Tales From the Folly by Ben Aaronovitch

Since Rivers of London was first published in 2011, the series has grown to nine novels, five novellas, and 12 graphic novels. Along the way, Aaronovitch wrote a fair number of shorter stories that were set in the world of the series; sometimes he was asked to write them, as when Waterstone’s published special editions of some of the novels, and sometimes he wrote smaller bits that were complete on their own and did not need to go into a larger work. Tales From the Folly collects a baker’s dozen of these. Six are Peter Grant stories, seven feature other characters in the leading role. They are all quite short — the longest is just over 30 pages — and three are what he calls “moments,” something “more of a mood than a story, something that will last a page or two and conjure an atmosphere.” Aaronovitch closes the collection with those three, and they make a good coda. He says he included them for completeness, but I think that they do more than that. They demonstrate one of the strengths of the series: that all of the characters are more than what gets shown on the page, that things keep happening to them when they are not the focus of the Aaronovitch’s narratives.

Aaronovitch is right that Tales From the Folly is not a good place to start reading the series. The stories are too short to give much context about the interconnected characters of his magical London, although the four that were introductions to the special Waterstone’s editions are good about whetting the appetite for a longer story. “That’s great! More, please” was my reaction to each of them. If, for some reason, you are reading this review and considering diving in but aren’t sure where to start, begin at the hilarious and enthralling beginning and enjoy the whole ride.

One of the hallmarks of the series that’s present from the start and continues all the way through to this collection is Arronovitch’s deep and specific love for London. It is a patchwork, contradictory and many-layered place. Aaronovitch can’t get enough of it, warts and all, and happily he shares that enthusiasm with his readers, as in this bit from the collection’s first story “The Home Crowd Advantage.”

Green Lanes Shopping park used to be the location of the famous Haringey Arena where, back in the old days, they used to show everything from ice hockey to the Moscow State Circus. Paul Robeson sang there in 1949 and Billy Graham launched his first British crusade. With a rich history like that there was nothing to be done except flatten it and replace it with a shopping arcade designed in the who-the-fuck-cares school of retail architecture. The result was a two-storey warehouse with a flat roof designed to maximise floor space and nothing else. The corner unit was occupied by a Costa Coffee, sandwiched between a Fitness First and Dreams: Britain’s Leading Bed Specialist. (p. 8)

Peter has been called in to said Costa to deal with a situation involving an unruly customer.

“That’s when fire came out of his hands,” said Matilda Stümpel, student and part-time barista. “His hands didn’t catch fire,” she gave Sergeant Warwich [Peter’s on-scene contact from the Met] a poisonous look. “It was like a ball of fire, okay?” She nodded at me. “He believes me,” she said to Warwick, which was true. (p. 9)

It turns out that the customer is French and has come to London for the 2012 Olympics, after a fashion. He had also been there in 1948, at the Haringey Arena in fact. Aaronovitch’s narration mixes Peter’s views on policing — “The longer people sit around being calm and civilised, the harder it is for them to become uncivilised later … The rule of thumb is that if you keep them talking for over twenty minutes you can usually walk away without the use of force. Usually.” (p. 15) — with history, magic and a dangerous standoff. The fireballing Frenchman knows who Nightingale is. (“Thomas Nightingale?” said Antonin [Bobet]. “He’s not dead?” “Not as far as I can tell,” I said. (p. 14)) Long-time readers learn more about the wider magical world, as Antonin monologues a little bit, while readers new to the series who encountered the story when they bought the Waterstone’s edition got a quick introduction to Peter’s mix of magic and the modern when he brings the confrontation with Antonin to an end.

One bit about the wider world is that in French training, part of magic is done in Latin and part in French. Admission to their Academy in Paris “was all properly exam based and meritocratic and if certain old family names, like Bobet for example, turned up with unusual frequency in the rolls, then that was merely an assurance that quality and tradition were being maintained.” (p. 17) Peter’s views on “quality and tradition” are left unsaid but readily guessed.

The rest of the stories continue the high level of the first. They illuminate out-of-the-way corners of Peter’s career or the magical world; they show bits of how other parts of that world get along when the police are not looking — one is about a new genius loci emerging and finding a human home to grow up in; and they turn the spotlight on characters who may yet get their own novels — Abigail, for example. They are all nicely self-contained, and do not read as if they were meant to be episodes of a larger work. I read Tales From the Folly in a delightful day or two and enjoyed dipping in and out of different parts, different periods of the Rivers of London series.

The one minor complaint that I have is the physical object of the book: It is very obviously print on demand, and the design is professional but perfunctory. The chances are good that the vast majority of readers will have chose Tales From the Folly as an electronic book, so the state of the paper version will make no difference to them. It’s also true that the market for the stories is the smaller niche of dedicated fans of the series, so the real alternative to a minor press is no collection at all. It’s further true that the closest comparison is not a finely made volume but the cheapish mass-market paperbacks that show their age rather quickly. Nevertheless, I wish that the book itself were more of a pleasure to have in my hand to read again and again.

That wistfulness aside, Tales From the Folly delivered everything that I hoped for, and if Aaronovitch has continued to accumulate bits and pieces that haven’t made it into a major work, I’ll happily devour the next collection, whenever it might come.