The Somnambulist (original 2007; edition 2008)

Is Gothic-Fantasy-Comedy-Mystery-Insanity a sub-genre? It is now. If I have any complaint about this book, I thought the main character Edward Moon was a tiny bit uneven--some of his dialogue and off-the-cuff comments seemed a little out of character at times. However, I'm nitpicking.If for no other reason, read this for Boon and Hawker, the two greatest new characters I've read in a long time.I would probably give this a 9 if it were 1-10, or a 4.5, but close enough. Great fun! Can't wait to read his current release, [b:Domino Men|2935819|The Domino Men|Jonathan Barnes|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/516A+QM13kL._SL75_.jpg|3320671]. ( )

Can you say "Somnambulist"? I couldn't at first (in fact, my tongue is still tripping over it). So finally I decided that I needed to choose this book off my shelves and start reading it.

The very first chapter set the mood, the tone and had me eagerly devouring the story. That doesn't happen very often - well, not often enough.

The Somnambulist is narrated by an unnamed individual and tells the story of Edward Moon and the strange creature that is the Somnambulist. Much akin to stories by Poe and Doyle, the adventures that these two embark on are dark, filled with mysterious circumstances and - to add a little flavor - a touch of the insanely unreal.

Jonathan Barnes did a fantastic job with a very slow, intricately woven story. Just when I would feel my attention begin to wander, the narrator would reach through the pages and snap me back to attention with small tidbits of information, just enough to get my curiosity fired up again. And I wish I could say the book was fast-paced, but for a book of this type, this kind of story, it wouldn't have fit.

Still.. I think the book would have been a bit better had the length been whittled down a bit. It seemed unnaturally long for the actual page count.

Final verdict though? Entertaining, different, had me laughing in parts and gasping in others and provided me with quite a bit of Sunday afternoon diversion. ( )

A very strange book. In the end, I didn't really like it. Mainly the story of Edward Moon, and illusionist and sometime-detective, in a largely fictitious Victorian London. Moon owns his own theatre, and puts on his act nightly. The climax of the act is when his assistant, the giant and mute Somnambulist comes on stage, and Moon stabs him multiple times with real swords without harming him. The origins of this odd specimen are never explained, though Moon seems to have some knowledge. Moon is asked to investigate the apparent suicide of an unlikely young man. Impossible supernatural things happen....Moon wanders around....some of his past catches up with him...and in the end, I was just as in the dark as ever.

A very enjoyable, if somewhat conflicted book. For me this has been one of the few true page turners I've read in awhile, though the ending fell a little flat.

More than anything I think I enjoyed the overall atmosphere the author created, I felt I was in the same world as the characters and empathized and grew to, well care is to strong a word, sympathies with them perhaps?

Very few if any of the characters were truly likable, but they were all interesting and felt real and fleshed out and I wanted to find out more about them and what happened to them.

The story was, until the end, fascinated and had me excited to read more of it, I stayed up way to late on more than one night to read just a little more.

My only complaints are that in some cases the author seemed to used cruder, grotesque imagery and characters for what felt like it's own sake or to be shocking than because the story truly called for it. At those times I found myself pulled out of the story and had to work to get back in.

And the ending. It fell flat. Very flat. It felt like plot points were added on at the last minuet to help tie things up quicker, important points were just dropped and the ending was rushed.

I don't always expect all plot points to be resolved, but some important ones should. Just who or what was The Somnambulist as an example? That is never addressed nor his real end, and it felt like a cheat.

