James Norbury leaves his sister in the Yorkshire mansion that was his childhood home to make out for London, in search of a readership for his gloomy and laboured poetry. Before long, he is rapidly running out of money, and so accepts the offer of a room from an old university acquaintance and finds his life much improved. Moving in different social circles and inspired by love and an Oscar Wilde play, he decides to become a playwright and spends a good few months living as happy as he ever has.
Before disappearing.
His sister Charlotte, worried for his safety, follows his trail and eventually discovers a shadow of the man that was her brother. He’s been pulled into the world of the Aegolius Club, and her only help will come from a disillusioned pastor, a retired trapeze artist and a fellow Club escapee.
It’s an entertaining read, viewed mainly through the eyes of James and Charlotte, but with a few chapters from the perspective of other characters, including the notebook of a certain Augustus Mould, secretary of sorts for the Club; detailing the experiments he has undertaken. What is quite nice is the way certain character’s actions overlap, and we see things from a different perspective or from a different place entirely. It’s got a rich vein of melodrama running through the early chapters, in the style of Sarah Waters or Tracy Chevalier, and the characters are believable; even when faced with things they shouldn’t be able to cope with.
For there is a monster in the room. An unholy thing that strikes fear into the heart of anyone that wishes to review a book. There is a twist about a fifth of the way in. Normally I would not consider spoiling such a thing, and would take at least some small pains to obscuring it in the shadows or awful puns. But I feel that hiding the subject matter in this case does a great disservice to the novel. This is not some cheesy Twilight Zone situation, but a well nuanced historical novel with a paranormal flavouring. So look away now if you are faint of heart…
I’m going to say this straight off the bat – this book is about vampires. But we aren’t talking about sparkling, brooding teenagers here; these are the aloof monsters that the name used to conjure up before a decade of bland objectification. Like Anne Rice’s Theatre des Vampires, The Aegolius Club is an old society of vampires, complete with the prerequisite power struggles and rituals. As with the somewhat similar Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, the way Owen recreates an alternative version of the past with supernatural elements is witty and believable, although The Quick does not feature Clarke’s fastidious notes and dry asides. Descriptions of the city are strong and imaginative, featuring billowing smoke, dirt and grime in all its forms. I would easily recommend this to anyone looking for an atmospheric historical novel with an unusual gothic veneer.