The first three books in the series were delightful; colourful characters, a wonderfully vivid, engaging world, a slow-spreading, delicious darkness and a sense of infinite promise. A promise that the next three books didn’t really keep; while the world continued to be incredibly detailed and the cast grew larger and stranger with every chapter, there was a sense of something missing; larger themes, perhaps, or a truly unique story. A series that was clearly aiming for mythic scale found itself spluttering and stuttering owing to failures that arose partly from the author’s strengths. Rowling is a master juggler, and her ability to keep hundreds of characters and objects and plot threads in the air at the same time is truly astounding. But in the middle of all the fine brushstrokes, the big picture was lost. Critics will keep pointing out that Harry Potter is no Lord of the Rings, no His Dark Materials, that while its popularity will stand the test of time, the books themselves aren’t classics; this is true, but not necessarily unfortunate. What’s also true is this: There’s nothing quite like Harry Potter. All comparisons are redundant because Harry Potter is so much more than a series of books; it’s an industry, a cultural phenomenon, a turn-of-the-century landmark. All of which makes reviewing a Potter book a difficult task; you need to master the magical art of Occlumency, a feat even Harry Potter found difficult.

At the end of the sixth book, our heroes Harry, Hermione and Ron are given the task of finding the Dark Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes – magical objects or beings he had saved pieces of his soul in – because destroying them all is the only way to kill him. The Deathly Hallows, on the other hand, are three very powerful objects which might make Harry more powerful than Voldemort. Clearly, The Boy Who Lived has important decisions to make. And his choices lead him into yet another series of wild adventures, and ultimately into an all-out battle between the forces of dark and light, with the usual assortment of dragons, giant spiders, elves, goblins and other fantastic creatures in tow. Rowling achieves the seemingly impossible of tying up nearly every loose end in the mammoth series; Deathly Hallows is where it all comes together, where the entire sprawling cast, all the bizarre people left alive, and some of the dead as well, get together and slug it out – and this time everyone’s shooting to kill, and death tolls are rising like Harry Potter sales figures.

Despite its hundreds of plot twists, flashbacks, narrator changes, perspective tilts, hidden layers and easter eggs, Deathly Hallows is insanely readable; I couldn’t put it down for a second. The stakes are high, the movements fast; plot, counter-plot and subplot swirl and blend, old friends reappear and close friends die. This is the book where Rowling reveals all, where every mystery is explained, every shadow illuminated, something that the greatest fantasy writers have always avoided doing. Sometimes the explanations don’t work; you get the sense that Rowling is too eager to show how hard she worked putting it all together, how cleverly each piece fits. You’ll have to read all seven books again at some point, and it won’t be because of the writing, or the characters, or the dialogue; it’ll be because you want to see how the jigsaw came together, the ultimate triumph of plot over character or style. Most writers who write suspense novels, thrillers or whodunits know about Chekhov’s gun on the mantelpiece; Rowling looks at Chekhov’s gun, smiles, and then, like Neo in The Matrix, calls for ‘Guns. Lots of Guns.’

We learn about Dumbledore’s dark side, and see other sides to nearly everyone else; Harry’s parents, Kreacher, Lupin, the Dursleys. Rowling will doubtless please her curious teenaged fans, but has probably revealed too much about her backstage secrets; plot flaws that would not have been obvious otherwise come to light. Rowling’s characters have never been her strongest suit; the only two really memorable characters in the series are Hermione, one the smartest, most loveable heroines in children’s literature and Snape, who was much more sinister when we didn’t know everything about him. Potter himself started off well drawn, but got really annoying as the series progressed; one of the reasons Deathly Hallows is successful is that Rowling keeps the angsty monologues to a minimum – for most of the book. Occasional flashes of humour in between the murders and general unpleasantness also work to her advantage.

The series ends somewhat…predictably, if you’ve read all six books and have some sort of inkling about Rowling’s plotting methods. But then, when millions of fans are sitting on your head and demanding happy endings, and millions of dollars ride on keeping them happy, it’s difficult to upset the applecart. I wish it had ended differently, but it ended well and definitely deserves a place on your bookshelf.

The circus travels to Calcutta next weekend. We’re launching Rocket, Flushman, Trixie and other superheroes at Oxford Bookstore, 530 pm Saturday. Everyone’s invited.

Tom Hanks: Oooh, stuff lights up when I look at it. This is because I fell down a well and met Jesus.

Audrey Tatou: My grandfather gets more action than I do, and this pisses me off. And if Hanks thinks he’s getting into my Jesus-was-my-pa pants, he has another think coming. Gross. I dont care if it’s in the book.

