The first book I read by Ben Okri was on a flight from Sydney to Amsterdam nearly twenty years ago. Even then, Astonishing the Gods left me reeling with questions.

Good questions.

About life.

As I flew over the Siberian clouds, I was reading Okri’s book, which had been gifted to me by a strange old man who looked remarkably like David Eddings, whose book I had been reading at the time. I can’t quite remember what he said to me, but I do remember him handing me Astonishing the Gods in some airport somewhere while I waited for my connecting flight. I had no idea then how much that book would shape my way of seeing the world.

So you can imagine my delight when I spotted The Age of Magic in a bookstore while picking up something to read on my flight from Copenhagen to Sydney. It felt like my life had come full circle.

Much like Astonishing the Gods, The Age of Magic lingered long after I finished it. Okri has a way of writing that induces wonder. His lucid dreamscapes make you question your existence—and then some.

The premise of The Age of Magic is deceptively simple, much like the way Okri makes you feel that all your cares and worries are insignificant in the grander scope of the universe. A group of filmmakers travel to Basel, Switzerland, to make a documentary about beauty. But Okri isn’t interested in a straightforward story. Instead, he weaves something ethereal, something that feels like it is shifting just beyond reach.

Reading this book is like stepping into a landscape where reality and myth blur together. The characters move through the world as if caught between dimensions, each moment carrying a symbolic weight. Their reflective and enigmatic presence draws you into their lives.

There’s a stillness to the writing, an almost hypnotic rhythm that makes you pause and reread, not because the words are difficult, but because they hold something fleeting, something you want to grasp before it disappears.

Okri’s themes are vast and elusive, like the clouds you fly through from one place to another, the sun turning their edges pink with warm light.

He explores beauty, but not in the way you’d expect. He questions its power, its connection to darkness, the way it can illuminate and deceive in equal measure. Shadows lurk in every scene, in every thought, in the spaces between words. Evil, too, is ever-present, not as a force to be battled, but as something that seeps into the cracks of existence.

There are moments when the novel seems to slip through your fingers just as you think you understand it. But that’s also what makes it brilliant. If you’re looking for a book with a clear, linear plot, this isn’t it. If you’re willing to let go and follow Okri into the spaces where poetry and philosophy intertwine, it’s something quite extraordinary.

The Age of Magic isn’t a book you simply read. It’s one you experience. Luminous, haunting, and utterly hypnotic, it lingers long after you turn the last page.

Find the book here.