So this week I’m reading the Night Watch collection, the international best-selling dark fantasy series by Russian author Sergei Lukyanenko. The collection gathers the first three books in the series — Night Watch, Day Watch, and Twilight Watch — into a single volume. Being that this volume is around 2,000 pages long, I’ll probably be reading it for roughly as long as it takes to resolve a land war in Asia.
I saw the “Night Watch” film years ago and have had the collection waiting on my device since 2015, and the Gods of Randomness (via their oracle “Open A Random Book” in my e-book library) have finally ordained that I should read it. To get an idea of what the book is like, here’s the trailer for said film:
Looks like there’s a lot going on in that movie, doesn’t it? Now multiply that by about 1,000. That’s what’s going on in the book. Although at the moment, all that’s happening is somebody is sitting in his car:
Maxim was sitting in his car, a neat, well-cared-for Toyota, with the engine running quietly. It wasn’t the most expensive of cars but it was still way better than most in Moscow. In the dim light of early morning, no one could have made out his face behind the steering wheel, even from just a few steps away. He’d spent the whole night like that, listening to the gentle purring sound of the engine, chilled through but determined not to turn the heater on. As usual when this happened to him, he didn’t feel like sleeping. Or smoking. He didn’t feel like doing anything at all; it felt good just to sit there like that without moving, like a shadow in the car parked at the curb, waiting.
I don’t know who Maxim is or why he’s been hanging around all night in his well-cared-for Toyota, but I’m pretty sure he’s not on a stakeout. Maybe he’s waiting for Yulia to show up so they can practice their samba.
Yeah, I still think they should have won that competition …
Anyway, Night Watch is not to be confused with my own horror novel Night Watchman, although it sure would be nice if it could be. For comparison purposes, here’s the paragraph from Night Watchman at the same point as where I’m currently at in Night Watch. (Fortunately I’m not too far into Night Watch or else I would be at some position far, far beyond the end of Night Watchman, which would force me to write a sequel or something.)
He guides her hand up to his chest, letting her feel the crusted uniform and the pinched skin beneath. “This is where they cut me,” he says. “I don’t know what it looks like under my shirt. I haven’t taken it off since … since they did it.”
Hey Hollywood, if you want to find out what it looks like under his shirt … give me a call!