Overall though, it was one of the more entertaining books I've read in a while and I am looking forward to the next one. ( )

Good book. A little hard to follow sometimes, but pretty engaging nonetheless. ( )

Edward Moon, a famous magician who is past the height of his fame, and his hulking sidekick, the somnabulist, are driven to take up detecting once again as London is on the brink of destruction. This odd story reminded me of bits of Conan Doyle and bits of Gaiman and bits of Chabon and bits of a variety of other writers stuck together in a patchwork to make a whole. Parts of it were pretty wonderful, parts of it were clear borrowings from other writers. I liked it well enough to finish although it made no sense at the end ( )

An entertaining read, but the supernatural aspects are unexplained and unpredictable and therefore don't add to the suspense or interest as much as they should. Pretty grotesque in places, too. ( )

I honestly don't know what to make of this. Suffice it to say, I liked the narrative writing style. From first person to the third person, until there's a twist. Everything that happened was surreal and I wondered why it was titled as such, when it's clear Edward Moon was the main character, the story was about him together with the Somnambulist.

I admit I thought I was going to read some historical fantasy, and they could be termed as such. Mystery, yes and while I thought I had it all figured out, I found myself still wondering what everything is all about. I liked the humor, and the violence is not for the faint of heart. Just a bit of warning, while the whole novel is about Edward Moon's investigative skills, the horrible and morbid events are in the latter part of the book. Some idea of twisted cleansing took a lot of lives. I liked the vividness of the description, one could easily picture the characters. Jonathan Barnes's imagery was really effective. ( )

I came across this title in the lists of Secret Histories and Alternative Histories, genres which at their best are excellent but when mundane can be quite repellent. Not that The Somnambulist is repellent by any means, just that it is far from excellent and I was very disappointed.

Instead of reviewing the book on its own merits, other writers insist on comparing the work to the films The Prestige and The Illusionist, and to Gaiman's Neverwhere, to Clarke's Strange & Morrell and - inevitably - to Dickens and Conan Doyle. Completely unfair and a worrying need on the part of critics to pigeon-hole. I've also seen the term Steam-punk mentioned and doubt even that applies since the technology here bears little resemblance to that in say The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters. No, Somnambulist should be judged by its own merits and without a lot of comparisons being thrust forward to mislead potential readers.

Magician Edward Moon lives underneath his gheatre and shares a room with his stage partner, a mute giant called The somnambulist, sharing a bunk bed [but nothing of a carnal nature] with him. Once feted by society for his feats of detection as much as those of legerdemain, he has fallen from favour after disgracing himself in the Clapham case.

Like Holmes, Moon gets bored when not stimulated: Unlike the cocaine fiend of Baker Street, his tastes are altogether more pervese and socially unacceptable and he destresses by visiting a brothel devoted soley to freaks, pinheads, bearded ladies, seal girls and other grotesques.

He is on good terms with the police and his friend Inspector Merryweather of Scotland Yard is quick to call him in to assist with any bizarre crime so when a nude man is found at the base of a tower Moon is soon on the scene. He is less keen however to help out when approached by an albino who represents a mysterious secret government agency known only as The Directorate, whose headquarters lie deep under a Chinese Butchers shop in Limehouse.

Moon visits a psychic for help: although Madame Innocentia is obviously a fraud in most resepcts, Moon suspects she is telling the truth when she warns of an imminent danger facing the city; he also visits Barabas, a monster in Newgate Prison, on death row, and yet strangely knowledgeable and with some mysterious tie to the magician.

When another man is thrown to his death from the same tower, Moon manages to reach the wretch before he expires, and is warned to return home: too late though, the albino has burned down the theatre, his home, leaving him with little alternative but to accept the hospitality of the Directorate in return for helping the organisation save the city.

The above will give some idea of the tone of the book and what can be expected of it and the chracters. Let me just add the name Samuel Coleridge, and the phrase Pantocrasy and this review will be nearly complete. yes, I was disappointed, but probably only because my expectations had been rased. By and large this is an enjoyable although unengaging book, fairly atmospheric and entertaining with some amusing quirks of character [the Somnambulist for example drinks only milk but he does inbibe enormous quantities of it] and several rather interesting bits and pieces about the City of London. I'm amazed Christopher Fowler's name was not mentioned as well. ( )

