When I finished the last chapter in the 775 page tome, I know I'd miss reading the book, 50 pages every morning, getting lost into the 'oven' of hot and filthy London, amidst one of the greatest literary figures who has every lived - Charles Dickens.
The book is about a rail accident that Dickens brushes death with, and a horror he meets in the name of Drood. Ensnaring his long friend and collaborator Wilkie Collins, who is the narrator of the book, he starts to investigate the mysterious figure.
The story then meanders between the murky opium filled catacombs, the laudanum filled brain of Wilkie Collins, portrayal of an amazing personality of Dickens, the devouring of a creative soul's reality by laudanum(form of opium) whose side product is subhumanly powerful jealousy. Not to doubt the beauty of writing from master story teller Dan Simmons, taking yet another new genre in his literary career.
The story is long, and isn't a Holmesian structure where the mystery moves it, instead morphs into a shade that tinges every scene of Wilkie's life. We learn so much about Dickens, his writing, his ego, his theatricality, his command with conversations(every time Wilkie takes up an offensive with the master, he ends up belittled and thrown offtrack that ends up bewildering him). Chapter are devoted to just how good Dickens was during his tours.
I'm just sad we don't have authors do them anymore, unless you consider a chapter reads here and there. Sad that people don't queue up to buy serials. Sad that authors aren't nearly celebrated as they were a century ago. In short, I felt myself transported to mid 19th century. The novel was that powerful.