Hawksmoor [Paperback]

"Hawksmoor" is actually one of my very favorite books, and certainly ranks with "Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem" as one of Ackroyd's best. Yes, it does travel back and forth in time and space, but it is not difficult for an attentive reader to follow. Ackroyd's knowledge of the esoteric underpinnings of numerology and architecture, and his vast knowledge of the history and culture of London make this book a rewarding mystery. I cannot visit a Hawksmoor church now without this book haunting my steps.

I've read it repeatedly, and taught it in an "Alternative Londons" course (with "From Hell" and "Neverwhere", two more superior London books). Students have loved it. Not, perhaps to everyone's taste, but highly recommended. If you're looking for emotional ties to characters (as the other reviewer seemed to be), look elsewhere; part of the novel's mood lies in the icy detachment of the characters in both timelines. If you're looking for a brainy adventure with more than a touch of the creepy supernatural, this is a book for you.

I am a mystery fan who recently read Hawksmoor so that this review is from the perspective of a mystery fan. As has been pointed out, the book revolves around two parallel stories, one in the eighteenth century and one in the "present" (about 20 years ago). The eighteenth century part of the book is written in first person and the writing for this part of the book is well done. The use of eighteenth century English really helps one feel the mood of post-plague London. It is a bit difficult to follow in some places, but the effort is worth the time. One the other hand, the writing for the "present" part of the book is not nearly as well done. Much of the dialogue is awkward, and the plot is rather thin. Ackroyd also has an annoying habit of making the parallelism between the two stories very very obvious. It seems that on every other page he seems to be screaming at you: "Remember these two stories are parallel!". O.K., I get it already! I was also amazed at how Ackroyd becomes so wrapped up in attempting to use pretentious writing, that he seems to lose his common sense. At one point, Ackroyd makes a comment that time passes like points on a balloon the is being blown up, his point being that all of the points on the balloon move away from each other at the same rate. The problem is that this is not true! The points on the neck of the balloon stay relatively close whereas points on the other end of the balloon move away from each other at a much faster rate.
However, my main disappointment with the book is the plot for the "present" part of the story. Not only is the plot thin, but the ending leaves one wondering if the last chapter of the book was truncated. I would have been much happier just reading the eighteenth century part of the book by itself.

Peter Ackroyd enjoys a deserved reputation as the foremost contemporary interpretor and historian of London, especially the city's hidden and arcane aspects. As a painter of London's underbelly he is unquestionably Dickens's heir. His feeling for the city as an almost living entity, oppressive in the accumulated weight of its sprawling physical structure and the mass of lives that have passed through it, and frequently been crushed in the process, is one shared probably more or less conciously by most Londoners. In such an environment, where the most modern buildings can stand on a street pattern centuries old, the present can never entirely cut itself free from the past. This is Ackroyd's main theme, brought to life with chilling brilliance in this story of murder and superstition in the 17th century sounding a physical echo in a series of slayings in the 20th. Be aware that this is not a simple murder mystery in period costume. The narrative is poetic and allusive with much, especially the ending, left for the reader to interpret. It is not wholly succesful in the intertwining of past and present. Ackroyd's 16th century London fizzes with life, the characters and the city brilliantly conjured (Ackroyd has a skilful ability to write in a way that is actually less archaic than it feels when caught up in the narrative flow). By contrast, he fails to breathe much life into the modern day scenes and characters. This may be partly an intentional contrast, but either way these scenes are rather flat. Nonetheless, the book is hugely enjoyable. The demonical architect Nicholas Dyer (the 20th c. detective is the Hawksmoor of the title) is a great creation, and the dark world he inhabits stands with the classics of the literature of the macabre and supernatural. It will certainly impell a London (or London bound) reader to explore the churches built by the historical Hawksmoor with new eyes, as however fantastical the story, the geography and architectural details are completely accurate. I remember well seeing tramps descend into the shelter in the understory of Christchurch Spitalfields.
The structurally flawless (and very chilling) 'Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem', which inhabits the London of Jack the Ripper and the heyday of the Music Hall, is also highly recommended.