As usual, the latest Bryant & May is equal parts frustration and fascination. The detectives themselves are if anything better than ever, with May’s romantic streak coming to the fore again. Meanwhile Bryant, who has always been erratic and prone to distraction by London's secret history, finds that as his senses fail he is coming unstuck in time, literally wandering into Victorian times or the Blitz. And their case this time takes them down to London’s artery, the Thames, with plenty of strange old facts for Bryant to get his (false) teeth into and a wonderfully enigmatic first crime which (not for the first time in this series) takes place somewhere I used to wander on work lunch breaks. Even the sledgehammer politics aren’t as irksome as they can sometimes be, precisely because the riverside is an area where capital’s crimes are so unsubtle, with new developments illicitly blocking off sections of the riverbank yet seemingly facing no consequences.
However. There remains the undigested research, which I can stomach when it’s Bryant holding forth but less so when it’s two migrants in a rickety Mediterranean boat carefully exchanging facts. That the book is set in November this year yet includes a scene in BHS is one thing (you can’t fault an author for not being precognitive in SF, let alone other genres); that the BHS in question should seem so plush, rather than the sad and shabby place that chain had been for years, is more puzzling. References to the Mayor seemed to me to imply Boris, whose term was always going to be over by now. Then there’s the odd idea that from its new skyscrapers London looks like any city (not a chance), or the puzzling reference to the UK as an island. Perhaps strangest of all, having spent the past few books building up the other staff of the Peculiar Crimes Unit, Fowler now sidelines many of them; Colin, Meera and Fraternity rate barely a mention until the book is halfway done. And compared to The Burning Man, where Bryant’s mental decline was quite affecting, here somehow one knows that it can’t really be the end for him – perhaps because there are so many clues to the nature of the problem.
And yet, for all those complaints, this is the 14th Bryant & May book I’ve read. And in some ways, in its fascination with London’s rivers, maybe the closest to the one where I first met them, The Water Room. They keep me coming back, and even more so now Bryant can ramble through the city’s past as well as its haunted present. Like me, perhaps like Fowler, they’re always on the edge of finally falling out of love with London, yet ultimately unable to think of anywhere to rival it. We’re all the city’s people.