You try to destroy the Earth just once and nobody lets you forget it.
In a word? Splendid! How utterly, completely, flop around in the muck-ily splendid! In "Four Horsemen" (conveniently the 4th book of this series), author Dave Turner takes us away from our previous setting of modern-day London and sets us down rather abruptly into the Victorian Age, which if you're setting your calendars should be somewhere between the 1860s and the turn of the century. I ass/u/me this was all more towards the latter as there is already mention of taking the city into the 1900s in what I suspect involved a lot of kicking and screaming on everyone's part. But I digress… AND I've seen that he says it's in fact 1874 right at the beginning... sigh, such a good opening and all for naught...
You wait one hundred and fifty years for an angry mob and two turn up at the same time.
No, in this story - if it's not already somewhat obvious by taking place decades before they were born - we do not follow Dave (the protagonist, not the author), Melanie, Gary or even Anne around. Instead, our story focuses on our more immortal players, namely the Gentlemen of Dubious Activities. Here's a clue you can use at home: these are in fact the heretofore described and much beloved Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, who in this realm are merely using a nom caché in order to go about their business relatively undisturbed and/or molested in nasty ways. Foreshadowing reigns as of course none of this will be the case, even when they rush about in the name of Her Majesty's service. No, as long as other demons including even Beezelbub (sic[k]) remain in the picture, things will not go swimmingly at all. Heck, even Archibald Christou is back for another round of shenanigans! Oh don't tell me you've already forgotten Archie! The nerve…
'There's a gang of apes throwing faeces at each other in the House of Lords.'
'Well, that's the upper classes for you…'
What Turner has in fact accomplished, whether this was his aim or not, was to bring his own universe a wee bit closer in resemblance to that most famous of cities, namely, Ankh-Morpork. While no one ambles about selling suspicious wares at cut-me-own-throat prices and we are not accosted by any University authorities (Unseen or otherwise), one can't help feeling that London - swathed in the chimney smoke and the dirtied snow of Christmas time - is doing her best to qualify for space turtle rides through the cosmos. How else would you explain having a pandimensional Chthulu-esque being appear and go on a rash of kidnappings of the cities more… mutant (?) children. It does, as 'they' say, boggle the mind!
She is the top predator crawling out from prehistory and she will devour the world in her ancient jaws. I cannot let that happen. I have tickets for the theatre next week.
Turner's writing, editing and all kinds of 'ing-ing continue to be fantastic! I am tearing through this series as if my life depended on it (mouths slowly to the camera: "help… me… PLEASE!"). The humour (note spelling) continues to be fantastically British, which is what I grew up on (with apologies to Dave Allen for lumping him into that group). And getting to know our Four Brothers ever more intimately is a bonus that I can't underline enough. Why, there's even a moment for those of you that enjoy a good weepy moment in your books, where everyone lives happily (eh…?) ever after and we all go out for ice cream! No, wait, that must be the next book… which I'm starting in five minutes…