Ian McKellen: I’m having fun, but I keep reminding myself of the pizza guy in There’s Something About Mary, which makes me giggle. Watch X3 instead. I dont giggle there at all. And Rebecca Romijn does hurt/betrayed much better than Tom Hanks and that butler chap, plus she’s naked. Earl Grey?

Jean Reno: I feel used.

The equel to India’s first science fiction and fantasy thriller, The Simoqin Prophecies, works remarkably well. Here is Samit Basu again, wildly imaginative and totally in control. This time he frequently allows his cinematic eye to take centre-stage, creating some mesmerising scenes that punctuate the racy narrative – rich descriptions of forested landscapes, ethereal journeys in the sky and a breathtaking climax in the form of a deadly duel in a ruined temple that is actually a portal to another world.
The delicate coalition between Vamans and Humans in threatened by the dramatic, Matrix-inspired entry of three Ravians, representatives of a superior, purity-obsessed race with a dark plan for dominating the entire galaxy. Kirin, Asvin and Maya, all vulnerable, cantankerous heroes of sorts, try to sabotage this plan even as they remain unaware of its dangerous details.
There are twists and turns fuelled by unexpected bouts of self-doubt and astonishing betrayals. A host of characters and creatures inhabit this magical world but the star is undoubtedly the couplet-spouting, rhyme-obsessed, half-man, half-lion Manticore himself.
In spite of all its charmingly reckless and seriousness-denying humour, this is also a novel guided by a sharp and informed vision of history. Basu writes as much with an eye on thrills as with an awareness of the many dimensions of his characters. He resolutely avoids good versus evil binaries that frequently cripple narratives of this genre.
In a referential nod to literary traditions that go beyond Terry Pratchett, the characters thankfully remain human, even when they are asuras, celestial beings, animals or the great gods themselves. In a familiar mythological twist, he frames the story with a meta-narrative, where these great gods are the real power-mongers who control every breath of the tragic heroes who in turn are of course, just pawns in the celestial “GamwWorld”.
Thorougly enjoyable.

…from TimeOut Mumbai, Jan 13-26, 2006. pg. 47

The Percy Jackson and the Olympians series is written by Rick Riordan, who also writes detective novels starring tough-guy San Antonio gumshoe Tres Navarre. The series opener, The Lightning Thief, which was picked up by Miramax studios after a fierce bidding war, is his first children’s book, created out of bedtime stories he told his children and textbooks at work (he used to teach history and myth in schools before the Percy Jackson advance changed his life).

Percy Jackson doesn’t know who his father is, but he keeps getting into trouble and has changed schools six times in six years, mostly because monsters out of Greek myth keep bothering him. When the story opens, his tenure at the Yancy Academy is brutally interrupted by an unfortunate event, explained in the first chapter, the brilliantly titled ‘I accidentally vaporize my pre-algebra teacher.’ He has to leave school again soon, and heads off with his mother to a mysterious summer camp where his questions might be answered.

And what a summer camp it is; presided over by Chiron the centaur and Dionysus, god of wine, it’s a training school for godlings, neatly divided into cabins dedicated to their divine parents. They don’t know where to put Percy (Perseus) initially, because they don’t know who his father is, but soon, in the middle of swordfights, monster attacks and bully-bashing sessions in toilets, Percy discovers his father’s identity (though it’s fairly clear from the start, given his affinity towards water) and is handed his Quest: Zeus’ lightning bolt has been stolen, and this could spark off a war between Zeus and Poseidon. Percy suspects Hades, lord of the underworld, is the thief, and so has to set out to recover the lightning bolt and avert disaster. Cue motley crew of sidekicks and friends: Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom and ancient rival of Poseidon, whose expressed desire to beat Percy up now and then clearly indicates romance in upcoming episodes, and Grover, a satyr struggling to make the grade, who dreams of setting off to find Pan. They go off on their quest, meeting a ghastly array of monsters on the way in a cross-country caper vaguely reminiscent of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. There are a few good twists in the tail; a betrayal, a confrontation and an explanation – all classic fantasy staples, but in a world where bookstores are full of 12-year-old heroes discovering themselves, Riordan does a commendable job giving us a character that inspires affection and treading a much-trodden path with confidence and style. And some of his creations are right up there in the young-adult fiction all-star pantheon: Mount Olympus is accessed through a secret elevator in the Empire state building, and the path to the underworld leads through an LA recording studio. The only thing that’s clearly wrong about this book is its claim that America is the centre of western civilization.

The Lightning Thief is a fun, fast and furious read; it’s cleverly plotted, the world is convincing and self-sustaining, the updated mythology and bestiary are almost flawless, and the dialogue and action sequences should have children streaming through the pages. As a children’s fantasy series, it’s a notch below the early Potter books, Bartimaeus and Artemis Fowl, but several steps ahead of the over-hyped Inheritance series. This could be the beginning of yet another publishing phenomenon.