This review is also up at Goodreads.
How to Make Friends with Demons (published in the UK as Memoirs of Master Forger) features lost love, terminal cancer, and the daily presence of malevolent demons. It’s also Graham Joyce’s lightest and breeziest book by far. Told in the first person, Demons alternates between a few days in the life of middle-aged antiquarian book forger William Heaney on the one hand, and the darker tale of how college-aged William developed his ability to see demons on the other.
The present-day storyline offers little in the way of conventional plot, but William and his acquaintances are likeable enough I barely cared. William’s days are taken up with a new book forgery project, an endeavor based more on boredom and his friendships with partners-in-crime Jaz and Stinx than on any financial desperation. The rest of his time is taken up with two very different relationships with two very different women. There is his platonic, longstanding bond with the saintly homeless-rights activist Antonia, but there is also a sudden romance with a mysterious young woman named Yasmin. Oh, and he sees demons everywhere.
The second storyline offers more familiar territory for Joyce readers. Young William enjoys a passionate romance with his college love, but that romance is threatened when he and a friend dabble in the occult and realize they have touched the supernatural realm. The dual timelines mean that the outcome of this second plot is never in doubt; we know William does not end up with his college lover, and we know he continues to see demons well into middle age. The pleasures of this storyline come not from any twists or turns, but rather in the melancholy, thoughtful treatment of young love and bad luck.
As in so many of Joyce’s books, the story is rife with potential pitfalls that he avoids through sheer strength of characterization. The fantasy of a middle-aged man being pursued by a gorgeous younger woman is an eye-roll-inducing cliché (ahem, Stieg Larsson), but by making William and Yasmin appear as well-rounded people, her desires and his desirability both make sense. His interactions with Stinx and Jaz, similarly, could easily devolve into the kind of Guy Ritchie caper we’ve all seen in roughly 10,000 British crime films, but Joyce persuasively frames the forgery project as just another part of a longstanding friendship.
Oddly enough, the titular demons barely matter to the story. William sees them, and we are as certain as one can be when dealing with a Graham Joyce story that they are real, but they never drive the present-day plot in any meaningful way. They serve instead as markers of personal suffering, grief, and depression, which William uses to better understand those around him. Even the earlier plotline is driven less by the demons than by stranger byproducts of William’s occult rituals. As in all of Joyce’s works, the characters simply experience the supernatural as part of their day-to-day lives.
I doubt anyone would rank this as Joyce’s finest or most ambitious work, but I don’t think he meant it to be. This was never intended to convey the horror of Dreamside, the poignancy of The Facts of Life, or the historical specificity of The Limits of Enchantment. This is an altogether jauntier piece of work. I can almost imagine Joyce viewing the writing of this work as a kind of vacation. Of course, since this is Graham Joyce we’re talking about, even that easygoing break has to include some demons.