Not bad if considered as a joke pastiche of 19th/early 20th century literature complete with names cribbed (ha, since Thomas Cribb is a character) from Dickens (Dedlock and Skimpole, and an unnamed but obvious Tiny Tim). Add a dash of Doyle and a pinch of steampunk and you'll end up with The Somnambulist. ( )

I wanted to like this book and its characters. I wanted to be swept up in the mystery and adventure and carried away into the story. It didn't deliver. I can't even say that I enjoyed reading it--I was interested enough to find out what happened next but mostly, I wanted done with it. I didn't even like any of the characters (always a bad sign). It took forever for the story to actually get to the point, after meandering around doing nothing for some 100+ pages. Then it got gory and gross. The plot was thin and flimsy and all the set-dressing in the world couldn't make up for it.

Here's my recommendation: read Neil Gaiman instead. Neverwhere is everything that The Somnambulist is not. ( )

If a novel or any other text begins with: "You will be highly disappointed with the quality of this work", then two things happen tend to happen. First of all you will most likely be disappointed with the quality of the work and second you will start to doubt the confidence of the author in his own writing skills. The intended effect 'the book is so amazing that adding this sentence will make it even more wondrous' will not happen since all the reader remembers is 'you will be highly disappointed'. The novel The Somnambulist does just this and more. As a reader you are immediately told that the narrator will tell a lie at least once in the coming chapters. Does this truly setup a novel well? Or is it a plot device intended to make sure the big plot twist was already announced and the author can go: see, told you so. Readers usually have no problem gauging the confidence and abilities of an author, we do not have to be explicitly told. Usually mechanisms like the ones discussed here are used by those who are not sure their intended effect will come over and they add insurance in case it doesn't. Why then is this author so unsure about this novel's effect? Surely he has plenty of knowledge and experience, he is after all an Oxford graduate, which we know by reading the back flap of the hardcover edition. A critical piece of information I'm sure.

We follow the adventures of a dubious protagonist by the name of Edward Moon who owns and runs an cabinet of curiosities theater in which he works as an illusionist together with a strange man known to the readers for most of the book as 'The Somnambulist'. Immediately in the beginning of the novel the author draws a parallel with Sherlock Holmes, since in the past Edward Moon, the main character, has solved many complicated criminal cases. Conan Doyle who wrote the Holmes novels understood readers very well, he wasn't unsure about his prose, something we can't say about Jonathan Barnes the author. Doyle used Dr. Watson as an instrument of narration. We saw the world through his eyes, which made the eccentric behavior of Holmes digestible, understandable and most of all entertaining. Edward Moon has the Somnambulist, who in a lot of ways plays the same role, except he doesn't speak. Perhaps a joke on Doyle by Barnes?

If we forgive this misplaced sense of literary humor, we are still left with some very bad character decisions, some major plot holes and a story that is so full of itself that it makes for some difficult reading at times. Holmes would frequently analyze a situation, clarify deep mysteries and most of the time baffle us with amazing feats of detection and deduction. Edward Moon does this just once and feebly at best. Moon later on seems to have lost all his deduction abilities to such extend that he doesn't even recognize his own sister who is sitting next to him in a disguise. Hard to believe for someone who used to be a celebrated sleuth. Any of this odd behavior can not be explained by a later major plot twist which I will not reveal here for those still interested in reading the book. Needless to say from reader's perspective after the twist, the behavior of Moon would still seem suspect to say the least. Even if we take into account that the narrator already told us he would lie. Why?

Three quarters through the book the perspective of the reader changes and we're now reading the story first person perspective through the eyes of Moon's nemesis. Think Moriarty, except less brilliant and not as interesting. If one wants to paint oneself a master of criminal achievements, wouldn't it make sense to make the enemy you just defeated the best there ever lived? Wouldn't you want to ensure that you did not portray your nemesis as an incompetent bungler? Instead, Moon is depicted as someone who bungles from one disaster into another. Through one adventure after another Moon follows a trail of hints and suggestions instead of clues and signs, a character trait that can not be explained by either Moon's nemesis' opinion or the fact that Moon has lost his powers of criminal deduction at his present age.

