A young man comes to Victorian London in search of his guardian, a troubled woman disappears, a poor little seamstress strives to put a stop to a dreadful conspiracy and grey waves break on the sullen Kent shore where a house broods over Vesper Sands. That faint hum currently disturbing the seismographs of London comes from Westminster Abbey, where Charles Dickens is whirling enviously in his grave.
It takes a certain audacity to write a novel that tips its hat so mischievously to the most celebrated Victorian novelist, but Paraic O’Donnell has more than enough talent to get away with it. The House on Vesper Sands is his second novel after the critically acclaimed Maker of Swans, but there is no trace of difficult-second-novel nerves in this accomplished historical mystery.
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