Dolores “Dodie” Farkas

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The Trilogy

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An unlicensed cosmology. A landlady. A fuse that took four thousand years to burn.

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Red and Jackie Harness run the Cosmological Anomaly Division out of a shabby fifth-floor office in central London. The job is paperwork, mostly. Angels filing at Heaven. Demons filing at Hell. Small anomalies. Small fixes. Nothing, on balance, the department can’t handle before tea.

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Then the anomalies stop being small.

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An eighty-year-old woman dies in a caravan in Wales in a manner the Logbook does not account for, and Red’s team finds themselves pulling on a thread that runs all the way back to a typo made on the first day of Heaven — one letter that turned “good” into “god,” and built four thousand years of cosmology on top of the mistake.

 

Across three books, Red’s team — a first-rank Sussex hedge-witch, a retired demon, a Fallen archangel in a grey jumper, a Soho landlady who has quietly been, since 1953, London’s longest-running single source of good — lowercase, original recipe, unaltered, and one radio that is also the accumulated living archive of the universe — set out to unpick the institution without bringing down the world.

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It is filthy, warm, very funny, quietly devastating, and British to the bone. Pratchett’s Watch meets Grady Hendrix. A love letter to small kitchens, good coffee, the No.47 bus, and the specific small courage of people who keep doing good, lowercase, without a building.

For readers of Terry Pratchett, Christopher Moore, Grady Hendrix, Jason Pargin, and anyone who has ever thought Good Omens could use less sincerity and more swearing.