Rachel Pollack, The Child Eater (2014)

Pollack's Golden-Compassy braiding of 'fairy tale world' and 'modern Western society' story strands starts with such storming brilliance it can almost not help itself but slide, a little, and diminish as the story is spooled out to 350 close packed pages. Matyas, a potboy at a run-down inn in fairyland hangs out after his shifts with the young daughter of the local blacksmith. They swap stories to alleviate the boredom.

They talked of women with fishtails and the heads of birds who sang to sailors and drove them mad. And angels, or maybe demons, that rode on great fish that could swallow men whole, with room inside for the men to build homes, and fires to keep themselves warm.

When they tired of talking about the sea they imagined the cities they might visit if they could ever cross the water. Cities where the animals had taken over and now the people had to beg for bones at the feet of long tables where dogs lay on silk pillows. Cities where the buildings sang strange songs all night long and everyone had to go deep underground to be able to sleep. Cities where golden heads on silver poles lined the streets and would tell you anything you wanted to know. Cities where the children had killed all the adults and used the blood for magic spells that forced angels to give them whatever they wanted. [1-2]

Potentiality being so much more magical than actuality, it proves impossible for the on-the-page story of The Child Eater to live up to these marvellous glimmers of possible story. It's by no means a bad novel. On the one hand, there's Matyas's dream, equal measures starry-eyed (or starry-haloed) and ruthless-selfish, of escaping poverty and becoming a 'Master' wizard, through which we get a great deal of magical specificity. On the other, over in our world, there's Jack's magic-stifling obsession with being 'normal, and the consequences it has for him, and later for his son, witch-born Simon. It's good, readable stuff. It's just a little ponderous after that gorgeous beginning. What is it Auden says?

The empty junction glitters in the sun.
So all quays and crossroads: who can tell
These places of decision and farewell,
To what dishonour all adventure leads?

It's not that the actual bi-plot drags its heels: if anything both storylines are a trifle too busy. The Child Eater entity itself is less gory than you might be thinking, although it certainly has its bloody moments; and I found the rather egregious Tarot theme more tiresome than anything. But the novel is detailed, intermittently powerful, and full of excellent things. It is a notable book. Ah, but ... but ...