Besides the many strange decisions in storytelling, the author takes odd liberal allowances for tone of voice. I'm not by any means an expert in Victorian historical fiction, but I'm fairly certain the people living on the streets of 19th century London did not use words like 'prolly', which is better placed in good contemporary chick-lit.

Most reviews I've read state something like "I kept reading for some reason but didn't really like the book, but I could not explain why". I hope to have explained some of the uneasiness readers might have. The novel has some interesting descriptions of people and places, but not enough to give it a good rating. ( )

This book was an oddity and it was just odd enough to keep me reading to see where the author was going with the story and characters but when I finished it, it just felt somewhat flat to me. I envision this as being a good family read: it's mature enough to hold parents' attention yet still age-appropriate, interesting and somewhat challenging for some teenagers. ( )

This was an interesting book. I really enjoyed it most of the way through. There was something about it that kept me reading and made this hard to put down. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what that thing was though.

However, despite a twist I was not expecting towards the end, though it made complete sense when it happened, I ended the book feeling somehow incomplete. So many unanswered questions, so many threads left hanging that I’m dying for a sequel that will explain it all. Yet that mystery is what intrigued me about this story I think. Great read, highly recommend, but expect to be left wanting for more when you’re finished. ( )

First, I have to admit that I did not read this book. I managed to wade through the first couple of chapters and then gave up on it. It's dark, grim and scattered. I found the writing at times hard to follow or visualize, and at other times too graphic for my tastes.

I won a copy of this through the Library Thing early review program. The blurb that caused me to click on "request it now" for this book compared the writing style to Susanna Clarke and Neil Gaiman. I certainly didn't think this was a valid comparison. If anything I thought it was more similar to Caleb Carr's The Alienist. ( )

My dear reader, I must forewarn you before it becomes too late. Before you have stumbled into a morass of inane literary criticism from which you can not extricate yourself. This review is offensive, insipid and completely devoid of intelligence. It has no value, no critical merit; it is the dung of God’s lowest creature. Please dear reader, heed my warning. Quickly shut your eyes, plunge these misguided ramblings into the fire, and bask in your salvation. Lift your arms to the sky and let the warm light of Our Savior fill your heart.

For the strong-willed fools, or the criminally insane, who shall persevere in reading this missive, I only ask you of one thing. If women or children are in the room as you read this, ask them politely to leave. Let their souls remain innocent and playful, like nymphs splashing and cavorting in the shallows of Lake Edersee. Some discussions are best left for the company of gentlemen, not because of their sternness of character, but rather because of the utter lack of common sense which plagues the masculine gender. Stupidity is our saving grace.

For those foolhardy enough to continue, I fervently pray for you. My only solace is that my nonsensical blabbering will end shortly, which hopefully will limit the terrible scarring done to your soul. If however you wish damage onto my person after reading this letter, pray I remind you that you’ve been warned.

Where to begin? I daresay, the beginning. Utterly cliché, I admit, but you have been warned of the lacking nature of your narrator, of the utter drivel that would spew forth from my quill. Do you now comprehend the lowness of my character? There is still time to stop and turn away; salvation beckons, grab her hand.

We have only just reached the beginning and already I digress. It will likely not be the last time, fair reader. (I shall attempt to keep them to a minimum, though.)

Now let us take The Somnambulist. I speak here of the book, and not the inscrutable man for whom this work was named; I shall talk of him shortly in good time. This literary oddity, authored by a Mssr. Jonathan Barnes, lately a resident of London (whether he is housed upon a ward or not, I could not tell you, dear reader), is disgustedly entertaining, a pleasure I’m reluctant to admit, for polite society would likely view this work as twisted. Mssr. Barnes possesses an incredibly vivid imagination; in fact, it is a rather queer imagination, one which makes me question whether Mssr. Barnes is a gentleman of respectable standing. I do not wish to impugn his reputation (which by all accounts is sterling), but he writes of fantastical (and disreputable) things in which most gentleman would not be so well versed. To wit, in this literary excursion there is most hideous murder, there are worshippers of false idols, and there is (I shudder to even write these words; may Our Savior forgive me) a man who has congress with bearded ladies. (I shall pause why you regain your composure.)

