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208 pages, Hardcover
First published March 28, 2023
“I just wanted to be the promised prince and heir to a magical kingdom,” he told the walls of his cell. “Is that so much? Is that bad of me? I mean, what did I do to earn this clusterfuck, precisely?”
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“He had his own problems, not least of which was discovering that not only was Underhill real, it was a bloody nightmare of epic proportions.”
“They were the usual sort of post-war kids’ stuff, born out of a world of rationing so that the young protagonists’ rewards for fighting giants or recovering stolen jewellery was often no more than a decent meal, which they were glad to get. They were ’50s nostalgia that the Baby Boom generation had grown up on, about another world that was green and magical and nice and constantly under threat by monsters both buffoonish and genuinely monstrous.”
“I don’t think you’re meant to think about magic kingdoms in terms of the physics,” Harry told her, feeling oddly proprietorial. After all, he was the heir to it all and he didn’t want people doing science to his birthright.
Harry Bodie has a famous grandmother, who wrote beloved children’s books set in the delightful world of Underhill. What if Underhill is real? What if it has been waiting decades for a promised child to visit? What if it isn’t delightful at all? And what if its denizens have run out of patience and are taking matters into their own hands?Adrian Tchaikovsky really seems at home in a dark novella, and this doesn’t disappoint. As with the other books in this series, there is dubious morality, selfish desires, and half-hearted ethical choices - in this case it’s in a fantasy-world-gone-bad in a knowing parody of the Narnia books.
“really flicking the noses of their lawyers now Magdo!”Harry is a nicely drawn mediocre antihero, and Tchaikovsky does a great job in dragging him through the plot with lacklustre motivation powered by the flickering flame of a sense of duty. He is so very human - with unremarkable levels of luck, behaviour, achievement, and inspiration. This is nicely balanced by Seitchman the (dare I say “plucky”?) sidekick, and together they get embroiled with the fairy tale sized villain of Underhill.
[He] looked at the someone and sobered up pretty much immediately. Not literally, of course, biochemistry working as it does, but a savage cocktail of other hormones overrode the worst of the drink because something in him was screaming fight or flight! and, being a sedentary middle-aged TV presenter, he just froze up and did neither.
Tall. Freakishly tall. [...] Wearing a long coat, like a flasher. Standing weirdly, every part of him was held wrong. The legs as though the man was right on the balls of his feet, and then those feet were stretched too long. Sour reek of spoilt milk. Aquiline face with a briar-patch beard and sunken eyes. Filthy, ancient, like a vagrant. Like an icon of a saint unearthed from a dig site. Looked at one way, exactly the sort of disturbed homeless man Harry would cross the street to avoid. Looked at another, an ancient king.