The Matthew Swift series involves one of the most fantastical and whimsically creative worlds I've encountered, one of the most fascinatingly broken protagonists that I follow, and a style that sucks me into the narrative. I accept that this series is not for everyone; it's written in lush stream-of-consciousness, and there are certain tropes utilized again and again which may be a turnoff for some readers. But if you haven't at least tried the books, you don't know what you're missing. 
 So why is this series so very addictive? 
 Part of it is the world that Griffin creates. This is my fifth book in this world and she still has the power to surprise, to delight, to horrify me with her creativity and the richness of her imagination. Throughout the series, one theme is constant: that "Life is magic." Griffin's delight and wonder in the life of the city makes the magic of her world nearly tangible. From women who crumble into dust to imps who colonize vacuum cleaner bags and take vacations in the dumpsters,Griffin's world is extraordinary and yet familiar. Her London is detailed with something deeper than mere affection; when Griffin's characters speak of souls rooted in the stones at the heart of London, I think she speaks from experience. 
 Part of it is the writing style. I know I originally complained about it, and I'm not sure if it has grown more elegant or simply grown on me, but I find all of it--the stream-of-consciousness, the heavily dialectic speech, the lush descriptions--oddly compelling. It draws me into the narrative so deeply that I can hear each character's unique voice and cadence. Even in the darkest moments, Griffin inserts insanely wacky little tidbits that you can't help but laugh at. Take this little scene:"'You know how vampires are allergic to garlic?' 
 'Yes...' 
 'And werewolves to silver?' 
 'Yessss...' 
 'And banshees to ginger?' 
 'You're making this up.' 
 'I'm sorry, seven years medical training,' she replied, 'and you're just some git with fractured ribs, so whatever. Only, you see, bloodhounds...' 
 'You are kidding me.' 
 'Bloodhounds...' 
 'No, seriously.' 
 'Bloodhounds just can't take their garam masala.'" 
 At the same time, one issue I discuss in all of my other reviews still hold: I can't think of a single series in which the average sidekick lifespan is this short. Do not get attached to characters; they most likely won't make it past the first chapter of the next book. Honestly, at some point, the cheap shocks stop working, even on me. Again, I think the cardinal sin is not just this facile attempt to tug at the emotions of the readers, but the fact that the high death count means that very few characters' personalities are allowed to develop, to grow, adapt, change, mature. Worse still, the characters die in a TV-show style, with no one left in permanent grief, no real thought given to friends and families and lovers left behind. In each book, we restart with a similar set of stock characters, often easy slot-in replacements for the all-too-recently deceased. If the deaths meant more to the other characters--if Matthew was more haunted by their absence--then I think I could forgive the deaths more. 
 All to often, it seems that Matthew's Right Thing is to protect the things that are important to him personally, however arbitrary his definition of importance might be. He saves the individual at the cost of the many, and because they are a nameless grey multitude to him, their lives do not weigh heavily on his shoulders. This type of quest-- to Save The Child, to Rescue the Princess, to Avenge The Family, to Bring Justice, to achieve this at all costs and with any sacrifice necessary-- is one of the most central tropes in the fantasy genre. I think it captures the world that we want to live in, a world where, truly, no one is ever left behind, where the daring rescue risks everything yet costs nothing. Griffin subverts the trope; personal is apparently the same thing as important, but the sacrifice is not an empty one. As one character tells Matthew,'You've survived a lot of things that most wouldn't have; I respect that. But how'd you survive?' 
 I shrugged. 
 'You let others die for you.' 
 In the end, the destruction wrought by both Matthew and his antagonists demonstrate that the distinction between personal and important must remain a tenuous one, a liminal space in which humanity resides. It is all to easy to become "forward-thinking," to act "proactively", to dehumanize the world into a machine to be optimized, to lose the people in the process. 
 The section titles-- from "You can't be everything to everyone" through "You can't save those who don't want to be saved", and finally, to "...but you might as well try"--create a fitting end to Matthew Swift's tale. Like these phrases, repeated over and over within the narrative, Matthew is trapped in a cycle of destruction; the harder he tries to hold onto his humanity, the faster it is subsumed into the madness of the angels. He is a powerful character, a gloriously imperfect one, yet one of his tragedies is his inherently static nature, his inability to pull himself out of the abyss. It is fitting, then, that the story of Matthew's world is continued by another narrator in the next book, Stray Souls. It provides a new potential for hope, for change. Matthew Swift's story may no longer take centre stage, but Urban Magic lives on. 
 Excerpted from my review on Booklikes, which contains additional quotes, comments, and spoilers that I was too lazy to copy over.