A Festival of Skeletons is R. J.
Astruc’s first novel, but she is an accomplished writer at the short story end of the
science fiction and fantasy market so I had hopes of a competently written story if
nothing else. If this edition is anything to go by Ms Astruc has a very promising future
as a writer of comedic prose at novel length. New writers inevitably draw comparisons to
the established/known talents and for me the obvious comparator is early Terry Pratchett,
with his sly satire and juxtaposition of the ordinary and the absurd; the less obvious is
Christopher Moore, who treats the usual standards of horror or fantasy as fit targets for
lampoons and pratfalls – so it is with Ms Astruc, who happily uses satire, lampoon
and pratfall, often to hilarious effect.
Her story is populated by cross-dressing morticians, monomaniacal police, a cook with charisma
and zombies, courtesy of a soupcon too much necromancy, delivered within a deftly told
story populated by characters that I cared about. And more importantly, A
Festival of Skeletons is a fun read – so much so I was most disappointed
when I finished the book.
R. J. Astruc is fortunate that I don’t know where she lives otherwise I would be
besieging her domicile and demanding, with money and menaces, a sequel…or a new
novel, either will do.
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