What kind of magic can make a nearly 800-page novel seem too short? Whatever it is, debut author Susanna Clarke is possessed by it, and her astonished readers will surely hope she never recovers. Her epic history of an alternative, magical England is so beautifully realized that not one of the many enchantments Clarke chronicles in the book could ever be as potent or as quickening as her own magnificent narrative.

It is 1806, and Gilbert Norrell is the only true magician in England. He sets out to restore the practice of magic to a nation that has not seen it for more than 300 years. But there is an odd and fateful twist to Norrell's character: he is as scholarly and insufferably pedantic as he is gifted. In short, Norrell is the most boring and unmagical person imaginable. This is Clarke's masterstroke, the necessary touch of ordinary candleshine in the midst of all the uncanny fairy light she dispenses.

Enter Jonathan Strange, the intuitive magician the natural who can improvise in a flash what Norrell has gleaned from long study. Strange becomes Norrell's pupil, but soon the tension between their styles mounts to a breaking point. The two men realize that they have a fundamental disagreement about how to approach the mysterious and terrifying sources of English magic, in the face of which even Albus Dumbledore might find himself unnerved.

Just as Norrell and Strange apprentice themselves to a Golden Age of medieval magicians, Clarke tethers her craft to the great 19th-century English masters of the novel, Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. The book offers not only an Austen-like inquiry into the fine human line between ridiculous flaw and serious consequence, but also a Dickensian flow of language in which a comical surplus of detail rings at last with certain and inevitable significance. This elixir of literary influences gives the story its delightful texture. But there is so much more to Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell—an energy buckling and straining at the edges of the book in sheer imaginative overflow, just as the realm of Faerie buckles and strains beyond the edges of England's green fields, beckoning us down the overgrown path and through the dark wood. Thus it happens that a novel of nearly 800 pages seems far too short. This is the strangest and, as we gratefully come to understand, the norrellest magic a book lover could wish for.

Michael Alec Rose is an associate professor at Vanderbilt's Blair School of Music.

In the alternate universe of Welsh author Jasper Fforde (1985 England), cloning pets is commonplace, time is flexible, literature is sacred, the Crimean War lasted nearly 150 years and a multinational conglomerate called Goliath controls the world. When we last saw Special Operations agent Thursday Next in Fforde's popular debut novel, The Eyre Affair, she had successfully saved (not to mention improved) the classic novel Jane Eyre and managed to end up with the man of her dreams, Landen Park-Laine. But when you're a literary detective with as many enemies as Thursday, tranquility can't last. No sooner has Thursday discovered she's pregnant than the Goliath Corporation eradicates her husband, making her the only person who remembers him. They promise his safe return if she will enter Poe's poem "The Raven" to release the villainous Jack Schitt, whom she imprisoned there at the end of the previous book. To make matters worse, a set of bizarre coincidences leads Thursday to believe that someone related to her old enemy, Acheron Hades, may be out to get her.

Thursday's immediate concern is her husband, but how to jump into a book without the help of her Uncle Mycroft's invention, the Prose Portal? Under the tutelage of a consummate book-jumper, Dickens' Miss Havisham, of course!

If all this sounds confusing, don't worry. Fforde's ability to handle a seemingly infinite number of subplots joined with his unique brand of humor somehow allow this wacky world to make sense. Thursday is a particularly effective and realistic first-person narrator; even the romantic scenes in the book are portrayed in a way that suits her slightly hard-boiled, independent character.

Lost in a Good Book abounds with even more literary references than The Eyre Affair, and developing characters outside of their original authors' plot lines is something Fforde clearly relishes. His Miss Havisham is a former bodyguard and a reckless driver as well as Dickens' acerbic old maid, and the Cheshire Cat, cast here as a librarian, is as adept at nonsensical non sequiturs as he is in Carroll's work.

Classifying this book poses a dilemma. Is it Science Fiction? Literature? Romance? It doesn't matter. Lost in a Good Book is, simply, a good book that will appeal to readers of these and other genres.

Savannah Levine, the protagonist of the 11th installment in Kelley Armstrong’s Otherworld series, is a powerful young woman with a lot to prove to the strong personalities that fill her life. Introduced earlier in the series as a child, Savannah is the orphaned daughter of a dark witch and a notorious sorcerer. Under the tutelage of her adoptive parents, who run a supernatural detective agency, Savannah has blossomed into an adept magic user, but she has yet to prove that she has the wisdom to wield her powers in a responsible manner and to take on a greater role in the agency.

