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Bob Howard's career in the Laundry, the secret British government agency dedicated to protecting the world from the supernatural, has involved brilliant hacking, ancient magic, and combat with creatures of pure evil. It has also involved a wearying amount of paperwork and office politics, and his expense reports are still a mess. Now, following the invasion of Yorkshire by the Host of Air and Darkness, the Laundry's existence has become public, and Bob is being trotted out on TV to answer pointed questions about elven asylum seekers. What neither Bob nor his managers have foreseen is that their organization has earned the attention of a horror far more terrifying than any demon: a government looking for public services to privatize. There are things in the Laundry's assets that big business would simply love to get its hands on . . . Inch by inch, Bob Howard and his managers are forced to consider the truly unthinkable: a coup against the British government itself.… (more)
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The inconclusive finish of the previous volume involved the forced disclosure of the super-secret occult intelligence agency nicknamed "The Laundry," as a result of northern England being invaded by an army of elves. The stakes in The Delirium Brief are certainly higher for the Laundry, and perhaps for England as a whole, while incidental remarks throughout the book suggest that in the US and elsewhere in the world, events are spiraling toward global magical catastrophe. I know at least one more book is projected for this series, and it certainly needs it, with precious little closure in this one. But I doubt that the Laundry's world can survive more than two additional installments on the current trajectory.
The sardonic office humor of the earliest Laundry stories has grown in scope, to the point where what were pithy observations about bureaucratic organizational culture have grown into satirical critiques of neoliberalized Western polity. At one point, narrator "Bob Howard" disingenuously says he's "not bitter or anything" about the corrupt privatization of government agencies and functions in general, since "The worst case ... is that parcels don't get delivered, buildings burn down ... Stuff breaks, people die, maybe there's a small nuclear war, boo hoo." This flippancy is by way of stressing the comparative gravity of such corruption impacting the operation of "the Laundry or an equivalent agency" (121).
Bob has some relief in this episode, in that there is some progress in rehabilitating his hexed-and-vexed marriage to fellow Laundry employee Dominique O'Brien. However, the theme of instrumental dehumanization and compromised morals that has dogged all the protagonists throughout the series gets turned up to eleven here, and by the book's end, while the reader may still like the characters, it's no longer clear than any of them especially like themselves.
Despite (and sometimes because of) the grim context, there are many funny moments in The Delirium Brief. The combination of my interested familiarity with the Laundry Files and Stross's zippy contemporary prose made this book read at a breakneck pace. The amazing thing is that it really doesn't introduce any new threats or concepts. It's just working out interactions and consequences from what has come before, and if you've enjoyed the earlier books, this one is necessary.
It may be useful to remember, from time to time, that fiction is not defined in terms of the alignment of the moral character of the main actors with the outcome. Tragedy is
The detective story, in its classic form, is purely comic - the story begins with an invasion by chaotic forces in the form of violent crime; it chronicles the restoration of order by the agency of the détective, and ends with the murderer exposed and imprisoned or executed, safely unable to disrupt society further.
In Fryeian Romance, moral character correlates with both centrality and eventual success, and in Fryeian Irony, there tend to be just shades of grey, and stories end with no clear "success".
Modern spy fiction tends towards the ironic from this point of view, from Conrad through Le Carré to Deighton, although a thriller where the protagonist/agent overcomes all opposition and triumphs, so that we leave him (usually, but not always, him) with a drink in one hand and the sovereign's thanks either received or at least deserved, would fit a comic shape. Urban fantasy can sit in various places around the wheel, from a romance model (good Slayer, evil vampires, continuing adventures) through to the ironic, but in common with much popular SF it tends towards the comic, introduced by derivation from the detective story.
Up until now, Stross's Laundry books have had their alliances principally with the comic form, especially that taken by the detective novel. With The Delirium Brief those alliances shift, firmly, into the ironic. There are no good guys left; in many ways it is becoming clear that there never were any in the first place. There are lighter shades of grey and much darker shades of grey, and somewhere over the horizon there are shades which can only be described as light-annihilating (assuming that this volume's villains count as black). Some of the villains from four of the past five novels end up as allies. (Although in one case, the PHANGS, this has been a done deal for a while.)
And after this book there is not even an apparent return to a status quo ante.
It's quite enough to confirm that Peter Watts may have been onto something when he described Charlie as having a bleaker outlook on life than he does.
It is, however, still, in the colloquial sense, sometimes comic: perhaps more funny as the humour becomes blacker. The reader's enhanced view of what is going on supplies a steady flow of dramatic irony in depicting the expectations of the characters.
Charlie's interests have always lain on the spectrum of economic power / governance / policing, not only in the latter part of the Laundry series but also in the Halting State books and the world walker books. (The Laundry starts out as an extension of hacker humour combined with the mild satire of Yes, Minister, and it takes a little while to get more serious.)
Responding to Brexit, which is the nadir of government refusing to govern, pretty much requires that its objective correlative be something like the complete evacuation of the governing figures in favour of something like the Black Pharaoh; a simple critique of slightly stupid authoritarianism of the Cameronian variety, as on display in the last book, was no longer up to the challenge. (When real life news leaders suggest, however jokingly, that the PM is a robot engaged in failing the Turing Test, you know you've passed into unknown territory.)
Very well worth reading, though definitely not an entry point into the series.
Digital review copy provided by the publisher through NetGalley