The Freedom of the Mask is the sixth in Robert McCammon’s “Matthew Corbett” series; the series follows
an eighteenth century law-clerk-turned-private-investigator, as he attempts to
solve various unpalatable ‘problems’ as
part of a nascent investigative agency. Along the way he runs into hypnotists,
witches, alligators, and the occasional criminal mastermind.
By this sixth book, Matthew Corbett has had a tough run of
luck. Barely surviving a battle in a swamp, and suffering a traumatic head
injury, he begins the text being transported, all unknowing, to Professor Fell –
a transcontinental underworld kingpin, who would no doubt like to cause Corbett
a degree of agony. At the same time, his
colleague, Hudson Greathouse, and his on-again-off-again love interest, Berry
Grigsby, set out in search of the missing investigator. Given that this is
McCammon, it’s probably no surprise that things do not go entirely to plan, for
any party.
This is the first book of the series to take place outside
of the United States – indeed, the larger portion of the text occurs in London
and surrounding environs. McCammon pulls out all the stops here; his London is
a grotesquery, an urban hellscape, populated with gin-soaked gangsters and
child-madams, murderers, thieves, and uncaring gentry, all appearing and
disappearing in a thick blanket of yellow fog. It’s a den of vice and iniquity,
and McCammon manages to paint it as such, unapologetically, but lyrically, and
with an eye to reinforcing a growing sense of unease, repulsion and simmering
horror in the reader. His London is unpleasantly, oozingly alive, coming off
the page and into the mind like a brooding stain.
There’s other environs of course. At one point we visit a
charming little village in Wales, which gets the full treatment of bucolic
splendour. It’s also got a wonderful
atmosphere of insidious awfulness, which McCammon evokes masterfully. His world building is vivid and deeply
disturbing stuff, and a pleasure to read – albeit a worrying one.
From a character standpoint, we spend most of our time
riding along with Matthew again. There are some chapters with Hudson Greathouse
as the point-of-view, which act as a nice contrast. McCammon shows that he can
spin out a very different voice to that of Matthew Corbett, when given the
chance – Greathouse is stubborn, cautious, pragmatic and in some instances
highly dangerous. His approach to obstacles, which may or may not involve throwing
a table at them, is a joy. Greathouse, the older of the investigators, has a
stability of character which it’s great to see more of – and acts as a foil to
the rather more mercurial Corbett. Corbett, though, continues to be hardened by
his experiences. He’s grown something of a thicker skin, and whilst there’s
still an iron core of morality floating at his centre, he’s also prepared to be
a little more flexible in his company. Imagining the young law clerk of five
books previously associating with gangster and killers is unthinkable – but Corbett
slips into London’s underworld, and if he doesn’t cause a ripple, he’s
certainly not being used as bait. This slow move of Matthew into a greyer moral
existence is intriguing to watch, and credit to the author for making it seem
eminently plausible. Matthew’s head is always great fun to inhabit, even when
he’s being insufferable – and he’s less so than usual here, feeling more the focused
man of action than the fop.
There’s also time spent on Matthew’s relationship with
Berry, and we get further insight into the character of that arch-rogue,
Professor Fell; in both cases, I won’t approach closely, but will say that
their decisions are intriguing, and the depths of character revealed by those
actions are equally fascinating.
Plot-wise – well, again, I’ll avoid spoilers. But there’s a
lot going on here. By the end of the book, I was turning pages what felt like
three at a time to find out what would happen next, and what was happening felt
like a solid punch in the gut. There’s a slow burn at the start of the
narrative, but McCammon builds the tension out expertly, and each moment of
revelation or catharsis is made all the more explosive thereby. There’s more
gothic horror and dread crawling around on these pages with each instalment,
and this is no exception – it’s terrifying, horrifying, and a great read.
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