That man happens to be conjurer Edward Moon, a man of extraordinary talents; a man with a mind so shrewd he’s able to unravel the most confounding mysteries. The conundrum is but a child’s toy to him. But despite these unrivaled gifts, Edward would never succeed without his loyal confidante and friend, the impervious Somnambulist. What type of being the Somnambulist is I dare not speculate (however, I sincerely doubt he is a man), for he can receive great violence on his person and suffer no ill effects. Stab him with a sword, pierce his heart, yet he does not bleed. I could proclaim witchcraft at this point, throw up my hands in supplication and pray for forgiveness, but even Mssr. Barnes would not promote such evil arts in a book made generally available (no Englishman would, it’s unfathomable.)

Soon, dear reader, the most depraved murder is committed, a man is thrown to his death from a tower; the villain who perpetrated this foul, dark act vanishes without a trace. The constabulary is confounded, witchcraft may be assumed, so they turn to Edward Moon and the able-bodied Somnambulist in their desperation. Naturally Moon employs his prodigious talents for the good of the state; he is not a rapscallion or degenerate (unlike the characters in those tasteless bodice-rippers penned by Madam Jane Austen. For shame Madam. My only solace is her works will be forgotten in ten years.) However during the course of his investigation Moon discovers a plot most insidious, one that threatens the very pinnacle of civilization, our fair city, London (Pray do not claim this to our prodigal colonists for they will vociferously disagree with this fact, being the obnoxious and ungrateful savages they are. America. Mark my words, in twenty years, they will come back, hat in hand, to the Empire.)

Mssr. Barnes writes with tremendous vigor and aplomb, crafting an entertaining story, despite some low subject matter. The language wonderfully approximates a faux Victorian style, complete with clever asides and a conversing narrator. Mssr. Barnes, though, does write situations which seem incongruous and mind-boggling, almost to the point of surrealism. (Please, this is England Mssr. Barnes, leave the –isms to the French.) Often, as I read, the narrative struck me as odd for the sake of being odd.

The first two acts of The Somnambulist are quite fetching; I’m wary to admit, I even guffawed occasionally; it is the third act where I felt the need to walk out of the theater, in a slightly indignant huff. Mssr. Barnes’s hand at this point is too evident, the narrative becoming too contrived. Only our Lord’s hand should wield such power. I found myself greatly disappointed in the outcome, much like taking spirits with the gentlemen after a fine dinner, only to discover the conversation insipid and dull. With a heavy heart, I write these words: the ending, gold in hand, wouldn’t have even pleased one of our city’s notoriously undiscriminating harlots. (Being a proper gentleman who does not fraternize with these unseemly creatures, I could never validate this claim.)

Though a sinful deviant, Edward Moon is a wonderfully intriguing study, a man who I’d love to share a cigar and snifter of brandy with as he regaled me with his incredible adventures. The Somnambulist, though, was an utter mystery to me; one I craved more of throughout the course of the narrative. Moon’s sister was, unfortunately, nothing more than a superficial plot device, never offering any enlightenment of her brother’s soul.

Mssr. Barnes displays great promise, (For those who claim I am predisposed to my countrymen, I would say this even if Mssr. Barnes was a repugnant American), a vivid imagination, and a pleasing writing style. But like the tragedies of master playwright Shakespeare, events get messy in the third act. However, unlike the tragedies of master playwright Shakespeare, the third act is unfortunately disappointing.

