Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, Susanna Clarke

What’s more powerful than magic, you ask? The ability to create a world that can accommodate that magic, I would say.

But who can do that?

God? Maybe.

A writer? Certainly.

We’re talking about a writer who can make magic believable, acceptable, normal.

I've known JK Rowling. I've known Ursula Le Guin. Now I know Susanna Clarke.

. . . . .

The place is England, the year is 1806. Magic is dead for a few centuries now. The ones who call themselves magicians haven’t cast a single spell in all their lives, or engendered an event of the smallest magical significance. They are theoretical magicians who only read and write about the dark and rich history of magic. They flinch at the mention of modern practical magic, and deem it as dishonourable as street sorcery.

But even in this supremely dull age for magic, a practical magician has somehow arrived on the scene. Meet Mr Norell.

There were rumours of this reclusive magician who lived in a country house lined with more books than bricks. Now circumstances have conspired to bring him out of this self-imposed exile, and it turns out that the rumours were not entirely unfounded. Mr. Norell soon proceeds to unleash magic that is as extraordinary as anything seen in the golden days. He has the public in a frenzy. Ministers and their minions swarm him like locusts.

But neither England nor Mr. Norell is prepared for Jonathan Strange, a brilliant young magician who appears on the scene as mysteriously as Mr Norell.

And he seems to be everything that Mr. Norell isn’t. If Mr Norell is unsociable, a fussy and cautious geek, then Strange is an audacious showman. He's exuberant and amiable, and soon becomes a darling of the masses.

So, English magic is well and alive again, and the two magicians are the toast of the nation. What can possibly go wrong?

Only that magicians aren’t regular people. And Norell & Strange aren’t regular magicians.

It's only a matter of time before they stray into darker, more dangerous territory.

What will they find in this darkness?

. . . . .

Susanna Clarke is an old-fashioned storyteller. I can almost see her, as she puts her knitting needles down on a ornate side table and picks up her cup of Earl Grey tea. The kids sit on the carpet and look at her expectantly; their hands and feet and faces quiver with excitement. The adults hang around, feigning disinterest, while she spins a new twist in her tale. You can hear the children chuckle and gasp and guffaw. The adults are trying to suppress theirs. It is getting late, and this is a long, long story. But nobody cares. They wait with bated breath. You can sense the tension in the air as Susanna goes for the kill.

I'm sitting there myself. Unbeknownst to me, Neil Gaiman is sitting right next to me with that mop of unruly hair. He leans towards me and whispers with a boyish grin that he is experiencing "nothing but the purest pleasure, wandering through the words and the things they brought with them." He also whispers that to his mind this is "the finest work of English fantasy written in the past 70 years."

This magical story is 1006 pages long. There, I give you 1006 reasons to get started right away.