While her parents are on a long-awaited vacation in Hawaii, a half-demon PI from Seattle offers her the chance to lead an investigation of her own, into the murders of three young women in the small town of Columbus, Washington. There are hints that the murders have a supernatural connection, and the temptation to take a starring role is too great for the impetuous Savannah to refuse.

The town of Columbus, suffering under the weight of economic recession and barely clinging to hopes of a recovery, doesn’t quite know what to make of a gorgeous, iPhone-wielding, motorcycle-driving PI, even if she is forced keep her magical abilities in the shadows; somewhat lacking in empathy for non-supernatural humans, Savannah does little to put them at ease. She quickly begins to peel back the skin of the decaying town to reveal a rich occult undercurrent and a host of colorful suspects for the murders, from the louche and charismatic leader of a cult of cookie-baking young women to the local rich-boy-turned-bad-seed and his frightening wife. Savannah finds new friends, allies and enemies amongst the townspeople.

Waking The Witch is an imaginative blend of the fantasy and detective genres. The plot moves along at a brisk pace, throwing a good number of twists and tragedies at Savannah, who becomes a more likable character as the book goes on and she seems to warm up to everyday humans. As part of a long-running series, there are significant points in the book that will mean much more to fans than to casual readers, but for the most part the story is self-contained. A few plot threads are left dangling at the end to inform the next chapter in Savannah’s story—and intrigue Armstrong’s loyal readers.

Kage Baker’s The Bird of the River flows as smoothly and powerfully as a river in flood, with secrets, suspense and danger swirling just below the surface. The novel follows the adventures of Eliss, a clever, caring girl on the brink of womanhood. Her sharp eyes and equally sharp brain, combined with a depth of unconscious humility, make Eliss an attractive character for both young and adult readers.

Set in the same reality as Baker’s earlier works The Anvil of the World and The House of the Stag, the novel deals with the universal themes of prejudice, codependence, addiction and autonomy. The world’s two races, the city-dwelling Children of the Sun and the Yendri, a forest-living tribe, are further divided by their religious beliefs. Eliss has a 10-year-old half-brother of mixed race, Alder. Though Eliss does her best to protect him, Alder must choose his own life—with Eliss’ people or those of his father—especially after the death of their drug-addicted mother, Falena.

Most of the action takes place on the enormous river barge Bird of the River, a boat larger than many towns where Eliss has lived. The crew includes Captain Glass, a man who is far more than he appears, the female divers who bring up snags and sunken boats from the river bottom and Eliss, who learns to be the eyes of the vessel, reading the river for signs of hidden danger.

Other characters range from the kindly first mate Mr. Riveter and his family to Krelan, an upper-class boy with a secret Eliss cleverly deduces. A series of demon-robber attacks follow the same route as the barge; as Eliss and Krelan grow closer, they discover the root of the crimes. An independent female cartographer provides Eliss with a healthy role model and mentor, while the Bird of the River itself plays an active part in her development into an independent young woman. Myth and folklore make Eliss’ world seem rich—notably, a ballad about the doomed Falena’s all-too-ordinary life and death.

From its sad and realistic beginning to its startling yet totally believable conclusion, The Bird of the River is an elegantly written, deeply moving tale. Kage Baker’s death from cancer earlier this year makes reading The Bird of the River especially bittersweet. 

Second in L. Jagi Lamplighter’s series tracing the convoluted relationships of the Family Prospero, their magical allies, enemies and servants, Prospero in Hell centers on the continued efforts of the magician’s daughter Miranda to find her father. A chain of clues implicates at least one member of her essentially immortal family. Suspects also include an Elven lord who fathered the spirits of air presently under Miranda’s command, as well as other more overtly sinister forces. As the title implies, indications point to Prospero being held captive in hell.

Eldest of a dozen siblings, Miranda is in charge of the family business, Prospero, Inc. Caught between dealing with company, personal and global crises, Miranda balances rescuing Prospero while ascending her spiritual path as devotee of a goddess. To reach that pinnacle she may need to relinquish one of her most prized magical possessions and abilities—and place the world at risk. Suspicion engulfs her; treachery surrounds her. By novel’s end, Miranda must reunite her shattered family, and cope with some of the greatest losses she has ever feared.

