Book Review: The Music of Razors
Frédérik Sisa
The premise of Cameron Rogers’ debut novel indulges what is surely, by now, a theological cliché. It’s been done in one horror-fantasy form or another, in everything from films like The Prophecy to comics like Constantine; fallen angels, in conflict with God, scheme and plot against the divine order of things. But Rogers dresses up the concept in highfalutin theological sleight-of-hand. Hence, we have an angel with the “Power to assign Power” to other angels – a very powerful being indeed – departing “the presence of the God that had created it.” Upon being rejected by both Heaven and Hell, on account of being power-hungry rather ideologically driven, it finds itself stripped of all the trappings of it existence. Since angels, Rogers tells us, cannot die, the angel with the “Power to assign Power” is condemned by God to “spend eternity as unlimited potentiality without possibility of use.”
But what does it say about the concept of God when it is possible to depart his presence? Crucially, what does it say about God when beings with nefarious purposes are allowed to operate with impunity? This is classic theodicy: either God is powerless to intervene in these ghastly plots, in which case God is not omnipotent, or God doesn’t want to intervene, in which case it’s perfectly legitimate to question his benevolence. The horror-fantasy solution to the conundrum, of course, is to ignore the problem entirely, talk as little about God as possible, and hope that readers won’t ask too many questions.
Fortunately, Rogers offers plenty of ideas and imagery to distract from his reliance on an abstractly conceived theological foundation. From a surprisingly charming take on the relationship between children and those monsters in the closet to the sinister machinations of a doctor wielding bones infused by the forgotten angel’s essence, The Music of Razors offers a treasure box full of nightmares and fantasies. That they all form a murky plot that only gets hazier as the pages turn is of (relatively) less consequence than Rogers’ ability to richly draw fascinating characters. Even the minutest player in his metaphysical drama, such as a clockwork ballerina subject to use and abuse by her creator, is given poignancy and depth. It is because of the characters, then, that the book is persuasive. From poor young Walter, who struggles against the doctor, to his sister Hope, whose emotional turmoil intersects with Walter’s struggle, The Music of Razors is a richly dramatic tale of ordinary people caught up in extraordinarily menacing situations.
Barring the occasional irritation of Rogers’ gear shifts, from
“The woolen glove on his right hand, clutched weakly to his left bicep, lacked a fingertip or two, and there Henry saw how black the nails were, how corrupted the flesh of his fingertips.”
to
“This is life from knee height. You wake in the dark beneath woolen blankets. You don’t often see stars and there is no moon.”
– The Music of Razors is an imaginative and mostly robust debut whose destination may be fuzzy, but whose journey is entirely worthwhile.
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