By Nick Harkaway
From the acclaimed writer of The Gone-Away global, blistering gangster noir meets howling absurdist comedy because the forces of fine sq. off opposed to the forces of evil, and merely an unassuming clockwork repairman and an octogenarian former superspy can keep the area from overall destruction. Joe Spork spends his days solving old clocks. The son of notorious London felony Mathew “Tommy Gun” Spork, he has became his again on his family’s mobster historical past and goals to dwell a quiet existence. That orderly life is without notice upended whilst Joe prompts a very strange clockwork mechanism. His patron, Edie Banister, is greater than the kindly outdated woman she seems to be—she’s a retired foreign undercover agent. And the gadget? It’s a Nineteen Fifties doomsday desktop. Having prompted it, Joe now faces the wrath of either the British executive and a diabolical South Asian dictator who's additionally Edie’s outdated arch-nemesis. at the upside, Joe’s received a woman: a daring receptionist named Polly whose smarts, savvy and intercourse attraction can be simply what he wishes. With Joe’s once-quiet international all of sudden overrun by means of mad clergymen, psychopathic serial killers, medical geniuses and threats to the way forward for unsleeping existence within the universe, he realizes that the one approach to live to tell the tale is to muster the braveness to struggle, support Edie entire a venture she deserted years in the past and choose up his father’s previous gun . . .
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Extra resources for Angelmaker
He has a strong face, and his skull is proud beneath the skin. Passably handsome, perhaps, but not delicate. Unlike Papa Spork, who had his father’s genes, and looked like a flamenco dancer, Joe is most unfairly designed by nature to resemble a guy who works the door at the rougher kind of bar. He gets it from his mother’s side: Harriet Spork is a narrow creature, but that owes more to religion and meals high in fibre than it does to genetics. Her bones are the bones of a Cumbrian meat-packer and his Dorset yeoman wife.
Mathew is bubbling in Joe’s brain, commenting and advising: Don’t sell. Not yet. If you make it easy, they’ll see through you. To what? To whatever you’re actually going to do. Am I not selling, then? Apparently not. Cover. Conceal. Hide. Deceive. A day of ghosts, most unwelcome and unawaited. ‘Then I shall expect your pre-emptive offer to be quite striking. I’m sure it would have been anyway! And if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, gentlemen, I have another client appointment – on an unrelated matter, I assure you – at ten-thirty, and I really need to go.
Consumatum est, as his mother would have it. Joe looks up, and Edie Banister is watching him, or perhaps she is watching her own life from a great distance. Her face is still, and for one ghastly moment he imagines she has expired right there. Then she shudders and smiles a little fey smile, and says thank you, and he winds the toy and sets it marching, a wee soldier trump-trump-trumping around the table and rucking up the cloth with miniature hobnail boots. The dog peers back at him: eerie blind hound, stubby ears alert, straining to look through glass eyes.
Angelmaker by Nick Harkaway