Miranda lives on an Earth where all mythical realities, divinities and creatures coexist. Beings as diverse as angels, demons, elementals and elves assist or hinder her on her interconnected quests. Gods and goddesses from many pantheons, fairies, Santa Claus, familiars and flying carpets, even relics of Christian significance, each have parts to play. Lamplighter’s writing is intricate and full of lovely (or terrifying) descriptions of landscapes, interiors and characters. The action moves briskly, suspenseful whether Miranda is soaring above a frozen landscape, facing a perversely seductive incubus or battling an evil djinn or genie—and even deadlier creatures. As she learns more about the provenance of her beloved flute and Prospero’s disturbing secret history, the story’s tension ratchets higher.

Lamplighter creates a daring pastiche of Shakespeare, giving Miranda a courageous attitude toward physical, mystical or sexual perils. At the same time, the character’s knowledge of magic and use of arcane tools like her staff-flute, metaphysical texts and ancient, esoteric weaponry make her five centuries of life believable. Readers who favor series saturated with sophistication and interlocking mythologies will eagerly consume this newest lap on Miranda’s race to save Prospero and the world.

The Other Wind is the sixth book in Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea series, which becomes, with this addition, one of the richest fantasies ever created. Le Guin has written an amazingly spare novel, yet from the beginning, every word is weighed and crafted to add depth and resonance. It's like reading a time-release story, where some of the effects are felt much later. Weeks after reading it, I found myself considering different aspects of the story—the meetings of cultures, the inevitability of love, the process of aging and realizing anew how well they all fit together.

After an absence of 10 years, Le Guin returns to the ongoing fantasy realm of Earthsea, a land where actions have consequences, where characters live their lives, are influenced by others and change in unexpected ways. Le Guin's first book in the series, A Wizard of Earthsea, was published some 30 years ago. In it, we were introduced to Ged, who would one day become Archmage, one of the most powerful people on Earthsea. Now Ged is an old man who has given up his power. He and his wife are scraping by on a farm far from the center of the action. He is a minor character, anchoring us in the world, bringing other characters together, yet keeping out of the way of the wizards and rulers of the lands. He has stepped aside for the younger generation, now facing the central question: What is death?

In earlier Earthsea novels, Ged and others crossed the border into the land of the dead. It was a truly frightening place: there were no animals or plants, and the dead walked in silence, never acknowledging one another. Now, Le Guin examines her fictional land of the dead, and finds it wanting. Death is the great and inevitable unknown. No matter how much we fear it or poke and prod at it, we the living cannot truly understand it. In The Other Wind Le Guin makes us face our own mortality, and, without falling back into cliches, new age mantras or religious imagery, gives us a deeply powerful and satisfying conclusion.

Gavin J. Grant lives in Brooklyn, where he reviews, writes and publishes speculative fiction.

Tongues of Serpents, the sixth installment in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series, opens just as the dragon Temeraire and his captain, Will Laurence, have arrived at the British colony of New South Wales in Australia. Temeraire and Laurence have been sent to Australia as prisoners after being convicted of treason, and the stain on their character is a difficult burden to bear—particularly for Laurence, whose compassion and common sense make him especially appealing to modern readers. But the real hero of these novels is Temeraire, an imposing figure who can blow holes in the sides of ships with his roar (known as “the Divine Wind”), but also loves to work on complex mathematical equations and is quite enamored of gold, jewels and fine clothing.

Temeraire and his fellow dragons are surely Novik’s finest accomplishment. Each dragon is distinguished by physical differences as well as sharply observed personality quirks and foibles. Much of the plot of Tongues of Serpents concerns a long chase through the interior of the Australian continent when one of the dragon eggs that Temeraire has been guarding is stolen; along with Temeraire and Laurence on the quest to recover the egg are Iskierka, a fire-breathing dragon who annoys the rest to no end, as well as two new hatchlings, one of whom puts the entire group in a rather difficult position.

To say much more about the dragons would be to spoil much of the pleasure of Tongues of Serpents. Less action-heavy than previous books in the series, the novel’s high points come with the introduction of new elements into its world, whether new characters or new adversaries, like the water-dwelling bunyips (a creature out of Aboriginal Australian mythology) who devise an ingenious trap for our heroes. Novik’s many fans will be pleased to spend more time with Temeraire, Laurence and their companions, and will be eager to see where their further adventures will take them.