In the winter of 2004 I was selected for jury duty (at the very same time Martha Stewart went to trial in the next building over--we all had to walk past the fifteen media vans to get to our courthouse). Since the courts in Manhattan are near Chinatown, I like jury duty, as it means a few days of excellent lunches. Instead, New York was hit with a ferocious, sub-zero ice storm that went on for days, where it was impossible to wander in the way I had hoped, and so, with the grind of the trial itself, we jurors were marooned for close to 4 hours each day in the jury room. The second night of the trial, however, I had a strange dream where a friend of mine appeared in the exact garb of one of The Glass Books' three main characters, Doctor Svenson, and together we faced a mystery in a strange, dark, Victorian building involving prisoners in a creepy upstairs room without a door. While I very rarely remember my dreams, the next morning I found this one percolating in my head quite vividly. But then, for no reason I can recall, I took out a notebook, and began--instead of the Doctor, who I would get to almost off-handedly in another 100 pages or so--writing about a willful young woman from the West Indies whose fiancée has abandoned her without explanation, making it up as I went along. By the end of the trial I had the first chapter. I am by trade a playwright, and had not written prose fiction of any kind for nearly 20 years, but I found myself hooked on the story and the characters--perhaps out of my own desire to know what happened next--and so persisted, putting aside most everything else, writing for the most part in coffee shops and on the subway, until I finished the book almost exactly one year later. --Gordon Dahlquist
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It starts with a simple note. Roger Bascombe regretfully wishes to inform Celeste Temple that their engagement is forthwith terminated. Determined to find out why, Miss Temple takes the first step in a journey that will propel her into a dizzyingly seductive, utterly shocking world beyond her imagining--and set her on a collision course with a killer and a spy--in a bodice-ripping, action-packed roller-coaster ride of suspense, betrayal, and richly fevered dreams.]]>
Hunted by murderous opportunists and cruel mercenaries of every kind, Miss Temple, Chang, and the Doctor are soon propelled into a quest that will draw them one by one into a realm of reckless, lawless terror. At every turn lies another enigma—and the stench of indigo clay, the raw material used to enslave even the most steadfast soul. Now they alone stand in the path of a diabolical conspiracy involving the books—one that will mean an alarming new world where once-free-roaming minds are wiped completely clean… if they live long enough. As Miss Temple, Cardinal Chang and Dr. Svenson uncover the devilish schemes of their deadly enemies, the terrifying secrets contained in The Dark Volume will be revealed one by one. For the blue glass is more lethal than they’d ever imagined—and those who possess it, as well as those who pursue it, are playing with fire.]]>
In which the astonishing adventure to end all adventures continues—and the excitement doubles.
Like every other honest man, an assassin has his reputation to consider. So it is with Cardinal Chang. A brutal killer with the heart of a poet, Chang is no longer able to trust those who hired him. Disconcerted, he sets out on the trail of a mystery like no other, in a city few have traveled to—featuring three unlikely heroes with a most intriguing bond. ]]>
Es ist eine merkwürdige Sache mit diesem Buch: Während man die Glasbücher der Traumfresser noch verschlungen hat, begeistert von der irrwitzigen Fabulierlust des Autors und von seinem ironisch-schamlosen Spiel mit allen möglichen Versatzstücken der Trivial- und Kolportageliteratur, stellen sich bei der Lektüre des Dunkelbuchs gewisse Ermüdungs- oder auch Abnutzungserscheinungen ein: Der Roman knüpft nahtlos an seinen Vorgänger an, ist sicherlich nicht schlechter als dieser und bietet eine ebenso wilde, vergnügliche und episodenreiche Hatz sowie ein ebenso großartig skurriles Figurenarsenal – doch man hat einfach, auch wenn sich natürlich nichts explizit wiederholt, ein gewisses Déjà-vu-Gefühl: Das hatten wir so ähnlich doch alles schon. Die Protagonisten stolpern von einem spektakulären Abenteuer zum nächsten spektakulären Abenteuer, von fieser Intrige zu fieser Intrige, von Kampf auf Leben und Tod zu Kampf auf Leben und Tod. Man wird dessen beim Lesen etwas müde oder satt; und während sich dieses Sättigungsgefühl bei den Glasbüchern bestenfalls im letzten Viertel des Lesers bemächtigte, stellt es sich hier schon nach den ersten fünfzig oder hundert Seiten ein.
Und so kommt die ganz große Begeisterung nicht mehr auf, und das, obwohl das Buch eigentlich richtig gut ist – doch es überrascht einen irgendwie nicht mehr. -- Christoph Nettersheim
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