With THE MAGICIANS‘ main plot boiled down to “student goes to exclusive school, learns magic,” comparisons to HARRY POTTER are inevitable. Except that in Lev Grossman’s novel, the boy conjurer gets laid and ingests drugs.
No, it’s not for kids, although its roots spur from classic young-adult fantasy literature, from C.S. Lewis to J.K. Rowling. Grossman takes the wide-eyed wonder that children can find in books, bottles it, shakes it up, and lets the contents loose on an anything-goes landscape. The result is among the year’s finest novels. There’s magic in it, in more ways than one.
Quentin Coldwater is more or less living a miserable existence as a third wheel among his high school peers. His only escape can be found in the NARNIA-esque Fillory fantasy series he has read and re-read. One day, he accepts a strange invitation, steps through a well-hidden portal and — abracadabra! — he’s not in Brooklyn anymore. Instead, he’s at Brakebills Academy, a secret college of wonder, spectacle and spell-casting … and unexpected tragedy.
His adventures in the classroom and on the grounds comprise the first third, while the second finds him and his fellow Brakebills alum living in the real world, post-graduation. What does a magician do in real life? For Quentin and his crew, it’s a mostly nocturnal life getting zonked out of their minds and having threesomes — as if Bret Easton Ellis’ characters specialized in illusions and wizardry.
THE MAGICIANS’ final third gives them all purpose, as they take a trip — quite a trip, in every sense of the word — to a place for which even their extremely odd education at Brakebills could quite prepare them. I won’t spoil the destination, but it brings the story full circle, connecting dots scattered about the opening chapters.
Grossman’s book is one of those heady, chewy novels that tastes best when the reader chooses to immerse himself in it, savoring every word. Your reward is an epic story well told, mostly unexpected, invoking similar awe as Susanna Clarke’s JONATHAN STRANGE & MR. NORRELL.
Although the final act felt slightly overextended, this is a work to get lost in, lovingly. Grossman looks at childhood nostalgia through a most adult eye, penning a book that’s likely to stick with you, hopefully for decades like the titles to which it pays tribute. —Rod Lott
