Stately homes for the lords, croquet lawns, village greens

Michael Cox's The Meaning of Night is fantastic. It mixes the Victorian novel with the noir crime thriller to make for a completely engrossing reading experience.

While the story never leaves England, it has an epic feel. It follows the cursed life of Edward Glyver from birth in Dorset to troubled academic career to fixer for a London law firm. The tortuous path allows Cox to describe a wide range of English scenes from the hellish London to the idyllic Evenwood, home to Glyver's greatest enemy.

Glyver is driven, to the point of madness, to take revenge on the one who caused all of his failures and setbacks in life. Glyver is no hero. In the first pages of the book, he murders an innocent so that he can be ready when it counts. While he pines for a high born love, he has a prostitute lover, and also sleeps with the lower rent hookers. He drinks to the point of passing out in ditches and is a frequent user of opium. And there is more.

Astoundingly, Cox has made this unlovable rogue largely sympathetic. Part of it is his eloquence, but it also the sense of righteousness he brings to his quest for vengeance. As we learn more of what his enemy has done, we become more and more invested in his story and how he might find redemption. While those well-read in the genres are likely to spot the plot twists, the story is so fast paced and well described, you won't care. Few will see how nearly everything mentioned eventually ties back into the main story.

I particularly liked how Cox paints a wide English canvas without building up the overlong subplots that weigh down Victorians like Trollope and Dickens. We see Eton, the dark part of London, the law offices, Dorset and country life without having to wade through excessive detail and oceans of characters. Those looking for the Dickensian groteques will delight in the likes of Fordyce Jukes, Glyver's downstairs neighbor and co-worker and source of constant irritation.

Amidst all of this, there is a question (SPOILER) as to how reliable Glyver actually is. He is clearly a paranoid maniac, but is he an Ahab or is he Verbal Kint? There are odd little elements throughout that might sway your opinion, I remain uncertain. (/SPOILER.)

This book has me all fired up for the unread Victorian homages on my shelves. Fingersmith and the Crimson Petal and the White, here I come.