#1403: Too Many Magicians (1967) by Randall Garrett

When The Invisible Event hit 1,000 posts — ahh, back in the day — I put up a list of 100 recommended impossible crime novels and short story collections for those of you wishing to be a little more discerning when reading the best subgenre in the world. TomCat was disgruntled with my inclusion of Too Many Magicians (1967) by Randall Garrett, but I stood by it as an interesting take on both the crossover mystery and the impossible crime, with a neat little, expectation-subverting idea at is core, and I vowed to reread it in due course to reinforce these impressions. Well, I’ve reread it now, and while I stand by the locked room murder as clever and fun, the book itself is frankly so tedious that I wonder how I ever saw anything in it in the first place.

The setup is delightful, with the Triennial Convention of Healers and Sorcerers interrupted when one of their number is found stabbed to death in a locked room, the magic Garrett has so painstakingly categorised and codified for these stories making it clear that no-one could have left the room and then locked it after them, since the only key which would allow that is found inside the room. Black magic is suspected, but with the sheer number of those blessed with the Talent present at the convention, how to narrow down the malefactor in their midst?

Had the novel stopped at this strand, and thrown in a few more murders for good measure, it might be a more enjoyable time. Alas, Garrett is also obsessed with international politics and the nobility, and so we endure countless pages of multi-titled nobles meeting, discussing international politics, and then most of those present — whose hair, noses, manner of dress, and general mien Garrett has explained in excruciating detail — never appearing again. Or maybe they do, but the characters are so dull that you don’t know, and it almost doesn’t matter. And everyone is twice-titled so that they’re also called My Lord, or Your Lordship, or Your Grace, or My Lord Grace…honestly, it’s a wonder anyone gets out of a meeting without bowing seventeen times and exchanging niceties with the furniture, which is probably an under-apprentice chair and so must be reclined on in a respectful manner.

I love that it’s important to Garrett that these things are observed, but lor’ doesn’t it ever slow the narrative. When he takes the time to explain why no-one needs to genuflect to the King (“This was a nice point of etiquette often misunderstood…”) or neatly outlines how matters stand between a young widow and her stepson who is, in fact, several months older than her, you can really feel the dust in the corners of his universe, and that’s great. But there’s dusty corners and there’s being knee-deep in the shit of the last forty-seven horses to parade through the city…and neither Garrett nor his editors knew where to draw the line.

Some lovely ideas peek through, like sorcerer Sean O Lochlainn’s bag having upon it a subtle spell that makes people unknowingly bring it to him when he is in prison, or the corpulent, Mycroft Holmes-esque, Marquis of London dismissing an idea with a stray “Pfui–“…but these do not really make up for a slow plot that wrangles its way tortuously through lots of boring conversation dragged along by, it must be said, a protagonist in Lord Darcy who becomes less appealing as the book progresses. I mean, crikey, what a stick in the mud: playfully bantering with the comely Mary, Dowager Duchess of Cumberland about having important people complete menial task for him when the following exchange occurs:

“My Lord Bishop,” said the Duchess, “had other, more pressing, business. However, His Imperial Majesty the King is prepared to take you for your morning drive.”

Lord Darcy paused suddenly, the cup not yet touching his lips.

Bantering is all well enough, but one must draw the line somewhere.

One does not jest about His Most Sovereign Majesty the King.

There’s also a plot thread about a magical doohickey that makes it impossible for someone to load a gun, which Darcy manages when it’s used on him because he’s so bloody awesome, and it really does feel like this is two separate short stories with some chases, a brief sword-fight, and a lot of whispering about black magic stirred in to make it novel length. I’ve never been an especially patient reader, so I’m fairly amazed this struck me so favourably before…but, well, it wouldn’t be the first time this sort of thing has happened.

I do, though, like the locked room murder, with some good detection around it and a few nice hints (“It was only half a bloodstain.”), and so can’t write this off as a complete failure. But, well, on second visit I’m minded to agree with TomCat on this one and come away from it less than enamoured with its achievements. Still, at least the Michael Kurland-penned novels which followed up Garrett’s universe can’t be much worse than this, I suppose, and so I might finally get to reading them when done with the rest of the Darcy short stories. Watch this space.

The Lord Darcy stories by Randall Garrett