Picking up six months after the conclusion of Rosemary and Rue, Seanan McGuire invites the reader to join in on Toby’s life once more in A Local Habitation, which starts with a tipsy night out, snarky, sassy banter, and yet another person calling on Toby for a favor.
The sudden shift from melancholy to everyday business is slightly jarring, as is the fact that Toby is being sent on a mission that has seemingly nothing to do with the many questions raised in the first book in the series re: Toby’s past, her current status in Faerie, and the Shadowed Hills. Instead, the PI is sent to investigate the sudden, overwhelming silence of not just January O’Leary (Sylvester’s niece), but the entire County of Tamed Lightning, a shallowing on the fringes of fae power dynamics, a small pocket world, existing in the in-between, not quite mortal, not quite Faerie, that has its own political sway and power. Quentin, a student currently studying to serve the Shadowed Hills, will be joining her as a mentee, as he is Daione Sidhe and could benefit from a bit of socialization and an expanded worldview.
That being said, their destination generates enough interest to be engaging and suspenseful. In the business district of Fremont, a seemingly normal tech building houses ALH Computing, a startup owned and operated by January. Except… she’s nowhere to be found, the halls are quiet and empty and everchanging, and the entire lawn is full of cats. It’s odd. It’s eccentric. And it immediately pulls the reader in, making them temporarily forget all of the previously opened plot points in favor of this one, and it turns out to be a hell of a locked room murder mystery. Add in the fact that January’s a little too defensive and flighty when questioned, and McGuire sets an incredibly eerie, haunting tone. One thing is immediately clear: Tamed Lightning is dangerous, unpredictable, and unreachable.
Cats watch from corners and hearths, and they see history happening and they never forget a minute. Some people say cats are the memory of Faerie, and that as long as there’s one cat that remembers us, Faerie will never die.
– excerpt from Seanan McGuire’s A Local Habitation
Instead of continuing to build relationships presented in the previous book, A Local Habitation leans on locked room isolation to introduce a (mostly) new cast, which is slightly disappointing, but interesting nonetheless as McGuire introduces readers to new types of fae, adding depth to the world while expanding its lore considerably, with the two that stand out most being: Alex, and his sister, Terrie; and, January’s adoptive daughter, April. Where Alex and Terrie are equal parts irresistible and mysterious, never in the same company as the other, attractive to everyone they meet, and charming, in a pushy sort of way, April is the exact opposite. She’s eerie and unsettling and otherworldly, a dryad forced to become “human” when she was merged with one of ALH’s servers to preserve her own life. The trio are exceptionally well done and add suspense and tension to an otherwise relatively slow-paced plot where everyone is too dumb to leave, despite having the OPTION to, each employee of ALH too focused on work, even as they are picked off, one by one, with increasing intensity.
Be careful out there. Don’t go into the dark alone; don’t let their eyes fool you. Remember what you’re looking for. Don’t trust what the blood tells you. Always look back.
– excerpt from Seanan McGuire’s A Local Habitation
Add on the fact, that, for some reason, neither Toby or Quentin can ride the blood, and Seanan McGuire had my full attention. From then on out a handful of murders happen, very quickly, with Toby none the wiser. No blood. No sign of struggle. Three puncture wounds. The pattern repeats, the remaining employees of ALH continue to defy Toby’s orders, and consequences unfold. What is exciting is the unexpected: Toby’s car is impaled and explodes, effectively trapping her and Quentin inside the compound; a character is murdered, quite brutally, breaking the mold entirely; and, the night-haunts (creatures that collect the dead) make an impromptu appearance, adding incredible depth and urgency to the entire situation.
We drink their lives and live their hours, and we remember them. It’s a small thing, and it ends, but we remember. We always remember.
– excerpt from Seanan McGuire’s A Local Habitation
It is in these moments of world-building and ritual that A Local Habitation shines. In a handful of pages, Toby: breaks a deal, makes a deal, and almost dies (again). She meets face-to-face with one of Faerie’s most prized secrets and survives. She unearths traditions and lore and magic unknown. The encounter is an omen and a death sentence. It is a truth and a conflict. It has series wide implications, and they are downright haunting.
What unfolds within the pages of A Local Habitation is harrowing, haunting, and historical. While some readers may see the murderer a mile away, the motive is what matters, and it is as depressing as it is destructive. In the end, Seanan McGuire sets up an unsettling murder mystery, packed with tension and significance and emotion. By introducing new, secret histories, and unearthing more of Faerie, McGuire pens a story that is easy-to-read and addictive, though perhaps a bit slower – and slightly more frustrating – when compared to its predecessor.
We don’t get to redo the past just because we don’t like the way things turned out.
– excerpt from Seanan McGuire’s A Local Habitation
The end result is something of a middle book that unearths incredible potential for future books in the series: in the Luidaeg, in the night-haunts, in the mystery surrounding the Torquills, and in the phantom ghost that is Toby’s mother.
Even endings begin somewhere.
– excerpt from Seanan McGuire’s A Local Habitation
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