not to mention about five other great series that I unearthed from the nether regions of the bookstack.
When your reading hits a slump, it’s good to remember that going back to old favourites is a great way to reignite the enthusiasm. So I’m good. Thanks, Alex. But the other thing that helped get me back on track with my reading habit has been the discovery of a new favourite author.
Last column, I was waxing lyrical about Ben Aaronovitch’s “Rivers of London.”
I warned you then that I was going out to track down anything else by him in this series.
Thanks to my newly rejuvenated reading frenzy, I’m happy to report I found both books in this series, “Moon Over Soho” and “Whispers Underground.” And, I’m also happy to report that they’ve both been devoured with alacrity.
I don’t know what it is about Aaronovitch, but I can now safely add him to the pile of authors to whom I am addicted.
All of the reviews of his books so far make the connection to Harry Potter. The sci-fi website i09 calls it “The perfect blend between CSI and Harry Potter.”
Others have likened it to what might have happened had Harry Potter grown up and joined the police force.
I can see why they make the connection.
These stories about police officer and apprentice wizard Peter Grant do share a similar approach to a world of magic existing alongside, but largely unnoticed by, the larger non-magical (OK, call it muggle if you want) world.
And I can see why critics make the connection — after all, Potter remains one of the best-known, A-list magic/mundane series out there.
But I have to say Aaronovitch’s style, his characters, his biting humour and the way he doesn’t shy away from a bit of gore, a bit of sex and a lot of darker, more adult themes puts this in a very different category from Potter.
In both “Moon of Soho” and “Whispers Underground,” Aaronovitch has fleshed out his view of a magic-infused London.
He has a perfect balance of magic and police investigation, wizardry and forensics.
I’ve already seen talk online of people crying out for this to be adapted into a top-notch Britain-driven TV series or mini-series. (Given Aaronovitch’s track record as a script writer for the likes of “Dr. Who,” “Blakes 7,” “Dark Knight” and “Jupiter Moon,” who knows … maybe he has plans towards this. God, I hope so.)
In “Whispers Underground,” Peter Grant and his boss, Detective Inspec- tor Thomas Nightingale — the last official wizard in England — are investigating the mysterious murder of an American exchange student who just happens to be the son of a U.S. senator.
That means that in addition to pesky spirits, the occasional ghost and some seriously dark magic, Grant and Co. are also facing the complication of having the FBI involved.
Making life even more complicated is that this crime seems to be linked to their ongoing crusade to stamp out a ring of black wizards who seem bent on deadly and nefarious pursuits.
As in the earlier books, Aaronovitch effortlessly switches gears between the various subplots, deftly layering them to create a tale that is greater than the sum of its parts.
Taken just as a whodunnit with magic, “Whispers Underground” is a damned good read.
But when you add in Aaronovitch’s flair for character and witty dialogue, it becomes distinctly unput-downable.
Biting British humour is laced through this book, making the interplay between characters wonderfully compelling and natural.
It also gives you a great insight into modern London and just how much of a cosmopolitan, multicultural hodgepodge it is.
Aaronovitch is clearly a Londoner through and through, with a fierce love of the city packed alongside an encyclopedic knowledge of its streets and squares.
I haven’t lived in London for more than 20 years, but reading this, I’m right back in the magic of the city. I can smell the distinctive whiff of the tube platform, bask in the orange glow of the London sky at night, and feel the joslting elbows of a street market.
It’s a marvellous time machine for anyone who’s ever spent time in the city and fallen under its spell.
“Whispers Underground” is another cracking good book, for all kinds of reasons.
Some of you have tweeted me that you, too, have enjoyed the books so far. Keep me posted.