“The
Three Hidden Masters – two from Hemel Hempstead, one from Bricket Wood (you’ll
get that once you’ve read the book) – are pretty low-key, laid-back guys. Of
course, all the beer, rum and weed they consume contribute to that. So when
their friend Geoff, the Fourth Hidden Master (from Blackpool), contacts them
for help it’s rather an effort for Clint, Nigel and Wayne to mobilize for a
weekend trip up there to lend a hand. It seems strange things are afoot in
Blackpool. Initially it appears to be confined to the model village Geoff is
building, where figures are moving around of their own accord and, even more
disturbing, figures Geoff didn’t even make for the village are appearing out of
nowhere. If that was the only strange thing happening it could be written off
as voodoo gone wrong, which has been known to happen to Geoff on an occasion or
two. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that there are larger forces at work
in Blackpool. Is it simply that the local council has disturbing plans to turn
Blackpool into the Las Vegas of England, or is something more sinister at work,
something that could threaten to tear a hole in the fabric of the Universe?
Well, whatever it is, the Hidden Masters have to wrap things up by Sunday
night… they do have to be back at work on Monday after all.”
Jack Barrow’s The Hidden Masters and the
Unspeakable Evil takes a heavy dollop of
Douglas Adams, Monty Python, Robert Rankin (it was because of this writer, I
found Barrow’s book), and your basic old-style British sitcom of arrested
developed men. Then he adds dashes of mystical doings, and you get this often
silly, sometimes frustrating work (the book constantly breaks the “fourth” wall
and goes off on historical and pop culture references ala Hitchhikers Guide to
the Galaxy that could’ve easily been dropped). A lot goes on here, but your
mileage will vary on how much suspension of belief you’re willing to give. I
admit, Nigel, Wayne and Clint are interesting heroes (sort of lesser
cousins to John Dortmunder and his gang from the Donald E. Westlake books), but
I found their single mindedness with alcohol and weed to grow tiresome after
awhile –we get it, they love to drink and smoke pot. And they love to argue
about nonsensical things and be sarcastic.
There are, however, some clever ideas here, including when Wayne and Clint actually get pulled into the miniature model village (like in Beetlejuice) and is by far the best bit early in the book. The other set piece I liked was the hotel sequence with the mobsters –but it could’ve been tightened up a bit. And I think, in the end, this could be a great book, a great series, if Barrow’s had a better editor to strengthen the book. The prose is strong, the humor great, and he makes Blackpool his punching bag (though there was once a proposal to transform Blackpool into a casino resort along the lines of the Las Vegas and Atlantic City, for it to become the center point of gambling in the UK). Still, it took me way too long to get through it. While I’ve always appreciated the dry British humor, the jokes do get repetitive (two from Hemel Hempstead, one from Bricket Wood) and so I end up skipping pages.
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