The child was calling out to someone. Hamo turned the corner of Paternoster Row, into the street of the illuminators and parchment-makers whose work was displayed all around him. He glimpsed a saint holding up his arms in ecstasy while, at the bottom of the page, an ape clambered among vines. Peter Ackroyd, The Clerkenwell Tales
A mild co-incidence: after posting something about Paternoster Square the book I should start reading the next day mentions its predecessor, Paternoster Row.
I say mild: Ackroyd’s books are often set in the city of London. I guess I may have chosen this one because I’d been thinking about Paternoster Square the day before. On the other hand, it was the only unread book I could find on Monday morning.
Of course, coincidence and cycles are common Ackroyd themes, and it’s oddly appropriate that his books have changed so little over time (the first I read was Hawksmoor, published in 1985. The time, eh.) There’s also conspiracy, cults, piss and shit and violence. Lots of violence. It’s a great read.
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