Hunter’s Moon is perhaps one of the most appalling books that I have read this year and the real annoyance was that I had been looking forward to it. I have a sweet spot for the anti-hero magician type wandering around the place, like John Constantine and Mike Carey’s Felix Castor novels but this came straight out of the unreconstructed 1970s Denis Wheatley type novels or very early James Herbert. Granted that by his professed trade his magic is probably more spot on the other writers and he can tell a rattlingly paced tale but the rampant sexism was too much to bare. If he could control his erection, there might be a good little series coming along. I do wonder if this is to do with the whole sucking and fucking subgenre of Laurell K Hamilton and others.
Oh well, just have to wait for Carey’s Dead Man’s Boots the rest of my fix.