The End Of Mr Y by Scarlett Thomas
A hugely playful novel, tripping over itself with name-dropping and then theory-dropping.
The mission of young British novelist Scarlett Thomas is, apparently, to reclaim the realm of fantasy from Orc-loving male virgins. She's doing well – she's been swamped in advance praise from the demi-Gods of fantasy literature, such as Phillip Pullman. This avowedly 21st century picaresque romp - liberally peppered with iPod and mobile phone references - certainly makes a case for a new literary genre.
Its drearily dreamlike opening sees Ariel Manto, an unsupervised PhD candidate at an anonymous and literally crumbling university, come across an impossible object in an innocuous second-hand bookshop: the incredibly rare and allegedly cursed Victorian novel, The End Of Mr Y. By turning its pages, Ariel becomes involved in a time-bending journey of magic potions and talking mice.
This is a hugely playful novel, tripping over itself with name-dropping and then theory-dropping. It grapples with illusion and metaphysical magic, plunging into endless numerical, linguistic and sexual riddles.
Whilst Thomas can seem to labour her heroine's affectations so she's firmly cast as 'quirky iconoclast', this is only a small gripe. As a whole this is an immensely enjoyable page-turning romp that will dissolve your own spare time as much as Ariel's. A deliriously existential Choose Your Own Adventure. [Ruth Marsh]