"Thraxas and the Sorcerers" makes it an even five for chronicler Martin Millar, employing his *nom de plume* Martin Scott. Once again, it's Thraxas, our reliably obese, cynical and philosophical pulp fiction hero eking a living down these mean streets, etc...in magical, politically demented fantasy metropolis Turai, home of corruption, and an almost successor to Ankh-Morpork.
Nonetheless, "Thraxas and the Sorcerers" is the standard Thraxas fair; the intriguing, diplomatically-steeped intertwining mysteries (disappointingly, only two this time...); the recurring characters with complex personalities and confusingly similar names; the satiric jabs at both contemporary Earth, the stereotypic Fantasyland, and a convoluted alternate history on ancient Rome; witty, sardonic, dry one-liners; and Thraxas's persistent requirment of a bloodstream of perpetually effervescing alcohol... Yes, it's enough to make you grasp the pages grimly, and hold tight to see how the brilliantly quirky Sherlockian makes it out alive, once again. Disdainfully, however, the Thracas tomes are becoming increasingly similar (refer to "Thraxas" and "Thraxas and the Races" for confirmation after reading this one); there are the duplicitous politics, the bizarre characterisations, the similar antagonists, the almost uneventful over-use of sorcery and magic ("majick" for bonafide users), and the embittered soliloquizing of the series' champion. After five novels, it might be becoming, seemingly, vaguely stale. Still, Thraxas is to the rescue, and if you permit yourself the luxury of burying yourself in the novel's complexities, than perhaps you'll come out beaming...just like I did.