A City Dreaming

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This modern urban fantasy reminded me of Jack Vance. It could have been Vance's Traveler in Black or his Cugel the Clever in format and character.

The book is divided into short, very readable short stories. Each of the short stories is a genuine story with a beginning, middle and end, with the ending tying up the story nicely. Although the stories are stand-alone, they chronologically track the main character's adventures in Manhattan and Brooklyn through the course of the year. As the book progresses, we become more familiar with the character, his friends and the strange and interesting world of magic he inhabits, such that by the end of the book, the characters had grown on me.

The main character is simply M, perhaps for “magician.” M seems to be hundreds of years old, but he is more of a confidence man, a lay-about, a schmoozer, a womanizer, an alcoholic and drug abuser, without substantial virtues, except, maybe, loyalty, but a rational and self-interested loyalty. His philosophy is that he wants to be a good lodger of reality so that the powers that be - the “Management” - may smile on him, or, at least, never get annoyed with him, which would result in catastrophic results. By the end of the book, we begin to suspect that M is the real deal in magic, and his loyalty to friends, and cleverness make him a heroic anti-hero.

The writing in this book is exquisitely witty. Here's an example:

“St. Loup was tall and dark as charred hardwood and very handsome. His suit was straight from La Belle Epoque, the sort of sartorial affectation which M didn't suppose was any handicap to picking up American girls on the Champs-Élysées. M knew St. Loup somewhat, in the sense that they had been running into each other for half a human lifetime. They had never had any problem, at least none that M could remember, but then again St. Loup was not on that list of people for whom M was willing to die. This was, in fairness, a very small list— this was a list that would fit on the back of a movie ticket, or the torn corner of a cocktail napkin.”

And:

““Me?” M asked, as if the suggestion had never occurred to him. “You misunderstand entirely. I'm just here to bear witness. I'm not the one who you're going to need to go tête-à-tête with if you hope to ingest the condensed wisdom of the planet. I'm not the one against whose magical abilities you'll need to measure yourself.” M sneezed again, rubbed his nose, and nodded at Flemel. “It's big man over here.”
“Him?” Corlo asked.
“Me?” Flemel asked.
“Yeah, him! Flemel here is a two-fisted killer of the old school, a real bruiser, Pelé with a pentagram, the mystical Michael Jordan.”
“He looks like raw meat at a NAMBLA convention,”
Corlo added. “OK, that was pretty good,” M conceded. “I'm going to probably steal that and use it later. But the fact remains that you're face-to-face with one of the deadliest duelists in this reality and three or four of the adjourning ones.”
“He's barely a child!”
I bet those were the last words of a bunch of people who met Billy H. Bonney.”

It helps to understand that Flemel is M's barely competent apprentice.

The stories are filled with tongue-in-cheek humor and lines that I wish I had invented and intend to steal.

I also liked the Brooklyn and Manhattan setting. I spent some time googling the locations that the author mentions in these books.

I recommend this book without reservation.