The first book from the autobiographical author William Heaney - or rather, the latest novel from much-respected genre author Graham Joyce - is first and foremost a character study of a flawed, likeable man, making amends for events in his past that has left him feeling as though he has been cursed (And left with the ability to see demons, natch).
The story moves through Heaney's life in the present - his unrewarding job on a young person's governmental forum, his masterminding of the forgery of rare books (Which he seems to do purely out of a sense of mischief, and to fund the local homeless shelter), his relationships with his friends, and a growing romance with the mysterious Yasmin - with episodes from the story of his past, the tragic events that led him to be the person he is today. As usual with Joyce, the novel is structurally flawless, the prose style simple yet poetic (and often powerfully moving).
The idea of the demons is a fascinating one. These are not the evil, fiery hellspawn of popular imagination (or Buffy) but something else entirely, called Demons by Heaney out of convenience. Creepy, 3-D shadows that cluster around a person, or climb up upon them, these demons are more like visible dooms or character flaws than anything else, something which makes them strangely believable, and endlessly fascinating. This supernatural element is handled carefully, never becoming too forward in the narrative and more-or-less staying within the protagonist's perspective - leading to that "is he imagining it all, or isn't he?" frisson that inhabits many of Joyce's novels. Could he even, in fact, be lying about it?
Because forgeries and falsehoods are the major theme of the book, and are threaded throughout the story. From the obvious porkie of the Author's real name, to the life his protagonist has built up, to more general ideas like the casual lies we tell ourselves in relationships, the impossibility of truly knowing the person in bed next to you and many others, including a much-deserved dig at the infelicities of the current poetry scene.
All these various threads - complete with the traditional reveal of secrets and sudden reversals - come together at the end into one of the most moving, unforgettable climaxes I can remember reading in a long time.
Memoirs of a Master Forger is a triumph, surpassing even this author's best in The Limits of Enchantment , The Facts of Life and The Tooth Fairy. (Please, please check them out!)
That I feel it's an injustice Joyce isn't famous is something of an understatement - it's an absolute tragedy. His novels are complex, warm-hearted and moving. They deserve to be better known - much, much better known.
And hey! That's no lie! (See what I did there?)