- Title:
- The Monstrumologist (The Monstrumologist, #1)
- By:
- Rick Yancey
- Pages:
- 434
- Rating:
- 5
These are the secrets I have kept. This is the trust I never betrayed. But he is dead now and has been for more than forty years, the one who gave me his trust, the one for whom I kept these secrets. The one who saved me . . . and the one who cursed me.
So starts the diary of Will Henry, orphaned assistant to Dr. Pellinore Warthorpe, a man with a most unusual specialty: monstrumology, the study of monsters. In his time with the doctor, Will has met many a mysterious late-night visitor, and seen things he never imagined were real. But when a grave robber comes calling in the middle of the night with a gruesome find, he brings with him their most deadly case yet.
A gothic tour de force that explores the darkest heart of man and monster and asks the question: When does man become the very thing he hunts?
“There are times when fear is not our enemy. There are times when fear is our truest, sometimes only, friend.”
This is a beautifully pictured manuscript, and no mistake. Yancey seems able to deftly switch from style to style (having read the 5th wave I wouldn’t assume the same author by any means), and William James Henry’s voice is so authentically Victorian, I am sure you could swap a page of this for Doyle without undue confusion. In fact, I saw some of Holmes in Warthrop, superficial physical similarities (long fingers, a lean frame, piercing or intense eyes), but also a dedication to science with Human fallibility in a mix that makes a great man.
“Always speak the truth, all the truth in all things at all times! No man ever rose to greatness on the wings of obsequious deceit. “
The story itself is nothing out-of-the-ordinary, but I rate this book so highly for its writing. The descriptions and wording were well chosen and the work positively exudes atmosphere, and of enjoyment were the scenes in the sanatorium and the mausoleum, the spine-tingling desultory milieu of the former of particular gratification to me.
“Yes, my dear child, he would undoubtedly tell a terrified toddler tremulously seeking succor, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.”
There are more books in the series, and how well the wonder of the language will carry me I don’t know, but this, certainly, is a title I rate very highly indeed.