Final Grade: 67 out of 100 ( )

Crawling with human and animal vermin both strange and wonderful, into warrens of London's underbelly tunnels, and topside through clouded dens of opium filled dark alleys, Jonathan Barnes takes the reader into the arcane and grotesque.

The author does not paint a monochrone picture in the Somnambulist. He offers us a kaleidoscope of colorful Victorian London inhabitants both good and evil. There is no reality here, this is an England of fantasy, nothing and no one is solid, reliable or tangible. Not in the sense we are used to anyway.

Blurry with the thickness of London fog, within the stinking miasma, from page one Barnes takes us on a journey amongst a freak show cast of characters both hideous and hilarious. The reader will not forget them for a very long time to come. From the start to the finish, questions both mysterious an curious conjur up a world of fantastic abominations of nature. We find background players of bearded ladies, pink-eyed albinos, time travelers, con men, murderers, monsters, street bums of prophecy, ladies with crystal balls, and madams of a redlight nature. This beautiful yet bizarre circus-like atmosphere stirs together a macabre conconction of intriquing madness. Yes, madness is the only word for The Somnabulist, marvelous, ingenious madness!

Lurking within these dark shadows, under the bloothirsty cover of night where no one is safe, we have the two stars of this imaginative novel, Edward Moon and his sidekick The Somnambulist. Most nights Edward and the Somnambulist are performing their magic act at the Theatre of Marvels. But as the curtain opens, Mr. Moon is a bit of a washed up has-been and the time of dazzling his audience has come to an end. But the reader need not worry themselves about Mr. Moon's future, this inventive duo have better things taking up their time. In between acts of illusion, Mr. Moon and his 8 foot giant assistant have a rather unusual hobby helping Scotland Yard solve dastardly and devious crimes. They are found scampering and scurrying through the gloom and grime, desperate to uncover the many cryptic puzzles and pieces leading to London's impending doom.

Murder is afoot in London, mischief and mayhem abound. Moon and the Somnambulist are called on to solve a murder that is highly out of the ordinary, they soon find that the city around them is not what it seems, and that their known world has suddenly gone quite askew.

If you are a reader that wants everything that happens in a book to make sense, if you are a reader who needs reality and resolvement, this book is not for you. Reading The Somnabulist will require incredible "out of the box" thinking. What you believe is transparant, becomes opaque. Certainty becomes an illusion, unanswered questions fall through crevices lost forever. You will need to go with the flow, enjoy the ride, put the highest level of your imagination to the test. This book seeps, drips, and oozes with fantastical slime and sinister derring-do that I promise will leave you breathless, puzzled, and in awe, of this creative blockbuster debut from the promising new novelist Jonathan Barnes. ( )

I'm not the sort of person who reviews a book I haven't read. Still, I'm typing these words to fulfill a technical obligation to review a "book" that I received through the LibraryThing Early Reviewer program. So, here's the thing. What I received in the mail wasn't a book. It was a bound typescript, not formatted for publication. As such, it idled among my papers, while I read other books. I work as an editor, and to "win" a rough-looking typescript struck me as rather a busman's holiday.

As I saw the lackluster reviews from other early reviewers come across my screen, I got even less interested. Now, having moved apartments in the interim, I can't even say where the damned thing has got to. If I wanted to read the book, I'd go check it out of the public library. But the experience soured me, and I don't.

Postscript: These remarks should not be taken as any sort of indictment of the LT Early Reviewer program, which is great.

I read some other reviews where people complained that the ending was too far out in fantasy land...but I have to disagree. Actually, I can't disagree with that precisely, instead it's more about highlighting the ending as too fantastic. The whole novel was way out there. But that's not a bad thing. I thoroughly enjoyed the book and maybe it's just the fact that I read [The Good Thief] and [Fragile Things] recently, but I felt there were close similarities with those works. For the first, Gibson's and Tinti's character choices and development were both well-done, but oddly similar. Gibson also echoes Gaiman's dark gothic atmosphere well in this novel.

