The Magicians and Mrs. Quent

The Magicians and Mrs. Quent by Galen M. Beckett


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
A wonderful new favorite!

The Magicians & Mrs. Quent is a fantasy pastiche of Austen and Bronte, with flourishes that seem inspired by Dickens and Lovecraft. That makes it sound like some kind of crazy patchwork quilt, but it is original and gripping.

Invernal, Altania is a magical analog to London, Britain. It is a world where eleven planets circle the sky in patterns that cause days and nights of varying lengths that are impossible to keep track of without an almanac. In class-bound, patriarchal Altania, magic is accepted historically but not deemed very relevant today. To quote the book on the state of the empire:"There was, in sum, an overall want of stability, a deficit of that most precious predictability upon which both civilization and business relied." The government is uneasy, for where seditious talk is rife, can conspiracy and rebellion be far behind?

In that setting the jewel of the story shines: Ivy, oldest of the three Lockwood sisters, seems to be the very essence of an Austenian heroine. Impoverished gentry, father mentally absent, by seeming accident she meets highborn Mr. Rafferdy, who has spent most of his twenty-five years determined to avoid all seriousness. They are deeply attracted to one another, but society dictates that they can never acknowledge this.

Then tragedy strikes, and Ivy, as all determined heroines do, seeks to save her family. This she does, oddly enough, by turning into Jane Eyre in all but name. In the Gothic second act of the book, Ivy is thrust into danger from rebels and witchery and the Wyrdwood and learns very unsettling things about herself. In the bittersweet third act, Ivy returns to Invernal and the story resumes its Austenian pattern.

Equally as engrossing is the story of Mr. Rafferdy's friend Mr. Garritt, which weaves a Dickensian thread through the book.

The book comes to an end with villainy foiled and virtue triumphant -- for now. Until we arrive at the The House on Durrow Street. Write quickly, Mr. Beckett.

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