In all, if you've read and enjoyed Tinti or Gaiman, you'll probably enjoy this book. ( )

The story of magician/detective Edward Moon and his nearly indestructible companion, the Somnabulist. They are hired to investigate a bizarre murder and in the course of that investigation find a plot to bring down the entire city of London. The whole books is pretty odd. It seems as if the reader has picked up the book in the middle (or near the end) of a series. Frequent references are made to Moon's previous cases and characters are brought in that there is an unexplained background with. In spite of that, I really enjoyed the book. It is full of eccentric characters and rich atmosphere. I recommend it! ( )

The narrator of this tale is as amusing and enigmatic as he is self-effacing. He tells us the tale of one Edward Moon, a magician and detective, and his assistant, The Somnambulist, who can be run through with swords yet does not bleed. We never learn why The Somnambulist is called this and the narrator doesn't seem to care. This is just one of many "implausible" things that we are expected to accept in this bizarre tale. Moon is bored and so agrees to join a murder investigation after he is approached by Inspector Merryweather of Scotland Yard. Strangely, he is propositioned at the same time by a secret government agency, The Directorate, and is asked to figure out the origins of a mysterious plot against all of London. It turns out that the murder is the tip of the iceberg in a wholly bizarre scheme to bring down the city.

This book succeeds because of the light way in which it was written. It's true that most of it is strange and unbelievable but it doesn't attempt to be serious and dark. It was written as entertainment and it is, in fact, highly entertaining. It's one of those books that you start casting for the movie in your head while you are reading it.

http://webereading.com/2009/09/be-warned.html ( )

I snagged this book through the LibraryThing Early Reviews Program, and I was terribly excited to be receiving a copy. The ER blurb compared the style of The Somnambulist to the style found in Neil Gaiman's books. I'm a big fan of Gaiman, and I did not see a great deal of similarity upon reading the book.

I have found Gaiman's books to be rich and lush, with incredibly multifaceted characters that make me wish to keep reading about them long after the plot of the book has concluded. The Somnambulist was nowhere near like this. The main characters were irritating (Edward Moon) and underused (the Somnambulist). Secondary characters would be introduced for a few chapters, then disappear for two-thirds of the book, only to be brought back briefly as the tail-end of the plot wrapped. I didn't find the plot to be interesting-enough on its own merit to carry the book along, and I also found the writing style to be too melodramatic for my tastes.

The author, Jonathan Barnes, has a gift for imagery, but he doesn't seem able to yet use this talent to his best advantage. Certain scenes in this book (specifically regarding the odd folk and carnivale members) were delightful and vivid, but they failed at supporting the entire book. This is a first novel for Barnes, and I'm hoping his story-telling skills will improve with some polishing. I'd be interested in reading a second book of his, but not one that would sequel The Somnambulist. ( )

http://thebookwormslibrary.com/?p=34 ( )

Jonathan Barnes shows a quirky sensibility in this novel. His grasp of dialogue, description, and plot are sound, and the plethora of unusual details he uses conveys a good grasp of Victorian-era history. The character of Edward Moon is certainly distinctive, and much different from the usual plague of werewolf cops, vampire lords, and wizard P.I.s in the urban fantasies I've been reading lately. I enjoyed this novel so much that I ended up buying the sequel to it, "The Domino Men", last week. ( )

Let me make it perfectly clear, this is not a book you should approach lightly. It is a puzzling mixture of mystery, suspense, and a touch of Victorian horror story mixed in a jumble of parts. At first it seems that all these qualities might make an exceedingly good tale, but alas it does not. The author tells the story of Edward Moon, magician and part time detective and his companion, the Somnambulist, who together are called upon to solve a series of murders and in so doing save London from destruction. The author tries to pay homage to past writers and their creations ranging from Sherlock Holmes to Frankenstein. I felt the author was being a bit too cute with the reader, going so far as to tell us that he would at times lie and mislead the reader, which he does. ( )